A Warrior's Heart

by DL O'Neal

  "By the Saints, bondwife, how do you expect to get it out of the ice?" Drakthe demanded in exasperation. Volcanic ice, for Jkael's sake. Didn't the woman know that harming the stuff was nearly impossible? He moved the lantern in an arc. The cavern was empty except for the thick column of volcanic ice. Just his luck, not a direction in sight detailing how to deal with the thing.

  "Can we not chip away the ice?" Cheyna raised pleading eyes, her fear of failing in this, the first test of her newly found ability, clear. She hadn't said much during the journey--other than defending the NaturPaths and the mindlink--but he had come to know his bondwife well enough to understand that to her this was more than a test of psi ability, but a test of duty. Drakthe hardened his heart.

  "No."

  "If you won't, I will."

  He bowed slightly and waved his hand. "Be my guest, House-daughter." She'd soon learn that without specialized tools volcanic ice was impenetrable.

  She picked up the first good-sized rock in her path. Back straight, she marched over to the column of volcanic ice and slammed it down. The stone crumbled to dust. The ice wasn't even nicked.

  "I warned you."

  She turned on him, fury and disappointment sparking in her eyes. "Well, the least you can do is try!"

  "Fine. You want me to try? No problem. The Great Lord's daughter has spoken." He ignored the hurt in her eyes. Jkael, what did she expect, the ice to melt away at her command?

  Drakthe expelled a short, sharp breath, getting a hold on his temper. Try, she said. Fine. He would try.

  He looked around the cave and found a rock about the size of his fist. Bending down, he picked it up and hefted it, testing its weight. His boot heels rang out on the hard floor, mirroring his frustration and disgust, as he crossed to the column. He hooked the lantern on a rocky outcropping. The lamp threw a circle of light around him and the column. Hefting the rock, he brought it down, pounding at the ice. On the fourth blow, the rock shattered. He didn't say a word, just found another rock. Then another, and another. The ice remained unmarked. His palm stinging, he raised a brow eloquent with sardonic question.

  "I refuse to accept there is no way to break the ice. There has to be a way," she said, twisting her fingers into knots.

  "Accept it, bondwife." The small, annoying pain in his hand intensified. Canting his hand to catch the light better, he made out a sliver buried under the skin. He pulled the rock splinter from his palm and sucked at the tiny bead of blood that welled.

  From beneath lowered lashes, he studied Cheyna, judging her reaction to his next words. "Face it. Your mother didn't leave word how she got the pouch in there in the first place. Without that knowledge, it's hopeless."

  "What of your krees?"

  "You want me to dull my blade on volcanic ice?" Outraged, Drakthe dropped his hand and stared.

  "Please."

  Talk about stupidity, using a krees on volcanic ice. He pulled the blade from its sheathe unable to believe what he was about to do. Glaring at her, he raised the blade and plunged it downward. It skittered off the black ice, its razor-sharp edge coming uncomfortably close to an area Drakthe valued highly.

  "Jkael take it, woman! Do you want to unman me?" he thundered.

  Cheyna ignored his burst of ill-temper, a contemplative look on her face. "What of fire? If we built a fire around the base, would the ice not melt?" she asked hopefully.

  "Fire does not affect volcanic ice. Give it up," he advised, slipping the krees in its sheathe. "You tried. That's all anyone can ask of you."

  "I cannot. Please, my lord, think. Is there not anything that will work on volcanic ice?"

  Drakthe shook his head. Unease snaked down his spine when her gaze lit on the sheathe on his hip.

  "Uh-uh. Forget it, bondwife. I tried that already and came very near to decimating future generations before they are born."

  She cleared her throat.

  He tensed.

  "Umm, my lord--Drakthe," she hurriedly amended, "when I was out with the tradewives, they happened to mention your affinity with your krees...." her voice faded in the face of his gathering fury. She spoke faster. "I just wondered whether it might not affect the ice?"

  "You want to see what happens, is that it, bondwife? Decided you are missing out on something?"

  "No, never that!"

  He brushed aside her protest and drew the krees from its sheathe again. He held it up, the blade mere inches from her face. "Look closely, bondwife, you're about to see the Fire Krees in action."

