by DL O'Neal
"Drakthe." He sagged against the cave wall. The unhealthy pallor underlying his bronzed skin worried her.
"Is the bite of a firecat poisonous?" Cheyna racked her memory. She could not remember whether the holopics had said. She grabbed a length of cloth and folded it into a pad. Applying pressure to stem further bleeding, she quickly mopped up the bright rivulets running down his arm. She lifted the pad and peeked under it, relieved when no fresh blood flowed. She retrieved the needle and thread. Her fingers pinched the ragged edges of the wound firmly together.
"No, they're not lethal, but they hurt like hell." He gritted his teeth as she pierced his skin with the needle.
"Forgive me," she said, stopping immediately. "I will wait until the numbing has taken deeper hold." Even though he had said the bite was not lethal, she was worried. The dzion ointment should have numbed his arm by now.
"Just get it over with." His eyes closed and he leaned his head back against the wall.
Cheyna thought exhaustion had finally taken its toll, when he spoke again.
"Who lied to you?"
She stopped--a barely perceptible pause in the smooth in and out motion of the needle--before she resumed, concentrating on making the stitches even. "My parents. My adoptive parents," she clarified. She lifted her lashes. "Slia and Sbraithe of the Clan Ktana."
His eyes shot open.
"I was raised Raipier."
"That is why your parents did not apprentice you," he said, his tone that of someone whose vision has suddenly cleared.
"Yes. On Rpiere they teach any who show a talent, no matter their Clan's traditional vocation. Unlike here, one is not apprenticed according to strict tradition."
"You really believe you are part of the Great Lord's family, don't you?" he asked, resignation in his deep tones.
"I am," she amended gently, "the last of his family."
"Raipierian," Drakthe mused. "Is that why you were so insistent your parents would have told you, because the Raipier have a reputation for truthfulness?"
"It is more than a reputation. Truth is incorporated into the fabric of Raipierian life. Slia, my foster mother, even arranged for my adoption by my mother's relatives so I would not have to lie when I claimed the Mvale District as my home. To answer your question, though, yes," her voice caught, "that is why I was insistent. The Raipier believe in full disclosure."
"Then explain why they did not tell you of your heritage?" he countered.
"The knowledge was not theirs to give, but the NaturPaths. My foster parents understood this."
"You mean your foster parents sent you unprepared to this planet? When they knew how volatile the information of a survivor to the Great Lord's House would be?" Drakthe demanded.
"Not entirely. I knew my duty was to retrieve the Crystal Sheathe. I did not know that my parents were Nrth and Kyla Ktal. Nor did I know my heritage was that of the Great Lord's," she told him pointedly. "My parents, foster parents," she amended, "always told me I would know all I needed to know when the time was right."
"Jkael! Your parents sent you here to die for a myth!" The muscles under her fingers hardened to volcanic ice.
Cheyna finished tying off the last stitch before she attempted to correct him. "You misunderstand."
"Don't give me that nonsense, bondwife. Your foster parents sent you to recover the Sheathe. The Sheathe, for Jkael's sake. A legend that should have faded into the mist long before you and I were born. But, no, they sent the woman they raised as daughter to a strange planet without even the vaguest hint of her heritage. A heritage that, coupled with a search for the Sheathe, practically guarantees her death."
"They did what they had to do." Drakthe would never understand. He wasn't Raipier.
"Men have died chasing the myth of the Crystal Sheathe. Your foster parents had to have known that. Why are you defending them when they lied to you about your past?" he bit out, frustration sharpening his voice.
Cheyna concentrated on wrapping a bandage around Drakthe's forearm, then began working on the toggles holding the ruined tunic together. She tugged the torn material off over his head. "Turn around," she commanded softly. Drakthe silently did as she asked, presenting his broad back to her.
Deep furrows, an angry, painful red, scored the sleek flesh, bringing home with brutal directness just how close to death he had come. Her stomach lurched. Her hand, though, was steady as she began the chore of cleaning the gore so she might better gauge the depth of the wounds.
His shoulder flexed and pain laced his voice as he prompted, "Cheyna?"
