by Katy Winter
"It still does, child, it still does."
The music ceased to affect Chlorien in a negative way after she got used to it. She found it soothing and pleasurable, as she'd found Bethel's music when she was a child. It was different, but was relaxing. The melodies the Rox played sounded simple enough, but she knew from her childhood with Bethel, that they were complex and intricate. She knelt back on her heels and listened.
When Chlorien beckoned the Rox for food, he put the pipe back in his pocket and came across to the fire, crouching opposite her with an appreciative whiffle of his nostrils.
"It smells tasty, child. What is it?"
Chlorien handed the Rox a plate, answering with only the slightest tremor in her voice, "This and that, as Father would say."
Nikos merely smiled, settled himself comfortably and ate with relish. Chlorien decided he wasn't prone to conversational chatter any more than Jaim and Autoc. She found she preferred it that way. After eating, Nikos took Chlorien by the hand to walk through the outskirts of the Shadowlands. She was clearly uncomfortable.
"Aren't you afraid of being here?" she asked.
"Why? Because they're the Shadowlands?"
"Yes." Nikos looked down at Chlorien and his hand tightened reassuringly on hers.
"Are you afraid, child?"
"A little." Chlorien gave a nervous shiver. Nikos shook his head.
"No, child. You shouldn't be afraid. You're as much a part of the Shadowlands as you're a Rox, aren't you?"
"How could that be?" she demanded surprised.
"Didn't Autoc explain being a Rox to you and why you're safe here in the Shadowlands?"
"No," admitted Chlorien, yawning. "He told me about the Rox, that I'm dragon and Rox marked, but not that I'd join you, or where we'd be. I only knew, just before you came for me."
"Oh," said Nikos gently. "Then, child there's much you don't know and much you have to learn."
"I try," said Chlorien.
Nikos stopped, let go her hand and put both his on her shoulders, his eyes meeting hers. She let him read her because he seemed so like Autoc. It seemed natural to let him. Chlorien's eyes told the Rox clearly she'd no idea why she was with him, or why she'd come to the Shadowlands, and he knew instinctively now wasn't the time for her to have that knowledge. She was still very young and vulnerable. His respect for the way the mage had let her mature and develop deepened.
He pensively glanced away into the distance, before saying calmly,
"You've learned a great deal, young one, and have much to be proud of. We're all learning. Should we not, we shouldn't be alive. You need have no fear in the Shadowlands, or while you're with me. Do you believe that?" He looked back down into the still upturned face.
"Yes," whispered Chlorien. "I believe you. Are you safe though?"
"A Rox is always safe with the people here."
Walking on again, Chlorien was left to digest that as best she might.
~~~
So began their time together. Nikos was protective and Chlorien lost her shyness and responded to the Rox with curiosity and profound respect. Ten days after meeting, they came to a small river. Until this day, Nikos tactfully left Chlorien to wash by herself, never coming to the water's edge until he saw she'd finished swimming or bathing.
This time, Nikos deliberately guided her to the edge, watched her take off vest and boots, and then, when she stood looking into the water, he pushed her into it. Immediately she pulled back but he just laughed, grasped her hand and swung her round so she was well into the water and couldn't retreat. As she slipped and fell, she saw the amused glint in the copper-flecked eyes before Nikos followed, falling backwards with exaggerated ease and splashing her so she was thoroughly soaked. She watched him frolic about, and, seeing the water bead the Rox's hair and beard, she thought, again, achingly, of the scholar. Nikos came to her and held out a hand.
"Come, child," he invited. She sat, uncertain, the water swirling about her.
Suddenly, she was a little girl again, at the pond at the end of the canals where she commanded the fish to respond to her. She ignored the outstretched hand and threw herself forward, feeling Nikos' strength as he caught her in very strong arms. They swam out to deeper water. She cavorted under the water, aware of dragging breeches and shirt.
She came to the surface, laughing, happy to follow Nikos when he dived again. She couldn't keep up with him, because he seemed to have boundless energy. He left her, waiting to see what she did. She trod water. Suddenly, she let herself go. She didn't see the smile Nikos gave when she let herself sink below the surface.