  The symbolic sheathe and krees pendant around his neck throbbed to the hard pulse of his fury. He'd truly thought Cheyna was different. Goes to show how wrong a man could be.

  Drakthe tightened his hand until the knuckles shown white. In the dimness of the cave, he knew his eyes glowed with an inner flame. The blade in his hand echoed that glow, faintly at first, and then with more power. The blade gleamed white hot. He plunged the krees into the center of the volcanic ice encasing the pouch. His arm sank to the shoulder. When he pulled it back out the leather satchel was clutched in his hand. Drakthe was stunned. He stared at his hand and then at the volcanic ice. Its surface was unmarred. Slowly, he sheathed his krees. Without a word, he held the pouch out to Cheyna.

  "Aren't you going to open it?" he asked, puzzled at her hesitation to accept the pouch. It didn't make sense. She'd come so far just to balk at the last minute.

  "I--It will sound strange, but I am almost afraid to," she admitted, staring at the pouch as if she expected it to bite her. Her mask of serenity slipped and Drakthe saw her uncertainty.

  All at once, he understood. "Because your mother handled it last?"

  She nodded. "That is one reason."

  "And the other?"

  "What if I am not up to the task? What if I am the cause of Consonance going forever out of balance?" She wet her lips and took the pouch, holding it gingerly at arms' length.

  Drakthe studied her for a moment. Mad as he was about her deception, he couldn't let Cheyna do this to herself. He took her by the hand and led her over to one side of the cave. She went as if she didn't have a will of her own. "Sit. This has waited a generation, it can wait until I make camp."

  She sat, the pouch cradled on her lap.

  Drakthe used the time to consider what he was going to say. Off to one side, he kept an eye on her. Still as the column of ice, she sat where he'd placed her, all motion, all animation, gone. This was more than the mask of serenity she wore like a shield. He went to stand in front of her.

  "You're afraid you're going to fail?" Drakthe waited for her slight nod of agreement. "Were you afraid of failure when you demanded half of my profit for your cooperation?" She gave a tiny, negative shake of her head. "What of when we bonded? Were you afraid then your mission would fail?" Again, the small, barely perceptible movement. "When the NaturPath instructed you where to find the journal, did you believe then you were going to fail?" Cheyna lifted her head, surprise filling her eyes as she shook her head. "Then why are you afraid of failure now?"

  "I have never been so close to succeeding," she at last admitted. She looked down at her clasped hands. "Only now have I realized fully the burden I carry, realized that the balance of Consonance resides on my actions."

  "Did the Raipier teach arrogance along with serenity?"

  Her head shot up. "What do you mean?"

  "I'd call it a form of arrogance to assume you, and you alone, has the power to tip the balance of Consonance?" He continued before she had the chance to speak. "This," he touched a finger to the imprint of the shield on the satchel, "has been missing over a twenty-year. Consonance has yet to be destroyed."

  "But it is slipping further and further out of kilter," Cheyna twisted her hands together. "You heard what Elder Treena said, how ominous she sounded. She didn't strike me as a woman prone to exaggeration."

  "Let us say you are right. You fail to unriddle the secret of the Crystal Sheathe and Consonance slips to the dark side. Is it then beyond the realm
of possibility that in the future someone else will decipher the meaning of the journal and right Consonance?"

  She tipped her head to one side, then the straight line of her shoulders relaxed. "Your theory has merit. Though, I must confess I find it strange you are the one to lecture me on arrogance."

  He quirked one corner of his mouth. "Quit baiting me, bondwife, and open the pouch. I want to see what is worth all this fuss."

  Her hands shook as she did as bade. A dark crystal poured from the pouch onto her lap. They both stared, not sure what to make of it. Cheyna picked it up first.

  Dark as a moonless night, the roughly rectangular piece of crystal possessed a beauty just as mysterious. Drakthe held his hand out. She placed it on his palm. He studied it curiously. About half the width of his palm, a shallow groove ran the length of one end.

  "It looks like a piece of volcanic ice," she observed.