"The lie was not about my heritage, my lord. I understand why they did not confide in me. Nothing need be forgiven."
He aimed a sharp glance over his shoulder. "Then explain to me. Make me understand. What was the lie?"
Cheyna drew a deep, steadying breath. Her hands paused for a moment. This was harder than she thought. "My par--they told me I lacked the ability to initiate a mindlink. That is the lie I cannot forgive."
"Come off it, bondwife. Are we back to that fairietale?"
Cheyna scrubbed a little harder than necessary at the drying blood. Stubborn, blind, Merchant Master. Drakthe flinched and she lightened her touch, feeling guilty. She stared at the jagged flesh thinking of a way to convey to him just how betrayed she felt. "On Rpiere, the mindlink is the preferred method of communication. I always felt left out, believed I was somehow lacking, because I could not fully participate in the shared link. To learn they deliberately denied me that closeness--" her throat tightened and she had to swallow hard, "--makes me question all my beliefs."
"If," he stressed, "if the Raipier possess the ability to mindlink, it is due strictly to their race. You are not Raipierian, bondwife."
Cheyna took her time answering, spreading a thin film of dzion ointment first. "I was raised Raipier, my lord," she said, encouraged he was not dismissing the ability out of hand this time.
"But not born." His teeth snapped shut with an audible click when she worked the edges of the worst wound together and began sewing with rapid skill. Air hissed from between his clenched teeth. Sweat popped out on his skin. She worked faster.
"You do not understand what it means to be Raipier, my lord." She moved on to another long slash.
"Drakthe," he corrected, and inhaled through his teeth as she stitched up another deep gouge. He tensed and Cheyna knew the ointment was slow to take effect this time, also. "Make me understand." The broad shoulders didn't relax until she tied the last knot.
She applied the final piece of tape to the bandage, then moved around to kneel at his feet. In the act of tugging off his boot, she paused. Beneath the leather she felt the slight bulge of Drakthe's daegar. How could she make a man at ease with violence understand the way of the Raipier?
"I--I am not sure where to begin. Here, one's actions or words are questionable. On Rpiere, one's motives are taken at face value. When the principal form of communication is mindtouch, what point is there in deception?"
"You are not Raipierian," he reminded her forcibly.
"True. It made little difference, however. The Raipierian ability to mindlink overcame whatever obstacles existed. Or so I believed." For years, the niggling hurt that she was different, that they had to make allowances for her, had shaped her life. Now, to learn all she was, all she believed was based on a lie was like stepping off a small ledge only to discover it was the Falls of Shayla. Cheyna's chest tightened until she could hardly take in a breath of air. All she could do was wait until she hit bottom.
Finally, aware Drakthe was waiting, she continued. "We are a very collected people. Society is structured around, and reflects, our belief in the power of the Consonance. Anger and bitterness are very negative forces. Cubs are taught by example." A small, reminiscent smile tugged at her lips.
"I remember throwing a temper tantrum. I wanted to go to the High Plains. It is a place similar to your Plains of Skaen. I was very young," she excused, an embarrassed flush warming her cheeks. "I screa
med and yelled and cried. Mother and father continued with their tasks. No matter what I did, I could not attract their attention. When I ran out of tears and breath, I called out to Mother in a very small voice. She came immediately to my side. The lesson I learned was that anger and demands are counterproductive."
"Did they allow you to go to the High Plains?" Drakthe's voice dripped with disapproval.
She grinned as tugged the boot off the rest of the way. "Not for another two years. Father finally decided I was mature enough for the trip." The gash on Drakthe's calf was minor compared to his other wounds. She had it cleaned and stitched in minutes. The smile faded. "My childhood was different from yours." She slipped his boot back on, working it carefully over the thick bandage.
"In some ways." He stood and tested his weight on his injured leg. "And in some ways they were similar." He looked pleased. "I think that ointment is taking hold."
Cheyna refused to be distracted. "What do you mean?"
"We both lost our parents early. We were both outcasts."
