Could a tao-spirit go crazy? Was insanity a thing of flesh? For surely this nothingness with only himself in it would not-so-slowly drive him mad. Alone to consider all the things he could have done but didn’t. Remembering all the things he did do, and got wrong.
Sarai.
Her name conjured so many things in him. The thought of her would bring tears to his eyes if he had a body to cry with. A goodbye was such an empty consolation. Vhina—he would never see their beautiful child—and she would be beautiful because her mother was.
The Baronians gave him no choice. He had to protect his family, his friends, if he lost his life protecting them it was a good death. He cheated the reaper so many times, no doubt the bone-spirit had finally decided enough-was-enough. Perhaps he deserved it.
Sarai had gotten it wrong. She was not the one who was jihira, but him. From the moment they met she had been a star, shining light and warmth into parts of him long cold—long dead. He had been hiding in that cabin going about his mockery of a life, alive but not really living. There had been people he felt were friends and comrades, and they died—died like his brother because he couldn’t stop it. It made him wish he died in their stead. He rose in the Baron’s ranks because he became good at protecting others, ready to die because he couldn’t handle out-living another friend. Prepared to throw himself in harm’s way, somewhere deep down hoping it would be the final time.
Ironic, that when he finally had something to live for, his heroism finally managed to end the game. Heroism. Was it heroic to throw yourself in harm’s way when you didn’t care if you lived or died?
Damn it, he cared now—or at least he did before this happened. For the first time in his life he had started to come to terms with what he was, to embrace it, even like it. How could he not change, when so many others regarded him with such sincerity?
He tried to sigh and couldn’t. The reflex was there but the body wasn’t. No lungs to suck air with, no shoulders to feel the burden. Protecting Sarai, Kalindinai, Wren, Janai, any of them—it was as automatic as breathing. Putting the lives of others before his own was just something he did—old habits die hard… and really really painfully.
He wanted to laugh, to cry, to something… anything but sit in wretched silence and remember. If he had to it to do over a hundred times, he would make the same choice every time. He couldn’t regret his decision, only his mucked-up frelling luck—poor luck that went back as far as he could recall…
***
“Bannor Nalthane!” a strong clear voice called from inside the log house.
Kneeling in the dirt beneath the ironwood tree that stretched its massive boughs over the yard, Bannor’s heart jumped and he looked up with a sharp feeling of concern. The stick that he had been drawing patterns with fell from his fingers. Both names meant trouble. What had he done now? Rather, what had Ramm done that he would have to take the blame for?
Bannor rose on spindly legs, brushing the dust and stickweed from his knees. The sun was high in the cloud-dotted sky, casting stunted shadows from the wood-wards around the yard. It didn’t seem so long ago he heard the last echoes of the noon-time bells ringing from Drenin-town. He took a few hesitant steps toward the house, glancing around for Ramm. Nowhere to be found which was usually the case when names were yelled.
“Bannor, get in here!” Mother growled.
He sighed and rocked his head back, stifling a brief thought to simply run off into the trees and pretend he hadn’t heard.
He tripped across the yard. Bobbing fat-bodied poultry-stock scattered out of his path in flutters of white feathers.
Swallowing, he lifted the latch on the squeaky front door and poked his head in. “You want me?” he asked in a weak voice.
Arms folded, spoon in hand, Mother stood by the larder board dressed in faded blue muslin, springy black hair confined in a stained kerchief. Her long dusky face with its big gray eyes, beaky nose, and understated mouth was just starting to show the creases from many hard summers and the trials of raising three children. She was tapping her toe. That was always a bad sign.
She put fists on narrow hips. “I want you over here,” she snapped.
He let out a breath, slipping inside and taking care to latch the door again. He took his time about it, not eager to present himself for a scolding, especially one he probably didn’t earn.
Mother grabbed his sleeve, hastening his dawdle and pulled him over to the larder board. She pointed at a small white pile on the floor. “Bannor—what is that?”
He glanced up at his mother’s stern expression then back down to the tiny hill of pale mineral. His gaze went furtively to the shelf above the larder board. The spice box was not facing with the engraving out, the way mother always put it back.
Odin’s eye, Ramm, why do you do these things?
“Bannor?” she asked again.
He looked up at her. “Ummm, salt?”
“Salt,” she repeated. She pushed up onto the shelf step. She lifted the spice box, backed off the step, and lowered the wooden container down for him to see.
Trembling a little, he looked away from her eyes into the box. It was empty. He met her gaze again and winced.
“It’s empty,” she said. “Why?”
He gulped. “Somebody spilled it?” He glanced to the floor. And didn’t clean up very well, he added to himself. Dumb-dumb head, Ramm. There was only one reason Ramm would have been up on that counter. He hoped Mother didn’t notice. She was going to be mad.
She dropped the wooden container on the counter with a clunk. She looked up to the shelf.
He groaned inwardly.
She reached up to the back part of the shelf. Feeling around and then withdrawing her hand with a growl. She glared at him. “The special dark-sweet!”
“Ma…” he said in a tiny voice.
“Bannor, did you take my special cooking syrup? Your father paid a whole week’s wages for that!”
