Aeonian Dreams

by Morgan J. Muir

  Mariah didn’t knock on the doors, but pushed them both open so they crashed on the walls behind her. It felt good to use some strength again. She glanced around for the master of the lair, but he was not in the room. Undeterred, Mariah strode to the door of his bedchamber and knocked loudly, careful to not dent the hardwood.

  “Lord Sophus, I would like to speak with you,” she said. “I will be out in the pastures when you are ready.” She turned on her heel and strode across the room. She hadn’t made it to the door when she heard the bedchamber open. She stopped and looked back as Sophus closed the door behind him, immaculately dressed and his blond tresses curling carelessly, beautifully, down his neck.

  “You know I don’t like to be in the sun,” he said with a smile as he approached her.

  “You may not, but I do. I’ve spent far too much time these past years moping inside this cave,” she said flippantly. She had to stay distracted from the pain that still threatened behind the wall in her mind.

  “It is good to have you back, Mariah.” He took her hand and kissed it gently. “What is it that you would like to speak with me about?”

  “Though I have been lost in my own world for so long, I have been unable to help but notice that, once again, our income is less than our outgoing,” Mariah said briskly.

  “Alas, it is true. I was planning to leave later today, in fact, to start meeting with the villages. I had decided not to take you as it disagreed with you so very much the last time.” Sophus raised an eyebrow at her.

  “I am going with you, and you will not be able to stop me,” Mariah said with what she hoped was more of a playful smile than a threatening one.

  “I wouldn’t want to stop you even if I could. I do so love your company.” Sophus pulled her close and kissed her. The words Iráma had spoken earlier ran through Mariah’s head. You must do what needs to be done. And she kissed him back.

  Chapter 19

  “Did you accept?” Leonora bounced into the room, either unable or unwilling to control her excitement.

  Emelia was unable to repress a grin as she kept her eyes firmly on the sampler she was embroidering.

  “You did! You did! Are you going to be married? Will I get to dance?”

  “I thought you didn’t like Don José.”

  “Is that who it was?” Leonora made a face and dropped into the sofa beside her sister. “I thought Roberto was coming today. I like him; he brought me flowers one time.”

  Emelia laughed. “I don’t think you care who I marry; you just want to get to dance at a ball.”

  “That’s not true.” But Leonora blushed anyway.

  “It never is when you’re involved, Norita,” Abuelita Olivia said as she swept into the room, as large as life, as always. She took a seat across from Emelia. “So, did he make an offer?”

  “He did, but I turned it down.”

  “I’m glad of it,” Abuelita Olivia said. “Roberto is nice enough, but I don’t believe he’d have it in him to run so large an estate as this.”

  “But what if she loved him?” Leonora asked, and Abuelita Olivia sighed.

  “Love is a grand thing. If set up right in the beginning it will age well, but if not, it becomes nothing but vinegar.”

  “I shall marry for love,” Leonora mused, oblivious to Abuelita Olivia’s words. “He’ll be wonderful and smart and kind and so handsome.”

  “How is Belo today?” Emelia asked, trying to be tactful.

  Abuelita Olivia’s lips formed a tight smile. “As well as can be expected. Thank goodness I’ve your father here to run things.”

  Emelia nodded as Abuelita Olivia went on. “This old house … Did I ever tell you that I was raised in Spain? In fact, I had no intention of ever coming to the colonies until I met your grandfather. Even then, I refused him. He had to offer me all this before I came.”

  Mama came into the room as Abuelita Olivia finished. “You’re not going on about Spain again, are you?”

  “And what if I am? You can’t go around telling an old woman that she can’t miss her home.”

  “You’re not old,” Leonora piped up. “You’re still too pretty to be old.”

  “Bless you, child,” Abuelita Olivia said, gesturing Leonora to her side. “I shall have to take you with me if I ever go back, I think, just to keep me feeling young.”

  “Would you really, Abuelita? Would you really take me to Spain?”

  Abuelita Olivia smiled. “Absolutely. It would be good to see my family home again. We may even get a chance to present you to the crown.”

  “Now, Mama,” Emelia’s mother cut in. “Don’t make promises to my girls that you’ve no intention of keeping.”

  Abuelita Olivia gave Emelia’s mother a sharp look. “I have promised nothing yet, but you listen here, all three of you. If I go back to Spain while there is breath in my lungs, all three of you have a place beside me. That is a promise.”

  Emelia’s mother sighed as Leonora began spouting questions to Abuelita Olivia. What would Spain be like? she wondered. Certainly bigger and more beautiful than Maracaibo. How would it be to visit a place where everything is both strange and familiar?

  ***

  “There is something I don’t understand,” Mariah said as they walked briskly toward the first village.

  “What is that, mi corazón?” Sophus asked, his voice cheery.

  “If the only time you visited the villages was to sow the seeds of discontent, and rile them up to war, wouldn’t they get suspicious?”

  “No doubt they would assume my coming was an ill omen,” he agreed.

  “Yet they seem to always welcome you,” Mariah prodded.

