by Jade Lee
Jane did a swift calculation. "A cycle must be twelve years."
Daken nodded absently, his attention focused on his hand as he slowly placed his palm on the door.
"How old are you now, Daken?"
"Thirty-one." He glanced back at her, and Jane caught a flash of apprehension, almost nervousness. He turned back to the door. "I thought to do this with my parents beside me, but now..." His voice trailed off, and Jane suddenly realized this was a big moment for Daken.
It didn't matter that his mother's dream was probably induced by post-pregnancy hormones. Thirty-one years ago, she placed the burden of greatness on Daken, telling everyone her son would be their prophesized hero. And now fate had decreed he'd face his big moment alone.
Or almost alone. Jane was with him.
She sensed Daken gathering his courage and strength about him, and she knew he was about to push open the door. Jane had a sudden image of Daken, standing disappointed, maybe humiliated, if after thirty-one years of build-up, he went through the door and nothing happened.
She reached out, covering his hand with her own. "Daken, whatever happens, good or bad, right or wrong, I think you're already a pretty great king, not to mention a wonderful guy."
Daken's eyes were dark in the gloomy hallway, but even so, Jane saw the way they lightened, just a little, the gold flecks becoming more pronounced as he absorbed her comment.
He leaned down as she raised up. Their lips touched. It wasn't an intense kiss. It lasted less than a second. But in that brief touch, they communicated a wealth of love and support and thanks. Never had she felt a kiss so deeply or so simply.
He drew back, but their gazes continued to caress each other. Then a noise from down the hallway broke their communion. Jane turned to look. Although she saw nothing, she heard the outside door close with a ponderous thunk.
Someone was coming.
She glanced at Daken, and he nodded. He either went through the door now or did it with an audience. With kingly presence, he thrust open the dark metal door and stepped in. Jane followed, shadowing his right shoulder, ready to help in any way she could. It wasn't until she got a good look around that the chill in her spine settled with a sick thud in her stomach.
"Oh my God," she breathed.
Daken too looked around, his brow furrowed, his breathing shallow. "I don't understand," he whispered to her. "I don't understand any of it."
"I know," returned Jane. "Oh God, do I know."
Surrounding her in bits and pieces, with dust cloaking the parts until they were almost unrecognizable, was a Regency CX-537 mainframe computer and associated peripherals. It was the exact same unit Boston University library housed, and the same computer she'd spent the last five years of her life maintaining.
"I think I'm going to be sick," she groaned.
Daken glanced back at her, his mind still reeling from the totally incomprehensible chaos littering the room. He spared less than a second for her. But then, like a dog returning to his home, his sight was pulled back to her pale face as she stared with open-mouthed horror at the debris surrounding them.
"What do you see, Jane? Do you understand this?" He didn't want to believe it. He was the prophesied one, not this little moonling.
Her nod was slow, but it was like a hammer clubbing his heart. He grabbed her, twisting her toward him, shaking her until she finally looked at him.
"What do you mean, Jane? Do you know what this is?"
It took three tries before she could speak, but finally her voice came out, first as a squeak, but growing stronger with each word. "It's a... a Regency CX-537. A computer."
"I do not understand this word."
"A... a machine."
"And you can work this machine?"
She nodded again, her gaze darting around the room, spastically jerking from one strange object to another. "I... I don't know. I guess I can."
"Then you must help me."
"Help you?" Her thoughts were scattered. One thing was certain, they must put this machine back together.
"We must do this, Jane. It is my destiny. We must."
Her gaze finally settled, focusing on his face. "I can do it." She took a deep breath. "I can bring it up, Daken. That's not the problem. What I want to know is what it's doing here."
"This is the House of Prophesy."
She shook her head. "I don't care if this is the House of Oz. I want to know what a CX-537 is doing here. In this place. In this world." Her voice rose in near hysteria. Daken could feel the panic welling up within her. It pushed through his defenses, battering at his own focus like a rising tide of flood waters, beating against a retaining wall.
"Why, Daken? Why is it here?"
He shook her, first gently, then with increasing impatience as they fought her panic together.
"Jane! Listen to me. I don't understand your questions. I don't even understand your words. I don't have your answers."
"No. Of course you don't. You're just king of this nutso planet of my worst jumbled nightmares. We've got elves and dragons and living streams and magic sheep guts. Why not a CX-537? What's around the corner, Daken? A big white rabbit with a pocket watch? Oh God," she covered her mouth with her hands. "I really am insane, aren't I? This whole thing is a crazy delusion I've created. I'm living in a dream and everything," she said as she tried to twist out of his arms. "Everything. This room, this computer, even you," her wild eyes rolled back to him. "Even you, you aren't real. You're a computerized hero I've pulled into existence for my own living fantasy."
"Jane!" He tried shaking her again, but it didn't work. "Jane, you're not crazy. This is real." He brought her hands to his face. "I'm real."
"No. No, you're not." She shook her head, her movement jerky and abrupt. "You're my fantasy. Don't you see? Everyone wants a stud with a sword as their personal friend. I've even made you a king. And you proposed. Oh God. I'm crazy. I'm completely nuts. There's no other explanation. I wasn't transported in time and space. That's crazy. I'm crazy."