She shook her head earnestly, not wanting to give Drakthe the wrong impression. "I was never an outcast. Not in the way you mean. The Clan accepted me with love. What I meant is that I had a happy and safe childhood. Yours was never safe."
"I survived," he responded laconically. He leaned down and adjusted the daegar so it didn't press against the cut.
"While I thrived."
"Did you? Thrive?"
"Of course. I am part of the Clan."
"Even though they lied to you?" Drakthe settled down across from her. He drew up one knee, linked his hands around it, and waited. His golden gaze never left her face.
Pain and disillusionment cut through her. "My par--Slia and Sbraithe must have had good reason not to tell me I have full psi talent." Cheyna heard the plea for reassurance in her voice. She hated sounding like a cub, but couldn't help herself.
Drakthe ignored her unspoken appeal and honed in on her belief in psi ability. "Cheyna, even if your parents can mindlink, you're going to have to accept the ability doesn't exist for humans."
"Yes, it does." She couldn't believe how stubborn the man was being.
He gave a deep sigh. "You're human, bondwife, not Raipierian. Nothing you can say or do will change that basic fact."
"NaturPaths have empathy."
"So they say. Can't prove it by me." His hand sliced the air. "Mindtouching, mindlinking, empathy, whatever you want to call it is a myth. Hocus pocus thought up to scare the populace into submission."
"NaturPaths do not use their ability to scare," Cheyna retorted, stung. "We use it to heal."
"Okay, okay. I'll grant you that. Perhaps NaturPaths don't use it to scare anymore, but to gain respect. Whatever. The point is, whether for fear or to heal, psi talent is a myth."
"Why are you so unwilling to concede the ability might exist?" she demanded, exasperated. The man could give lessons in persistence to a catchtight. She pressed her lips together. If words would not convince Drakthe, maybe deeds would succeed.
The fire between them, Cheyna locked her gaze with his and concentrated. She imagined spreading her hands over his chest, and then she was. Beneath her palms, she felt shock jolt Drakthe's body. His heartbeat accelerated.
Cheyna smiled, a small, secret smile. She had the man's full attention.
She moved her hands in circles, her thumbs playing with the flat, coppery disks until they were hard nubs. Cheyna leaned forward to taste one nipple, then the other.
"Cheyna, what--?" His voice came out a hoarse croak.
"You wanted me to make love to you, my lord," she whispered into his mind, "did you not?" Her mouth, lips parted slightly so the edge of her teeth scraped his skin, slid to the hollow of his throat. She tasted salt as the tip of her tongue stroked the firm flesh.
Drakthe couldn't get enough air in his lungs and a fine film of moisture broke out on his brow. "But...? How...?"
Cheyna's laugh, deep and throaty, rippled through his mind.
"Just as you wanted."
This couldn't be happening, he thought. Cheyna was making love to him without touching him. Jkael, he was losing his mind. The woman was sitting across from him, her hands on her knees. He could see her. But those same hands were unfastening his pants.
She sucked on his neck, an erotic tug that sent a hard shudder the length of his spine.
His bondwife hadn't moved an inch.
He swallowed, his throat dry as the Plains of Skaen, as he recognized his daydream from earlier in the day. He moaned, a low, primal sound, as tiny shivers rippled beneath skin suddenly unbearably sensitive.
"Tell me what you want, my lord. Tell me how you want me to touch you. Where you want me to touch you."
"I," Drakthe cleared his throat and tried again. "Touch me...." Cheyna covered his mouth with hers, cutting him off before he could tell her what he wanted. He was shaken clear to his soul when she whispered directly into his thoughts.
"Not aloud. Tell me, mind to mind, what you want." She reached inside his loosened pants and stroked his hot flesh.
His automatic denial vanished into thin air. Drakthe forgot the impossibility of communicating by thought. He forgot he didn't for one minute believe such communication possible.
He told her what he wanted, needed, in explicit detail.
When he again became aware of his surroundings, the first thing he saw was Cheyna sitting across from him, a light flush on her high cheekbones.