She became as one with everything around her - she was the water, the rocks and the filtered light. She saw Nikos. Rather than a physical form he seemed a shaft of energy that she yearned to touch. Drawn, she drifted to him, touched him and felt herself absorbed. At that instant, she wanted to stay where she was and lost herself. She felt herself sharply pushed against her will, became aware she couldn't breathe and resurfaced with straining lungs. Her chest heaved. Nikos came up behind her, his arms supporting her and edging her to firmer, shallower ground.
"Gently, child," he exhorted her. "Gently. Don't panic. Let in air quietly."
He pushed her so she sank to the mossy stones, her head bent forward. When her world came into focus, she struggled to her feet, scrambled up the bank and sat, still breathless, her curls hanging in sodden ringlets round her shoulders. Nikos hauled himself up to settle beside her, an arm carefully placed about her.
"Your source is mostly balanced, Chlorien," he told her. "It's delicate and radiant, but you must control it and not let others take it."
"What's my source?" she asked. She found Nikos holding her pleasurable, though she didn't know why. Again she thought he was so like Autoc. She gave a little sigh.
"I forgot," murmured Nikos, bending his head. "You Ambrosians call it your essence, don't you?"
"Like Lian's," mumbled Chlorien.
"Like Lian's," agreed Nikos. "Can you walk yet?" Chlorien nodded, but hesitated before getting to her feet.
"That light I saw..." Her voice faltered uncertainly.
"And touched," added Nikos gently, rising.
"Was that you?"
"Yes, child, it was me," answered Nikos, his hand down. Chlorien took it.
"It was beautiful," she murmured, "so beautiful, Nikos. Is my essence that colour too?"
Nikos shook his head, a smile in his eyes that reminded Chlorien again of Autoc, the expression was so uncannily alike.
"No, little one," he was saying. "Yours is pure indigo."
Chlorien felt another twinge, because she noted the diminutive Nikos used that echoed Autoc. She found she didn't mind at all, that it was reassuring because it sounded as right from him as it did from her father, and, at the same moment, she realised the timbre of their voices was the same. The deep serenity was alike too. She was rather surprised to realise she accepted Nikos as readily as she'd done the scholar, but never thought to question it, just thankful because it eased the ache she felt when she thought of the mage.
Nikos read her thoughts effortlessly and it was with a somewhat wistful, pensive smile in his eyes that he walked ahead of Chlorien back to their camp. He stoked the fire though he wasn't cold. Despite it being early autumn, he was content to dry slowly in front of the fire, but he knew intuitively Chlorien suffered from the cold. He crouched down, looking back along the track where Chlorien slowly walked, his eyes taking in the slender form that clothes clung to. Nobody now, he thought appreciatively, would mistake the figure approaching for a boy. The smile in Nikos's eyes deepened.
Chlorien shivered when she neared Nikos. Casually she was handed a large, heavy cloth and was advised to strip off the wet garments. This made her look nervously down at the Rox, but as he seemed preoccupied with the fire, she reluctantly peeled off the wet clothes, wrapped the cloth firmly round her and crept close to the fire that now blazed. Nikos came up behind her with a cloak that he draped round he
r. He returned to the fire where he heated taksh. As soon as it was hot, he handed the girl a mug that she clasped eagerly, her slender fingers curled appreciatively round it. She grinned up at Nikos.
"Thank you."
She got a pat on the head before Nikos stooped to retrieve his mug. He lounged opposite and watched her. He thought the feathery curls bouncing all over her head and shoulders very appealing.
"What happened today will happen again," he said, after a long silence during which Chlorien stared into the fire. She looked up at Nikos, her eyes lingering on his face.
"Yes," she said simply. "I know it will."
Nikos was reminded this child had intelligence and power that still developed, but he sensed, too, she emerged from Ambrosian childhood very fast. He had to be extremely cautious.
"Do you mind?" he asked carefully. She saw kindness in the gold-flecked eyes and decidedly shook her head. Nikos thought how taking she was and how innocent.
"Why does it happen?" she asked, raising the mug to her mouth.
Nikos went to answer, then stopped. He was perceptive enough to know Chlorien wasn't ready to understand; one day, intuitively, she would. He drank before answering.
"Perhaps it's because we're beginning to understand each other," he suggested. "As long as it doesn't alarm you, little one."
