Kalindria watched him go, then turned back to face Kiran. “It’s all right. You can trust Pel.” She took a deep breath and her eyes turned soft and loving. “And you can trust me. I am, I was, a friend of Aldwyn.”
His mind snapped to full attention. “A friend of Aldwyn?”
“I knew Aldwyn because…” She averted her eyes, as if what she had to tell him was too painful. “You see,” she said, turning back to face him. “I was a Javinian.”
Kiran took a step back. A Javinian? He didn’t know what to do, what to say.
“But I left. I had to.”
Kiran nodded, his eyes fixed on her.
“I found refuge here, in the Kingdom.”
“You escaped their evil ways,” he whispered, relieved to have an explanation.
“Escaped? No, I—”
“You must be glad to be free of them.”
“Free? Kiran, no, I didn’t want to leave.”
Kiran took another step back. “Didn’t want to leave? But they’re brutal killers. They torture Torans.”
She nodded in quiet acceptance as if she had been accused of this before. “Have you ever actually seen a Javinian torture someone? Or known someone personally who was hurt or killed by a Javinian?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, no. But I saw them myself, with bows and spears.”
“Yes, hunting weapons. Not fighting weapons.” She moved toward him and took his hands in hers. “The followers of Javin were cast out, from their own farms, their livelihood. They were desperate. They had to take to the forest and live as they could, to survive. But torture and murder, those are the false accusations of the Temple, perpetrated to set the Torans against us.”
What was she saying? Was she accusing the Temple of lying? That kind of talk was blasphemy. He shook his head in disbelief.
“You’ll come to see, someday, what people will do and say to hold on to their power. That’s why you need to leave here, now.” Her fingernails dug into his palm.
Leave? He yanked his hands from hers. “What are you saying!” He couldn’t trust her or anything she said. She was a Javinian and Javinians had their wicked ways. Why would he want to leave? He had a family now, brothers who cared about him. And the Voice was coming, here, on the Day of Thunder.
Why was she saying all this? Was she trying to get him in trouble? But why? He knew what happened to those who had forsaken Ani. His eyes narrowed. “You must think I’m stupid. I know about the lost souls.”
She scoffed. “Are they still telling newcomers that? Kiran, those are monkeys.”
“Monkeys?”
“They are small, harmless creatures of the forest. They howl for the same reason birds sing.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said, his mind whirring.
“No. You don’t want to believe me. But you know I speak the truth. I can see it in your eyes.” He quickly looked away. “Search within yourself. Listen to your heart,” she whispered, tapping him on the chest.
Kiran met her gaze. That was odd. Aldwyn had said and done the same thing. What was she trying to do? There was something about her, something soft and gentle. He shook his head. How could she be a ruthless Javinian? But why would she tell him she was? Because Javinians are wicked, that’s why. Always trying to lure people to their heathen ways. He couldn’t listen to another word. “Aldwyn was no friend to a Javinian. You are trying to trick me. But it won’t work. I will not be denied the providence of Ani!” He turned his back to her and strode away.
Down the path he ran, away from the questions, the suspicions, the turmoil, rushing like whitewater through his head. He had to find a way to clear his mind of it all, to recapture his faith.
At once, he found himself at the Body Temple and he knew just what to do. Standing in the proper position, he thrust his clenched fists outward, chanting, “Praise Ani! Praise Ani!” No one could accuse him of blasphemy. “Praise Ani!” huff, “Praise Ani!” huff. Lost in the movement, he started to relax into the comfort of the familiar.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Kiran spun around. It was Cartus. He sucked in air and his knees went weak.
“I want to remind you,” Cartus said with the smile. Kiran let out his breath. “Tonight, at the celebration, you must mind your thoughts and actions if you seek the Right of Emergence.”
Kiran stared at him. Did he dare ask? What exactly was the Right of Emergence? “I understand,” he said with a bow, trying to hide his confusion.
“I trust you will do well, for the glory of Ani.”
Kiran nodded.