Drakthe scowled as he realized he still had his pants on, that they were even fastened. Jkael, even his boots were on! Much to his disgust, his muscles trembled with exhaustion and his body was weak with completion.
Exactly how he felt each time he made love to Cheyna.
"Now do you believe?"
Chapter 14
"Up there. We will find the cave I saw in Elder Treena's mind." Cheyna pointed to a long winding path. "Leave it to a NaturPath to make things as hard as possible. Why couldn't they just have drawn a map? We would have saved over a day off the journey," he muttered in disgust.
Cheyna turned in the saddle. Drakthe had been making similar complaints for the last several days. "A written map would have negated the test, my lord. I have to fully prove my talent," she repeated patiently, "by locating and retrieving the journal."
He rubbed the back of his neck and glared at the track twisting up the mountain. "So you say. I still say they were just being contrary."
He took the lead, scouting the narrow, crumbling path cautiously. A stone dislodged by his taiger's hoof tumbled off the edge. A long time later, it struck bottom. Drakthe turned his glare on her. The back of his shirt was wet with sweat. Cheyna felt a little damp under the arms herself, all too aware that each step set off a small avalanche of sand and pebbles.
Rounding a sharp curve, they came to an abrupt halt as a solid wall of stone blocked their path. A haze of dust stirred up by the taiger's hooves settled on them, on their clothes, in a grey, gritty film.
At first she thought there must be some mistake, they hadn't found the cave yet. But, no, the trail came to an abrupt dead-end. A heavy lump of disappointment lodged in her chest.
Could Drakthe be right, did she want to believe she possessed psi powers so badly that she imagined she saw the cave in Treena's mind?
She watched as Drakthe dismounted and began exploring a tumble of rocks. He moved small boulders off to the side. Slowly, a slit in the wall face appeared. Drakthe continued to work at widening the opening, pushing debris aside until two people, side by side, could enter.
The lump dissolved. Cheyna closed her eyes for a moment in thankfulness.
"Come on," he ordered when she still made no move to alight, "if we're going to do this, let's get it over." His gaze was oddly enigmatic as he waited.
Mouth dry, she climbed down. Licking her lips, grains of sand gritted between her teeth. Cheyna grimaced. Back on Rpiere, when she'd dreamed of adventure, she hadn't considered that, in reality, adventure meant
getting hot, tired and dirty.
She approached the opening, her heart pounding. Not sure what to expect, she tried to peer inside. It was dark.
"You won't find what you're looking for out here, House-daughter." Cheyna nearly jumped out of her skin when Drakthe grabbed her by the hand and strode into the stygian blackness of the cave, leaving her with no choice but to follow. The utter darkness swallowed them immediately.
After the heat of the day, the cave was cool, almost cold. Cheyna shivered, more from nerves than the drop in temperature. Drakthe must have felt the small betraying motion. He gave her hand a small squeeze before dropping it. A moment later the soft gleam of a liquid crystal lamp reflected back from the walls.
The cave was long, high and narrow. A tunnel led deeper into the plateau. She wrinkled her nose at the strong, musky scent of animal. The smell reminded her of the firecat. Cheyna hoped she was wrong but if she wasn't, she fervently hoped the current occupant wasn't home. One run-in a lifetime was enough. She slipped her hand into his warm, comforting grip, her mouth dry.
Then she had another thought, this one just as disturbing. What if they discovered the NaturPaths were mistaken and the journal was hidden elsewhere? What if, despite Treena's belief, she lacked sufficient talent to accurately gain directions from a mindlink? Or, what would she do if the journal was here and she could not find it because of some lack in herself? Cheyna thought that last possibility the most terrifying.
Her sense of trepidation only partly due to a fear of failure, she trailed behind Drakthe, her hand locked firmly in his as he followed the twisting, turning passage until it widened into a huge cavern.
He stopped, his hand tightening with crushing force about hers. He held the liquid crystal lantern up high.
In the middle of the cavern, a column of volcanic ice reached dark fingers toward the ceiling.
Struck speechless, she stared into the depths of the column. Hidden in its shadows, she could barely make out a pouch with the Great Lord's shield carved on it.