  “Do you really believe that I would chance them coming to see me as a harbinger of evil?” Sophus asked, casting an amused smile.

  “So you have been to visit them since then, without me?” Mariah could hardly believe it.

  “Of course I have, and I couldn’t very well have brought you along, acting the way you were. We are practically gods to them, and a god with such gloom about her as you have had these many years would certainly put them ill at ease.”

  He’s right, of course, Mariah admitted to herself.

  “We’ve actually been behind on our stock for some years now, though I’m glad you finally noticed it. I’ve been trying to nudge them toward another rebellion, and Theron’s coven has been working in the towns, but we’ve both run into problems.” Sophus sounded a little irritated.

  “What could possibly keep the Spanish from continuing their conquest?” Mariah asked, genuinely surprised.

  “The Spaniards are afraid of the land; they claim a demon steals the souls of the fallen. I am hoping that by now there is a crop of men young enough to not remember the last rebellion and restless enough not to believe the stories.”

  “And the Wayuu?”

  “The Wayuu are waiting for a messenger from the land of their fathers.” Mariah’s step faltered and Sophus glanced sideways at her as she caught herself. “I suspect the two are related.”

  “I don’t know about the Wayuu messenger, but I am certain the demon the Spaniards speak of is me. They took to calling me the Ángel de la Muerte, as there was not a single man who felt my touch and lived.”

  Sophus stopped in mid-stride and turned to her angrily. “You let them see you?! You were supposed to not let them know you were involved! For centuries, I have doled out their deaths and they never suspected. Now they know it was you!”

  “I never engaged in the battles,” she defended herself as her own anger flared up. Anger protected her, kept her from thinking of what she did not wish to remember. “You sent me there to be a butcher, and that was what I did. At sunset, any man left alive on the battlefield died. No doubt many of them could have survived if it weren’t for me. I even killed the sickest ones in the camps.” Mariah’s voice turned bitter. “I did as you instructed. I helped them die.”

  They stood in silence, glaring at each other, each sizing the other up. Finally,
after what seemed an eternity to Mariah, a slow smile spread over Sophus’s face.

  “I believe we may be able to turn this to our advantage,” he said, half to himself. “Come. They will be waiting for us.”

  Mariah took a moment to calm down before hurrying after him. It had been so long since she had felt anything. She had forgotten how powerful her emotions were, how deep the anger and hate could run. That morning she had been numb, hiding in the darkness from the horror of what she had done so long ago. If she played her cards right, she would not be doing it again.

  When they reached the village the reaction of the natives was so different from what they had expected that even Sophus was taken aback. The villagers were waiting solemnly for them. This time they did not rush out bearing gifts but waited quietly by their homes. There were even children, here and there, peeking out from behind their mothers.

  “How long have they been like this?” Mariah asked too quietly for any but Sophus to hear.

  “This is the first time,” he replied as they reached the home of the village elder. They stopped and stood before it, waiting to be greeted. Mariah could tell that Sophus was getting annoyed by what he considered a lack of deference, and she wondered how long he would wait before sweeping in and making himself at home. Just as she was sure he would make his move, they heard a movement within, a shuffling of old and weary feet. It took a few minutes, but eventually a man, old beyond reason, stepped out to greet them.

  Once the formalities had been observed, the old man gestured for them to come inside with painful slowness. Before he had even finished the gesture Sophus had settled himself within, his speed mocking the frailty of the mortal. Mariah gave their host a thoughtful look as she entered at a more respectful speed. What might a man like Sophus learn, if he were as frail as the elder before her? What might they experience, if death were as certain as the rising sun, as it was for the old man? As it was for any mortal?

  Mariah thought of the young spirit-soldier who had spoken to her after his death, before the others had surrounded her. He had spoken of peace and rest. Perhaps that was what she had given up — the chance to assuage her fears by learning of that which was unknown. Roughly, she pushed the thoughts back behind the wall. She didn’t want to think about that, to feel about that.

  “We have been waiting for you,” a younger village elder said to Mariah, abruptly pulling her from her thoughts.

  “For me?” she asked. Everyone in the room nodded solemnly.

  “You are the messenger from our fathers, the one we have been waiting for,” another one said. Sophus gave Mariah a questioning look.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, and begged silently for him to believe her.

  “You have spoken with the dead.”

  “It is you who will lead us to victory.”

  “It is for you we have been waiting.”

  The elders spoke, their statements overlapping, but only barely, as though it were one continuous thought.

  “No,” Mariah said, shaking her head. “You are mistaken. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “But you are,” the oldest one croaked. “You were seen, ten years ago, assisting our warriors on their way to the lands of their fathers, and on the last day you spoke with them. Even now you are surrounded by spirits of the dead.”

  Mariah was stunned into silence. She hadn’t thought they had seen her so clearly. How did they know she had spoken with the spirits? Everyone she had seen that last day was dead. How could the old man possibly know of the spirits who haunted her? She felt a moment of panic, as the emotions she had penned up surged forward and tried to break through her barriers. Scowling, Mariah shoved back, forcing the thoughts, emotions, and fears back into their place. Sophus raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Is this true?” he asked in Castilian, too low and quick for the mortals’ ears. When she nodded slightly, he continued. “There appears to be much you have kept from me, mi corazón.”