“Soon, you will be marked by the star. It is the greatest honor, my brother.” Cartus slapped him on the back, grinning wide.
Kiran eyed him. He’d never smiled like that before.
Cartus looked around at the empty clearing. “What are you doing here alone?”
“Oh, I was no longer needed at the kitchen and was sent to ready for the banquet. As I came by, I felt inspiration to do the meditations.” Kiran bit his lip, hoping Cartus would accept this explanation. I should report Kalindria right now. I should tell him.
“I see,” Cartus said. The smile was back. There was a long pause. “Well, get back to your brothers.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll do that.”
When he arrived at the bunkhouse, he saw one of the older men outside. “May I ask you something?” he whispered.
The man hesitated, then nodded.
“What is the… Right of Emergence?”
The man leaned back, his eyebrows raised. “You don’t know?”
Kiran bit his lip and shook his head.
The man leaned forward. “The blissful release, my brother. Are you seeking the Right?”
“I’m not sure what it is… exactly.”
“Oh. It’s the one thing you’ve been aching for.”
Kiran’s face flushed red.
The man nodded. “Indeed,” he said with a wink.
Before he crossed the river, Kiran could hear the music, lively and upbeat. The brothers and sisters of the Kotari, filled with energy, bumped and swayed as they filed across the floating bridge to gather for the wedding celebration.
Once inside the pavilion, everyone was loud and boisterous, unlike the quiet, solemn behavior Kiran had become accustomed to in the Kingdom. Women whirled about the floor, joyously moving to the music. The men watched, lining the dance floor. Kiran pushed through the throng of followers toward the edge of the pavilion. He had no interest in dancing. Tonight he wanted to talk to Roh, but soon realized he would have a difficult time finding him in the chaos. Still, he scanned the crowd.
Someone grabbed him by the arm. “This way!” It was his brother from House Four, the man he had asked about the rite. “Devotion starts with the ceremonial drink.”
The man shoved through the crowd with Kiran in tow. When they burst from the fray, Kiran found himself face to face with Kalindria. With a curt nod and showing no sign of recognition, she handed him a cup. Perhaps it was best if they did not acknowledge each other, he thought.
“Drink up,” his brother said, interrupting his thoughts.
He took a sip of the drink and puckered. It had a pungent, sour flavor.
Just then, Cartus appeared beside him. He’s like the wind, Kiran thought, glancing back to Kalindria. Was that fear in her eyes?
“What’s the matter?” Cartus asked, wearing the familiar smile.
Kiran stared at him a moment. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He took another sip of the drink and decided it wasn’t so bad.
The music stopped and the Guardian appeared on the platform, his arms raised skyward. “Welcome, my beloved followers! Tonight, we celebrate the sacred love of Ani, for He has chosen a new bride.” Cheers went up from the followers.
A young woman, her face hidden behind a shimmery veil, floated across the floor to the Guardian. He took her by the hand and led her to the edge of the platform. “I present to you, the bride of Ani.” He lifted her veil, and the
re, standing before the Kingdom of the Kotari, the newest wife of Ani, new Angei to the Guardian, her rosy cheeks flush with pride, was Kail.
Kiran’s mouth dropped open.
The Guardian pulled her to him and kissed her with showy passion, running his hands up and down her body. The followers cheered with happiness. The music started again and the Guardian ripped the veil from her head. Kail glowed from the attention, standing before the crowd unabashed, the gauzy-white robe of the Angei revealing her shapely curves. Kiran blushed and had to look away. As the followers cheered her on, she crossed the platform, moving her hips to and fro in a ritual dance that she had obviously practiced for some time. She circled the Guardian, letting her hands glide across his chest, her legs entwined with his. Kiran couldn’t believe his eyes. Innocent and pure… Innocent and pure!
The music picked up tempo and Kail fluttered around the platform, dancing as though in a trance. She ripped her pomander from her neck, and spun around wildly, twirling it in the air, spilling the contents to the floor.