“I—”
“Did you? Yes or no?”
Ramm would get pounded. Mother would get it out of him. He drew a breath. He cast his gaze down. “I did it, Mother. It—It’s my—fault.”
She stared at him. For a moment, doubt flickered in her eyes. She pursed her lips. “Your father will be extremely disappointed.”
Bannor only studied the floor. It would be hard for Father to be more disappointed than he already was.
Her tone dropped. “I’m disappointed.” She paused. “Where’s the jug?”
He swallowed and shook his head.
Mother growled and stamped her foot. “Frigga help me.” She slapped her sides. “Bannor,” she said in a harsh voice. “Take the stool, go to your corner. You will stay there until your Father gets home.”
His face felt hot. He hated the feeling of disappointment he felt coming from Mother. He nodded, turned and trudged to do as she bid.
As he bent to pick up his stool, he saw Ravan peaking around the partition. His older sister frowned at him, dark eyes glinting and brow furrowed, her red-blonde hair wreathed around her face. She glanced toward Mother who stood at the larder board staring out the window into the pasture.
As he plodded across the commons past the hearth to the corner, Ravan walked with him, brown muslin skirt swirling around her bird-like legs. She leaned down. “Why, Nally?”
“Dad won’t believe me,” he whispered. “If mother gets it out of him, we both get beat.”
“Why protect him? He doesn’t protect you. He just gets you in trouble.”
Bannor shrugged. “He’s my brother.” He clonked the stool down in the corner, and positioned himself for a long a vigil. Tonight would be painful. He doubted Ramm would own up to his crime, he hadn’t yet. Father would never suspect him anyway.
He sighed and pushed his forehead into the corner. He hated this.
Ravan put her arms around him from behind and hugged him. “You’re a good brother,” she whispered. “Stupid Ramm. I should tell Mother.”
“No—don�
�t,” he murmured. “Dad believes in Ramm. I won’t ruin it for him.”
“Little brother, you’re crazy.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, rocking his shoulders forward. It would be a long unpleasant wait…
***
Bannor became aware again of the emptiness. What had that been? Could a bodiless tao dream? It wasn’t so much a dream, but a memory. Something he’d almost forgotten. Even as a child he’d been protecting others. Protecting Ramm from his foolish mischief and guarding his Father’s dreams. He had such huge expectations for his first born. In a way, those expectations had been part of what killed Ramm. He refused to see his eldest child’s weakness, his lack of focus, how unprepared he had been to go to war.
When he came back instead of Ramm, Father’s dreams had been smashed. He never believed Bannor would amount to anything. Half a childhood spent protecting Ramm only made the fall of Father’s “perfect son” that much worse.
Father would not, could not accept, that Ramm had died. Who else could Father blame for his firstborn’s death? Certainly not himself. Certainly not the Northlanders, or King Balhaad—no, the target had to be the one it had always been… the person who had always accepted the blame for Rammal’s shortcomings. Only this time it was too much. The grief was too much. Father’s crushing disappointment and those words… those terrible cutting words.
Why did you have to live instead of Ramm?
With sick dejection and a ravaged sense of betrayal he had left Drenin-town, left the only family he knew, to live away from the pain. People were horrible creatures that could be so selfish, blind, and cruel. He had to live though, had to eat and survive. The army taught him to fight, not to hunt. So he swept floors, guarded pubs, mucked corrals and did whatever work provided food and shelter. Later he scouted and did pathfinding for the Baron’s defenders. One day, Captain Storvald walked into an inn where he was doing chores and guard work and asked for him by name. The Captain offered him a job working for the Baron as a Ranger. He accepted. With no family, and nothing to lose, he threw himself into the training, putting his mind and body into the role of a border guardian.
Protect. Now that he thought of it. His whole life had been protecting others, risking his life to save others pain. In all the summers, he never really learned how to guard himself, and certainly not how to stop protecting…
***
Bannor lay in the stillness of the mountain cabin, the sand-filled water-sack mattress settling under the weight of his body. Through the window he heard the sigh of the breeze, the song of chirp-bugs, and the occasional whooing of broad-wings. He pulled the blankets tighter around himself. She was with him, bringing with her a breath-catching arousal and terrible temptation.
He wanted to touch her, feel that silky skin and kitten-soft hair. They had shared the same bed before, but this time it felt different. She acted different, seemed to be waiting. What if he was wrong?
He swallowed slow and hard as her hand touched the back of his neck, then slid around him to caress his bare chest with slender long-nailed fingers. Small firm breasts pressed against his back, legs and loins snuggling around the curve of his buttocks. The flesh that pressed against him felt cool and smooth, that touch fast growing warm and prickly.
“Bannor,” a silky female voice asked in a purr that made his trembling even worse. “Don’t you want to share with me?”
Those words made his heart jump, made him dare to believe that this delicate creature wanted to be with him, to love him. He cared for others, but nobody ever cared back. Now, she lay with him, beckoning… His heart pounded, his flesh going taut and hard.
She pushed her other arm around his neck, hugging his back, writhing against him with a surreal warmth that made his whole body ache with longing.