  “It is decided, then,” the eldest continued. “We follow you; if you would have us to war, then to war we shall go. The preparations will begin tonight.”

  Mariah and Sophus were alone in the home of the elder, each with their own flask of goat’s blood.

  “That was amazingly easy,” Sophus declared smugly. “I should have made use of their own legends long ago, rather than creating my own. Tell me though, my dear, have you really seen the spirits of the dead?”

  “I think so,” Mariah said, hoping he would drop the subject. She really had no interest in discussing it with him.

  “Well? Tell me about it,” he prodded. “What do they say?”

  “I only spoke with one,” she said reluctantly. “He told me he was going to the land of the dead, and then he left.”

  “But what about the ones who follow you? What do they say?”

  “I ….” Mariah’s voice caught in her throat at the thought of going back to the dream world. She felt vulnerable there, afraid. There was no place there to hide. It was a place that had once been her refuge, and it had turned to a place of fear. “I’ve never spoken to them. I haven’t been to the dream world since then.”

  “Truly?” he asked, astonished. “Yes, I can see that you are telling it true. That is remarkable.”

  They both fell back into a brooding silence. Sophus gazed at his flask of blood, and Mariah stared blankly at the wall of the hut, and her mind began to wander. She thought she could see them, surrounding her. She thought she could feel them pulling at the barriers in her mind. Abruptly she shook her head and stood.

  “I’m going for a walk,” she said, and stepped out into the sunlight. “I’ll see you tonight at the fire.”

  Mariah managed to keep the ghosts at bay throughout the day by watching the wildlife and exploring the land. She made some discreet inquiries of where she might find the Old One, but the villagers only shook their heads. The Old One would not be found here.

  Mariah refused to get to know any of the villagers for fear that she might yet end up killing one of their beloved in the upcoming battles. She was grateful as night fell, and she felt she could relax a little as she joined the village around the bonfire. She watched the dancers call on the spirits of their forefathers and listened to the stories of the ancients and the magical creatures that made the Earth the way it was.

  Watching the images that danced for her in the flames reminded Mariah of a night, years ago. Little black-and-gold plumed Si’a had led her through the spirit world to Miguel. She had seen him, and he had seen her. How she missed him! Her heart longed to search him out once more, to find him, perhaps to touch him, if only for a moment. For a moment, Mariah thought she again saw Si’a flitting playfully in the flames, beckoning her forward. The spirits that followed her, hemming her in, avoided the flames. She could go straight, into the heart of them, but the searing heat kept her back every time her heart reached out for her beloved. Finally, the painful night of longing brightened to the dawn, and she and Sophus moved on.

  It was the same in every village, the solemnity, the promise to follow Mariah and the longing to find her husband, with Si’a beckoning her into the flames. And the fear and pain that kept her trapped within herself. As they approached the final village on their route, Mariah recognized it as her mother’s. If the villagers recognized her as one of them, they made no show of it, and she made none in return. As evening fell, Mariah still could not find anyone who knew how she could find the Old One. So where is she? she wondered.

  Mariah needed the woman’s help, if she was even still alive. Perhaps if she could find her, if she could speak with her without Sophus around, Mariah would have better luck.

  “My old nursemaid was from this village,” she said idly to Sophus. The words came to her without thought. She couldn’t actually remember her nursemaid — Nana,— the name came to her, and the statement rang true.

  “Indeed,” he said without interest.

  “I haven’t seen her yet, but I’d like to try to find her
. At least find out what happened to her, before we’re expected by the fire.” Memories began to fill in her mind. An old woman brushing her hair, teasing her, teaching her to work, to speak her mother’s tongue. Holding Mariah’s newborn son —

  “If you must.” Sophus sighed. “Actually, I have some business to attend in the city and will likely not return for a month or so. Besides, I don’t think I could stand listening to those dull stories yet again. Stay as long as you like. If they take to battle before I return, I will expect you to stay and do your duty as you did before.”

  “Of course, my lord,” she said demurely.

  “What a woman you are,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I shall miss you while you are gone.” He pulled her close to him and kissed her deeply, and then was gone into the night.

  When she was certain he wasn’t coming back, she spat and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “I’m glad you think so,” said a voice from the darkness. Mariah spun around to see who had spoken. The scent was human but not quite, a woman of great age yet not old. The woman Mariah had come to find.

  “Nana.”

  Chapter 20

  The darkness held few mysteries for Mariah’s enhanced eyes, yet despite their power, the darkness still robbed her of a sense of true color. Sophus had never said it explicitly, but she knew that the vast richness of color and movement that their eyes picked up so easily was largely the reason he disliked being out in the sunlight. In a very real way their home of rock, stone, and reflected sunlight was a haven for them, the colors less vibrant, the sunlight less direct and the surroundings held far fewer distractions. Mariah, however, found it disconcerting.