  "I've never seen volcanic ice this color." He held the crystal at a different angle so she could see the threads of color lacing the stone. Beautiful as it was, he felt uncomfortable holding the stone. He passed it back to his bondwife. Cheyna didn't seem to have any reservations. She turned it over and over in her hands.

  "What do you think it is?" she asked.

  "I haven't the faintest idea. I thought the NaturPaths said your mother's journal was supposed to be in the pouch?"

  She shrugged in bewilderment. "I do not understand." She upended the pouch again and shook it. "See? Nothing but the stone."

  "Didn't your foster parents give you any clue? Maybe you should just wing your thoughts home and ask them," Drakthe offered sarcastically, unable to resist.

  Cheyna beamed at him. "Thank you, my lord."

  "For what?"

  "The answer."

  "Care to elaborate?" he asked, still lost. An all too familiar situation around Cheyna, he thought in resignation.

  "Chiliads ago, the Raipier used memory crystals the way you use books. They used psi talent to imprint and access information on the crystals."

  "You're trying to tell me they could store their thoughts on these crystals?" He didn't even try to hide his skepticism.

  "Exactly."

  "And others can read them?"

  "Yes."

  "You believe this is a memory crystal?"

  "It makes sense. Elder Treena said I would find a journal. What better way to safeguard it than to have it in the form of a memory crystal? Especially since Scimtarians disdain psi talent as impossible." She smoothed a wrinkle in her tunic with undue care. "I told you finding the journal was the test of my talent. I was wrong. Reading the crystal will prove whether I have true talent or not."

  "And if you cannot?"

  "Then you were right and I was on a fool's quest all along."

  Cheyna looked down at the crystal cradled in her hands. Sbraithe had a saying: Dreading is worse than doing. So be it. Crossing her legs, she composed her mind for the first level of Sai and Kai. All she had was instinct to guide her. Modern Raipierians used holopics instead of memory crystals.

  She opened her mind.

  Images poured in, the deluge overwhelming at first. A series of unknown Raipierian women flashed behind her closed lids. Scimtarians, men and women, whirled in disordered succession, mixing and mingling with Raipierian women. One Scimtarian woman stared directly at Cheyna through the years, blood coating her face and arms.

  The room was in utter disarray, chairs overturned, sculptures smashed. Not one thing in the formally elegant room had escaped unscathed.

  Sprawled face down amid the chaos was her mate.

  Kyla Ktal flew across the room, knowing in her heart it was too late. That she was too late. She fell to her knees, next to a spreading flow of crimson. With exquisite gentleness, she turned her bondhusband over and cradled his head to her breast. Blood from a cut over his eye stained the once pristine whiteness of her moonsilk gown. She ignored it. Her heart swelling with anguish and denial, she rocked her bondhusband, refusing to believe he was leaving her. Her breath caught as his lids fluttered and lifted over eyes as blue as their daughter's promised to be. Eyes that were already dimming. Her own eyes filled as he struggled to sit upright, a deep, racking cough heralding the fact he had only minutes to live.

  Kyla helped her bondhusband, hot tears flowing down a face stark white with grief.

  Nrth Ktal pressed a hard object, covered with his lifeblood, into his bondwife's hand.

  "Keep it safe."

  The image slid away on a mist, dissipating even as Cheyna yearned to reach out and cling to the reflections of her mother and father.

  Kyla knelt, staring directly into the heart of the crystal. Her ethereal beauty was finely drawn with equal parts of determination, weariness and grief.

  "I don't know if you will ever see this, Daughter, but hope that you will is all that sustains me. I must complete this task, the last Nrth--your father--gave me. Slia, Advisor to your father, is off-world. Perhaps it is better so. She, at least, was safe from the madness that overtook our city. A madness that spread its evil over the planet. No one associated with the Great Lord's family was spared."

  "Into her mate's keeping, I left my greatest treasure--you, Cheyna. Sbraithe promised he would see you safely off-world. He gave me his vow to raise you with care and love. A Raipier's vow is more binding than death. Know this, Daughter, your father and I love you. We will always love you."

  Great painful drops slid from her deep green eyes.

  "Cheyna! Come out of it! Cheyna! Jkael, bondwife, don't you do this to me." Drakthe grabbed Cheyna by the shoulders and shook her hard. Tears slipped down her cheeks. He thought he had lost her inside that thing until she lifted wet, matted lashes, revealing eyes that were deep wells of pain.