“Bannor?” she murmured, voice low and husky. Her breath seemed to burn his skin as her lips brushed between his shoulder blades leaving a hot wetness that made his whole body tingle.
He moaned, rocking his head back. “I—” His voice cracked. He reached up and pressed a tentative hand overtop of hers. Those fingers seemed so little—so fragile. To his eyes, her slim body seemed like a piece of art, perfect and untouchable. She was touching him now though. He felt as if he might catch fire at any moment. He shut his eyes, fighting the urge to drag her close, to taste her salty-sweet skin, and breathe the flowery scent of her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” Sarai murmured. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, teeth nibbling at the side of his neck. She hummed and he heard the smile in her voice. “Bannor—” She nuzzled the back of his neck, damp loins shifting against him making that hot tingle grow even more fierce. “My sweet gentle man.” She sighed, pressing the side of her face close to him, breathing deeply, seeming to smell and taste everything about him. “You won’t hurt me.”
“But—” The words caught in his throat. He didn’t want anything to come between them. Just being with her, close to her, hearing her soft voice, seeing those bright violet eyes light up as she smiled was more than he ever imagined he could have. Gods, it would kill him if some clumsy moment ruined it all and shattered the dream. He was so tired of being alone.
She ran her hand around his shoulder and down the thickness of Bannor’s biceps, down the forearm until her fingers found and meshed with his. “You are strong,” she whispered. “I want to feel that strength.” Her hand tightened on his, almost to the point of pain. “I won’t break. I promise.”
He felt ready to explode. Protecting, guarding, providing—he knew how to do those things, but this…
“You want me, don’t you?” she said with languid patience, free hand trailing through his long hair.
With deliberate slowness he pulled their meshed hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle with thorough care. The smell and taste of her made him dizzy. “Yes,” he groaned. “I want you so—so much. I just don’t—” His voice trailed off.
“Ah.” It was more sound than word, but there seemed to be such joy in it. She was moving then, her lithe form slipping around his, creamy flesh touching, tantalizing, firm hands guiding, gentle pressure urging Bannor onto his back.
Straddling his stomach, she paused over him, violet eyes glowing in the darkness, the moonlight making her pale hair glisten and sparkle as the long strands tickled his chest. Her small mouth parted and she drew a breath. With a moan, she descended on him, wine sweet lips finding his with fervent hunger, hands knotting in his hair, body fitting to him.
He put his arms around her, pulling the tempest of her need and desire close…
***
Bannor couldn’t smile. He didn’t have a face. It gave him renewed joy to think of that first time. He had been so unsure. It was so fantastic that she would see something in him—something worthwhile. When she found a person of value inside his skin, trusted and respected him, how could he not learn to see it too?
He had been a shadow, a specter, an empty man that did good and took no joy in it. Sarai changed that, her faith and love changed him. She gave him something real to protect—not out of instinct or guilt—but a consuming passion. She became his world, his only family.
Then, as it always seemed to do, the universe intruded. Greedy Hecate thrust herself into their lives wanting more than she should have, wanting the cosmos, wanting the impossible. At the same time, Wren stepped on their shadow, at times seeming equal parts enemy and ally. He never would have thought that she would become like the big sister he had given up.
So much happened in such a short amount of time, at times he thought his head would explode trying to keep up with it all.
Now, here he was, not knowing whether this was a place or a state of being, or even a state of not being. The Baronian attack had reduced him to thought and memory without substance or incarnation of any kind.
One thing he felt certain of, he had given them a shot back for their trouble. Czar, Ziedra, Loric and the others constructed a magical barrier that would have strained an ent
ire pantheon of gods to break. Simply to break through, the Baronian coven would have been exerting its maximum effort without holding anything in reserve, confident nothing would survive to attack back. Not even a fully realized first one could have resisted such incredible force. Indeed, he hadn’t. Even altering his form to near perfect conductivity had not shielded him. It did give him enough instants to use the echoes of Wren and Damay’s ability to loop the power back on itself and send a portion of that attack along the path it came. Even a small percentage of that intolerable strength would wreak havoc on an unshielded coven.
At least he could rest knowing that his last act had not been totally in vain. A significant number of that coven would have been crippled if not slain outright. Even with their massive numbers, the alien army could not shrug off a loss like that.
He hoped his counter strike pointed the way for Koass and the eternals. The fact that he channeled the energy through Xersis should have made sure the Advocate Eternal had a sense of the target. The Protectorate could then fall on them without fear of utilizing their full power.
Damn, he didn’t want it to end like this. This was worse than being dead. To exist for an eternity with nothing but his own finite number of summers to review and analyze, seeing every mistake and misstep, reliving every pain. His time with Sarai was so short. The good times, the pleasurable moments, they seemed so fractional compared to the rest.
The frustration boiled in him. What did it take to get fair treatment from this mucked up universe? He did everything he could, helped everyone, forgave and made peace whenever possible.
Frustration became anger and he raged at the emptiness. Damn it, Sarai, I don’t want to leave you—not now—not ever!
For the first time since being in this terrible aloneness he felt something, like a hot wind rush through him.
A voice echoed; all around it seemed.
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Reality's Plaything 5: The Infinity Annihilator Page 37