"No, Jane. No. You are as sane as I."
But she was beyond listening. She believed herself steeped in madness, and her belief made it true. In the end, he did the only thing he could think of. He framed her face and pulled her close for a deep kiss. As his mouth went to hers, as his tongue stroked and pushed at her lips, he drew on his strength. He brought forward his inner flame of healing, and he pushed it into her mind and body as he pushed himself into her mouth.
The waves of her panic still beat at them. He pictured them clearly in his mind's eye. He saw them swirling, seething against them, battering her defenses, her mind crumbling beneath their weight. But the water was no match to the searing heat of his flame. He burned within her, his healing light evaporating her panic as the noonday sun dries out a puddle.
Twice the waters swelled, threatening to bury them both. Twice he pushed them back, drying them at the source, healing her in her heart and soul. And in the end, he won.
They won.
He broke the kiss. He rolled his chin to her ear, his voice a soft whisper against her damp cheek.
"Jane, you are not insane. This is real."
"But—"
"Shhh. Listen to me. I don't have the answers you're seeking. I can't help you any more than I already have. But they can." He pulled her over to the scattered pieces, littered all over the floor like the dirty leavings of a ravaging hoard. "These things, these pieces of prophesy, put them together and then you'll know. This is the key to knowledge—"
"It's just a computer."
"And what is a computer?"
"It's a storehouse of information—" She cut off her words, then quickly stumbled into speech again. "Not like you think. Not like some wisdom of the ages. It's just information."
"Knowledge such as how it got here and what is its purpose?"
He saw the light dawn in her eyes. It was a good light, a healing glow that had been absent from her as long as he'd known her. Finally, he saw the madness fade from
her mind as the healing light of purpose took over.
"I can make it work." She said the words as much for herself as for him as she looked down at the debris with a critical eye. "I will make it work."
With a sudden shock, he realized she was no longer a fool. The fear and confusion in her mind dissipated. It wasn't completely gone. The panic still lurked, waiting for her next moment of vulnerability. But for the first time since he'd revived her back in the meadow, she had her own flame, her own inner strength back.
Now she could heal herself.
He watched as she knelt down, methodically sorting through the things on the floor. Her short curls fell forward, partially obscuring her profile until she reached up and absently tucked them behind her ear. She was concentrating, her forehead actually smoothing out as she studied a piece of green board.
She was happy.
The thought struck him broadside. This must be what she did in her world, at her home. She must work with these cold metals and empty boards because he could feel how much peace these things gave her. Even in his arms, inflamed by passion, she had never been so content with herself.
It was a lowering thought that the woman he'd chosen for his wife preferred these... things to him. But then again, they had only started to explore the wonder that could be found with each other. And now, he thought with a sigh, now that she'd rediscovered her dark square stones and silver trails, would they ever get the chance to finish what they'd started earlier today?
They'd have to. He'd make her come back to him because he'd decided she would be his wife. She couldn't leave him now.
As he hunkered down beside her, he saw the intensity of her eyes and felt the weight of her concentration. Watching her, he suddenly doubted his ability to win her. Had he found his mate only to discover she was already lost to a bunch of boards and stones?
There was only one way to find out. She wouldn't stop until she found the answers she needed. And those answers were somehow locked in this thing she called a computer. So, for now, he would help her find what she needed. And then, after it was done, after she learned what she wanted to know, then he would bring her back to him.
"How can I help?" he asked, his voice rough with suppressed fear.
She didn't even glance up, but brushed a slick black bar against her clothing. "Is there a window here? Any place the sun shines in?"
Daken looked around. "No, not that I... Wait." He crossed the room to inspect an odd square of stone. "There used to be a window here, but it's been closed in."
She stood and joined him at the wall, pushing at the bricks with one hand. She held the black bar in the other. "Can you knock this out? Get us some real light?"
"Lamps, a few candles or torches would be easier."
"Yes," she said absently. "But it wouldn't be sunlight, and it wouldn't be nearly bright enough."
"But this window won't illuminate the room very well either."
"I don't care about the room." She rooted through a snarl of long coils, some black, some gray, some multicolored. "I can see well enough now."
"But then why—"
"Daken," she twisted around, holding up the black bar. "I need the light for this."
"But why would a rock—"
"Because it's not a rock. It's a solar collector. For power."
"A what?"
She started to reply, but the words never came. Finally she just shrugged. "It's too hard to explain. Can't you please just trust me?"
He waited a moment, watching her. Already he'd lost her interest as her focus shifted to a smooth black rope she pressed into the black bar. With sudden resolve, he crossed to her, stepping directly in front of her before she noticed him.
"Daken! You're stepping on—"
"Jane." He reached down and pulled her to her feet.
"What are you—"
He kissed her; long, hard, and with a roughness born of anger and desperation. She didn't struggle long, but he continued until he knew he brought all of her attention back to him, away from her ropes and stones. Only then did he end it.
"Listen to me, Jane. I will be your servant today. I will knock out the stones, though the Father alone knows what the Elven Lord will think of it. I will do as you bid me when you bid me, but remember, I do this today, for the sake of the prophesy, and because you want it."