"No," responded Chlorien quickly. "It was - I haven't felt quite that before, though melding with Father's very like." She stopped. "It's different, Nikos, but I like it. I can't describe it."
"Then don't try," he advised, an eyebrow raised at her. She gave a roguish smile.
"No," she agreed. "I won't."
Nikos laughed and drew out the pipe. As he played, Chlorien felt suddenly drowsy, closed her eyes and drained the mug, though she still held it for residual warmth. The music took her and she drifted contentedly with it.
When Nikos finished playing, he glanced across at the slumped figure, rose noiselessly and went across. He saw the mug had fallen to the ground, so, very carefully, he wound the cloak round Chlorien more firmly, then lifted her and carried the girl into the undergrowth to her pallet. There he pulled up the hood of the cloak to cover the still damp hair. When he went back to the fire to sit and think, he decided he'd watch more keenly in his natural form. He translated. He had no fears of Shadowlanders, but Nikos was well aware of other dangers that faced himself, but more especially the girl he guarded.
Some hours later he lifted his head at movement from the undergrowth. Still draped with the cloak, Chlorien crept up to him round the dying fire and climbed between the large paws. Nikos sat so she could rest her head on his furry chest. She stayed there with him, warm and secure, the large black and golden head above her looking down while she slept. The Rox's dark eyes were sombre and this time it was Nikos who was thinking of Autoc.
~~~
They journeyed for weeks. As the weather got colder Chlorien shivered, just as Bethel and Luton did. They walked by day and rested by night, a sharpness to the air that stayed with them. The forest let in sunlight but it lacked warmth. Even with leaves falling and letting in more light, it didn't seem to help.
Apart from the chill, their days were idyllic and companionable. There was no pursuit and no pressure. Chlorien felt she'd known Nikos all her life, her trust in him implicit. Though the skies were most often cloudy as more weeks passed, Chlorien seemed not to notice as she listened to the Rox, asked questions and learned. They translated regularly, Nikos promptly taking whatever form Chlorien preferred - one day a canas, the next she was a larkbill and he imitated Autoc by becoming a harper. That actually made Chlorien laugh rather than feel sad. She didn't see the Rox's approving smile. Though they took whatever form took their fancy, Nikos never let Chlorien translate to a Rox again and he only took that form at night. She never questioned his decisions. He continued to teach her where Autoc left off.
Chlorien was surprised she'd seen no people in the Shadowlands and mentioned that one day. They walked steadily along an ill-defined path, scuffed at leaves and both wished that for once the grey clouds would disperse and let through some sun to lighten the gloom.
"Where are all the people of this land?" she asked, just as they reached an open meadow. She noticed Nikos had stopped and spread his cloak on the damp ground. He gestured that she join him. He gave her a piece of fruit and cheerfully gnawed on a piece himself.
"They're folk of the Shadowlands. Do you expect them to show themselves, then?" Chlorien turned her head to look at Nikos directly.
"Wouldn't they want to know who we are?" she asked in naive surprise.
"They probably do," was the response. "Even if they don't, why should they? We're doing no harm."
"But this is their land," persisted Chlorien. "We're intruders." Nikos laughed.
"They're whole people, child, like the Gnosti. They don't assume they're the only people who exist. They wouldn't see us as intruders." Chlorien shook her head.
"Father told me it's unwise just to walk into the Shadowlands." Nikos had to bend his head precipitately to hide the amusement that comment evoked. He was silent for a moment.
"Child, it all depends on your intentions. If you were the warlord with his southern army, and you ill-advisedly decided to invade the Shadowlands, then -." Nikos left the rest of the sentence unspoken. Chlorien nodded, accepting that without argument.
Nikos didn't tell her of the folk who were their almost constant companions, nor did he tell her of Autoc's catlin who came and went, padding along silently behind them. Chlorien finished her fruit, then lounged back on her elbows.
"Tell me, Nikos, of this warlord. Father was reluctant to talk of the southern army other than to say that Ohb and Queeb," here she shivered, but went on, "were as anxious to find me as the warlord himself."