Kiran got a chill, like the first chill of autumn as it chases away the summer warmth. He lifted the cup to his mouth and gulped down the rest of his drink.
The music played on into the night. While the followers danced and drank, for Kiran, the world turned fuzzy. His vision became watery, distorted, like he was looking into a reflection in a stream. He went back to the line to take his third, or was it his fourth, cup of the sour drink; he couldn’t remember. He settled into a contentedness, like all his worries had melted away. His eyelids grew heavy as he watched the women dance, their bodies glistening with sweat. The familiar surge of desire came over him and he became consumed by his need—an overwhelming, all-encompassing desire. What had Cartus said? For the Glory of Ani? He knew what he wanted; he had imagined it so many times before. He looked around, searching for her.
He wandered from the main pavilion, down the path to the pools. Stone lamps lined the path, lighting the way. Mesmerized by the soft circles of light on the path, he sat down, running his hands in the sand. He became enchanted with the flickering of shadows cast across the pebbles. He lowered his arm, watching its shadow move across the ground as he swayed back and forth, trying to focus. His arm felt weightless, floating, apart from him, yet he knew it intimately. His attention turned to his hand. He examined each line, each groove, across his palm, then turned his hand over as if seeing it for the first time. Feeling his own fingernails, he tugged at the ends, amazed by the way they attached to his fingers.
He continued down the path toward the river, trying to remember his purpose, now mesmerized by the sounds of his own footsteps, then the sounds of the night, sounds so enchanting it was as though he were hearing them for the first time—night birds twittering, water gurgling, women giggling and moaning, a moaning that caused an ache in his loins.
People were splashing and laughing, their garments strewn aside. In the dark corners, he saw some of the men and women intertwined, naked, moving to their own rhythms. A thought of inhibition surfaced, then drifted away again. He walked on, looking for her.
Then he saw her, stepping from a pool, dripping wet, her short tunic clinging to her body. His gaze followed her as she slipped down a path into the woods. He went after her, wanting her now with a fervor he had never known before.
“Bria,” he called. She turned to face him, this creature of his dreams with her intoxicating smile. His desire for her washed over him, not as individual thoughts, but one rolling emotion. He took another step closer. He was inches from her, his heart pounding in his chest. He leaned toward her and she leaned toward him. She teetered sideways, losing her balance. He grabbed her and pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair and the scent of honeysuckle.
They were still for a long moment, her breath on his neck, hot and erratic, melting with his. She raised her face to his and her eyes spoke to him, inviting.
Without thought, guided by instinct and a primal understanding of her surrendering to him, conscious of nothing but the green fire of desire in her eyes, his lips met hers, parted, and the feel of her tongue sent a rush of heat pulsing through his body. He knew—by the slight parting of her lips, by the gentle tilt of her head, then by the way she slid her hand, softly, up his chest and around his neck—that she was feeling as he was, irresistibly drawn, in the moment, flush with passion. He craved her with an undeniable ache and longed for the feel of his hands on her.
She pressed her body against his and they were on the grass, entwined as lovers. It was as if he wasn’t a person, but only a merging of feelings, his senses overwhelmed—her scent like the wind, her skin soft and wet, her lips like honey, her tongue sending hot shivers of pleasure through him.
She drew him to her. He slid his hands under her tunic and cupped the soft mound of her breast, warm in his hand. He thought he might die in blissful turmoil as she rolled over and pulled the tunic over her head, tossing it aside. With wild abandon, he pressed his mouth to hers, hungering for her, aching for her with a desire that had been welling up inside him, ready to burst. He couldn’t get enough. She eased beside him, tugging his trousers away, and guided him to her, enfolding him. She arched her back, pressing against him, and he cried out with excruciating joy. Together they rocked, building momentum in a rhythm of sheer agony as waves of ecstasy surged through him, each gaining momentum, until one great wave washed over him in a warm, enveloping rush of pleasure. He convulsed, his heart pumping wildly out of control, then collapsed at her side, breathless.