She started to speak, but he held up his hand, pressing it against her soft lips. Her flesh stilled beneath his hand, but not before he felt the brush of her lips against his fingertips and the warmth of her breath heat his palm. His groin tightened, and he ground his teeth, focusing on the need for restraint.
"I will do this today, Jane. But tonight, we finish what we started. Tonight, you will come with me, and this," he glanced hatefully at the debris that had not only abandoned him, but now threatened to take her from him. "This will be forgotten. You will be mine." He pulled back his hand from her lips, already missing the contact with her.
She took a deep breath, a delightful pink tingeing her cheeks and lips. "I'll be your lover," she said. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, unable to resist the beauty of the desire he'd sparked in her eyes.
This time his kiss was gentle, tantalizing, and full of the promise of the night to come. She responded quickly, with an untutored eagerness that cut through his defenses. Their kiss deepened, lengthened, and filled him until his hands sought out the lush curves of her breasts. He could have her here on the floor, if he wanted to. In this, she was still vulnerable to him. This part of her, at least, was his. So he released her, not wanting to abuse her trust.
"Tonight," he whispered, his voice rough and husky. 'Tonight we will do this as it should be done."
She nodded, and he was gratified to see her gaze was completely trained on him, the computer things forgotten.
"You are so beautiful, Jane Deerfield. So beautiful that I, King of Chigan, will knock out a stone wall in the House of Prophesy at your command." Then he left her to study the stones he would need to remove.
"You're doing this," she said, as she walked with him to the wall, "because it's the only way to fulfill your mother's dream for you."
He paused, trying to fathom her words. "My mother dreamed I shouldn't come here until I was twenty-four. That has already been fulfilled."
"Not her dream when she was asleep. Her dream of her son fulfilling this prophesy." She dropped to her knees to study a pile of what looked like dusty junk to him. "I'm not only doing this for me. I'm doing this for you. It's what you want, isn't it?"
He toyed with the hilt of his dagger, rubbing his finger over the smooth stone embedded at the base. "I want the prophesy to be fulfilled," he said carefully.
"And assuming I can get this monster up and running, you'll fulfill it. You'll bring a great deal of information to your people. Here try this on the wall." She pulled out a small hatchet that had once been painted red.
He took the blunted weapon, then faced her and bowed his most formal salute to her. "I thank you, Jane Deerfield, for the gift you bestow on me and my people."
She grinned, bobbing her head awkwardly in response. "Uh, no problem. It's the least I could do for my computerized stud with a sword."
"Uh—"
"I know. I was joking. It's the least I can do for Daken, King of Chigan. Besides," she added, her voice fainter as it filtered through the back of a metal cabinet. "This might get you the pull you need with the Elven Lord."
He drew back the hatchet, aiming it at the crumbling mortar. "I had thought of that," he said, then he swung, embedding the blade in the wall.
They worked for another hour, and gradually Daken became aware of their audience. First it was only a few noises from the hallway. Then later, a young and very large mage opened the door and stood in the entrance, probably to keep the people who craned their heads around him from pushing their way into the room.
Daken wasn't surprised. They'd probably been watched from the moment they'd arrived in the House of Prophesy. Everyone knew of
his mother's dream. She'd had no qualms about telling all and sundry of her son's great destiny. More than one person would have wanted to watch Daken's great moment if only to see him fail.
Daken pulled the last stone from the old window. He shouldn't have been worried about what the Elven Lord would think of this. If the Lord objected, Daken wouldn't have been able to pick up the hatchet, much less bury it in the wall.
"Is this good?"
Jane stepped out from the small metal room she'd been working in. Daken hadn't at first realized how far this Room of Prophesy went back until she'd opened a metal cabinet and proceeded to walk deeper and deeper into it. There was a whole other world of green boards and colored wires he'd never suspected.
Now she came out of the cabinet, her hair covered in dust, her cheek smudged with dirt, and her face wreathed in a happy smile.
Daken pointed at the window. "Is this large enough?"
Jane looked up at him and frowned. "Nuts. The light's going."
"It is evening."
"Yeah, but we need sunlight."
"Would any light do?" he asked, peering into the sky.
"A candle or lamp is too dim. Same with a torch. A good bright light bulb would be fine, though it might take a little longer."
"What is a light-bub?"
"Light bulb. It's like a... a glowing ball of light. Self-contained. Not very hot, but very bright."
"A fire ball?"
"Well, yes. But not hot."
Daken waited a moment, sure what she needed would be provided. He wasn't disappointed. Moments later, a bright fireball appeared just outside the window. It was poised in the air like a small burning bird, stationary and very bright.
"How's that?"
"Wow! How'd you do that?"
Daken grinned, wishing he could take the credit. "I didn't do it. Someone in our audience did."
"Audience?"
Daken jerked his head toward the door and watched Jane's eyes grow wide.
"Where'd they come from?" she whispered.
"Does it matter?"
She shook her head. "No, I guess not." She turned to him. "They're here to see your big moment, huh?"
"They are here to see the prophesy fulfilled," he hedged.