  "Blood. She was crying blood. My mother knew the crystal was killing her, Drakthe, and still she persisted." Cheyna looked utterly lost as she put her head down on his shoulder and clutched at his shirt.

  His relief overwhelming, he hugged her to him. Rocking back and forth, he offered her the only thing he could, silent comfort. Hard shudders continued to rack her slender body. They stayed that way for a long time. The shudders slowed and gradually stopped. She pulled back slightly and looked at him.

  "She loved me. Do you know that?" she asked, remaining in his embrace. Cheyna drew a shaky breath. "My mother loved me."

  "I know. She sent you away because she loved you."

  She pushed against his chest. Drakthe reluctantly loosened his hold, but refused to sever all contact. He couldn't get out of his mind the way she seemed to sink inside that blasted crystal. It was like she crawled right into it and all that he had left was a husk. Fear was something he knew and accepted. He'd known it since childhood when fear of hunger, of waking to find a krees at his throat had been his constant companions. But this was different. This fear he didn't know how to handle. Drakthe rubbed his hands up and down her back, more, he conceded, to reassure himself than Cheyna.

  Cheyna dried her cheeks with the back of her hand. She sniffed. "She found him. My father. They had stabbed him in the back. She gave me to Sbraithe and demanded that he take me off-world and keep me safe. She could not go with me," Cheyna confided, "she had to hide the crystal."

  Drakthe watched his bondwife closely. "The NaturPaths intimated the crystal caused her death. How?" He kept her talking. Whatever she had seen on the crystal had clearly traumatized her.

  "My mother was not meant to handle this crystal. She knew her abilities were not strong enough to protect her, yet she had to carry out my father's last request. It was her duty."

  There was that word again. Duty. Duty had played a large role in his life, but now he was beginning to hate the word. "What now? Does your mother tell us where to find the Sheathe?"

  "No. However, the crystal does tell of another memory crystal."

  He compressed his lips at the answer and cursed softly. "Where?"

  "On the North Continent."

  Drakthe bit back a part
icularly pithy comment. "I don't suppose you could be a bit more precise?"

  She hesitated. When she concentrated on smoothing a wrinkle from her tunic, he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

  "Possibly. If you are willing, my lord."

  "Drakthe. What do you mean 'if I am willing'?" he asked, wary of what she would ask for this time.

  "Imprinted on the stone are instructions for locating the next memory crystal. A Raipierian imprinted her path."

  He felt a muscle in his jaw twitched sharply. "You want to go in my mind."

  "You complained before of losing a day. By showing you her directions we can avoid delays."

  Everything inside him screamed a refusal, urged him to call it quits. The trade route was secure and, despite the NaturPaths dire warning of some unforeseeable cataclysmic event, he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. In fact, since leaving the Agora, the Plains had returned to normal, difficult to traverse but nothing unnatural. He and Cheyna were chasing a legend. He didn't care what rhetoric the NaturPaths spouted to the contrary. Drakthe noted the obstinate set to his bondwife's chin. Cheyna would insist on continuing the mission, alone, if necessary.

  Ah, therein lay the rub. Much as he hated the notion of mindlinking, of having to admit it genuinely existed, he could not turn his back on his bondwife. She had slipped inside him somehow, insinuated herself into his life to the point he needed her there, assorted deceptions, half-truths and newly revealed status aside. Cheyna couldn't help her birth, no more than he could help his. And as much as it irritated him that she hadn't been open with him, he could understand her reasoning. He didn't have to like it, but he could understand it.

  She wanted him to allow her into his mind, knowingly and willingly. Every fiber of his being resisted. To allow her inside his head, to show him the thoughts and experiences of people long dead. He broke out in a cold chill and he thought about refusing.

  "Drakthe?" She touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers.

  Cheyna was Raipier in soul if not in blood. For her, the mindtouch was a welcomed fact of life. On Scimtar it was different. Here, intimating a person could mindtouch was a blood insult. To abhor anything remotely resembling psi ability was bred in the bone and blood.