His heartbeat slowed and he sighed with an overwhelming sense of bliss. He was physically exhausted, but his mind still radiated waves of consciousness, with a single pervasive feeling—peace.
When he awoke, he was first aware of the birds singing in the trees, then the sun on his face. He opened his eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. Butterflies flitted about, from flower to flower, lighting with folded-back wings. He inhaled the scent of honeysuckle and was struck full force by the memory.
Had he really? Bria was draped over him, her head on his bare chest. He bit his lip. Feelings of regret started to creep into his mind. She slowly opened her sleepy eyes and looked up at him. He saw realization dawn. She pulled away as though she had been burned, staring open-mouthed at his naked body.
“What evil is this?” she cried, her face full of contempt. “What have you done?” She leapt to her feet and ran, ripping his heart out as she went.
Chapter 21
Kiran stumbled through the day in a suffocating haze of shame, the world gone gray, no air left in it. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink. Every moment, he dwelled in uncertainty, his thoughts of her all encompassing. What did she think of him? What would he do? He chewed his fingernails down to bloody stubs and paced in circles. They had committed the greatest sin. There was nothing more sinful than what he had done—even worse than doubting or questioning an Elder. It was strictly forbidden. In the village he would be shunned—or worse. His hand went protectively to his groin. Men had been castrated for taking a woman against her will. What had he been thinking? How could he have done such a thing? He rested his forehead on his knees and covered his head with his arms. He couldn’t bare the echo of her voice: What have you done? What have you done! He grabbed handfuls of his hair and tugged at his head, but that didn’t take away the pain, because the image of her face, covered in loathing, was inside, imprinted on his mind.
When night finally came, he lay sleepless, turning over and over on his bed mat, his mind spinning, the memories of their passion mixed with the horror of his sin. He had wanted her, had taken her. And now he was drowning in remorse, recalling every moment, every detail, each bringing nothing but agony. Had he imagined that she had been so willing? Had he misread her signals? He replayed the scene over and over again in his mind. She had reached for him, had pulled him to her, with eyes full of passion. The memory brought a warm flush of desire. He rolled over, frustrated. She would never forgive him. He had destroyed all chance of a lif
e with her.
A flood of tears, held damned by the presence of his brothers, threatened to burst free. But they couldn’t know. He got up from his bed and slipped out the door, seeking fresh air. He dropped to his knees and held his head in his hands. He had to figure out what to do, what penance would suffice, if any, and if he could ever be forgiven. The thought of having destroyed all chance of becoming an Elder was too much to bear. Not only had he lost all chance, he would be punished. And what would the people of his village think of him? And of Bria? Would the Voice even acknowledge them now?
The words of Kalindria haunted him. You will live in regret. Maybe she was right? Maybe he should leave? But how could she have known?
No, he couldn’t leave. The Voice would come, on the Day of Thunder. It would be his only salvation. He would face the Voice just as he had planned. The Great Father would forgive. Wouldn’t He?
Yes, that was it, he decided. To face up to his sin was the only way. Any punishment would be worth enduring if it would relieve the burden of guilt that weighed on him. At first light, he would confess to the Guardian. If he were the one to grant the right, then he had the power to grant forgiveness. Then everything would be all right. He closed his eyes finally, decided.
Once the morning meditations were finished, he abandoned his brothers and strode down the path toward the pavilion. He crossed the bridge and, as soon as he set foot on the mainland, two men blocked his way. “What business do you have?” the one asked.
“I must speak with the Guardian,” Kiran said, anxious now.
“Were you summoned?”
“No. I seek his counsel. I need his guidance.”
“You can make a request to see him after the general gathering.”
“But this can’t wait,” Kiran said, feeling his nerves come unraveled. “It is most urgent.”
The one man looked at the other and frowned. “Wait here.” The other man stepped in front of Kiran, his full body blocking the path.
The Path to the Sun (The Fallen Shadows Trilogy) Page 20