While she spoke, Nikos's eyes scanned her face as he evaluated what she could be told. He seemed to think he could speak, because he leaned on one elbow and began to tell her what had occurred in the south, before and after Ortok. He didn't mention her brothers, nor did he say other than that the southern sorcerer and the warlord had much in common.
Their walk afterwards was silent, while Chlorien tried to come to grips with everything Nikos told her, the warlord's seeming invincibility deeply frightening her. Her childhood fear of him re-surfaced. Then she thought of Malekim. Without Autoc's reassuring physical presence, she felt swamped anew by a terror absent for some time. She felt alone and vulnerable.
"Little one, is it fear of what I told you, child?" Nikos looked at the white face turned to his and had his answer. He entered her mind, his voice as deep and calm as Autoc's. "You're safe with me. Remember?"
"I know," she sent. "I know that, Nikos. It's the thought of what could happen if the warlord ever meets up with -." The thought in Nikos' mind was snapped off.
"Go on, child," he prompted firmly.
"The mage Malekim," she sent back weakly.
"I know you fear him and rightly so. Calm yourself. You haven't thought of Malekim for a very long time, have you?"
"No," she whispered out loud, on a deep shiver.
"It's something you're going to have to do, child, sooner or later." The arms about Chlorien tightened even more and she shrank back into them.
"I will," she murmured. "I will."
"Not yet, little one," said the deep voice above her. "Be easy on that, Chlorien." And, as Autoc had done so many times, Nikos now stroked her curls. She looked up, her eyes wide.
~~~
Autumn closed and winter approached. Savage frosts greeted them on rising. Chlorien became increasingly dependent on the warmth from Nikos' fur as she cuddled into him, without thought, night after night. The sharp bite of winter chill didn't touch when she was against his chest and his paws were wrapped around her.
She learned much about the Rox, though at first Nikos was unwilling to speak of his kind. He told her little and showed her less, but, as they travelled further and deeper into the forest, he was more prepared to ope
n his mind. She saw the Rox, she learned their history and understood they only flourished away from Ambros. With Nikos as her guide she tried to understand their self-knowledge and their wisdom. Their wholeness as a highly empathic species was beyond her comprehension. Nikos never spoke much of that.
Often, when Nikos lay in front of the fire, his coat shining and his head rested on his paws, Chlorien looked longingly at him as he stared intently into the flames, reminded sharply of Autoc. One evening, late, when the fire had all but burned down, he sent quietly to Chlorien as she settled between his paws.
"This is an old saying, child. Listen well and think on it.
Union of dark
Union of light
Quenches the flames
And dispels gathering night."
Chlorien looked up, startled, to see his dark eyes watched her. She stared at him for a long moment and then wearily laid her head on one of his paws. The other paw rested on her shoulder, gently, but firmly and protectively.
"Nikos," she sent sleepily.
"Yes, child?"
"Will I ever see Lilium?"
"Yes, Chlorien, you will."
Chlorien slept. Nikos kept watch over her, conscious again how she'd experienced another surge of growth. He thought Autoc would be delighted with her maturity and the way her power developed. It happened very rapidly.
"Yes," said Nikos out loud, still in his Rox form. "You'll come with me to Lilium."
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Sarehl found it hard to believe his time wandering in the north, to advise states about what the southern warlord did to Ambros, had finally ended. Persuasion and negotiation would continue, but his struggle, to make rulers realise the complexity of the problems facing Ambros and the enormity of what Lodestok had done, was complete.
Elban representatives came voluntarily to the Strategos while he was an honoured guest in Kyaran, and they needed little persuading that they, too, had to join forces with the northern army - their continued existence depended on it and they acknowledged that. They were quick to send men and commanders to the south of Kyaran to await the arrival of the Marshal with the massive combined force.
Since the day Sarehl began to recover from the attack he suffered at Churchik hands, he'd done nothing other than think about organisation and advocacy. He felt, sadly, the scholar was washed away in the necessity of the moment, though his unusual skills and power of eloquence served the cause he stood for admirably. Ambros already owed much to this man's tireless efforts. Sarehl didn't recognise this, but everyone else did. So did the warlord who was now well aware of the acute intelligence skilfully weaving disparate groups into a coherent, organised and formidable opposition, well supported, he now knew, by Dahkilans.