Naomi felt nauseous. She wanted to throw the ax as far away as possible, but controlled the urge. Nathan had instilled a healthy respect for the weapons at the monastery—it wasn’t the fault of the tool when it broke, it was the fault of the person wielding it. Just as it wasn’t the fault of the ax that she’d almost killed her mentor and the only elf on Earth. That fault would have been hers.
His bleeding had slowed to a sluggish crawl. “Help a brother up.”
She took his offered hand and assisted him to his feet.
“That was a hell of a one-two-three punch, little filly.” He rubbed his abdomen where she’d struck him. “I think you might have bruised bone.”
Naomi ducked her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Hey, none of that now!” Bloodstained fingers touched her chin, tilting her head back up. “You did precisely what you were supposed to do, exactly what I trained you to do. When it comes time to take down your enemy, you don’t apologize afterward, got it?” She nodded and he chucked her chin. “Good. Now let’s clean up the mess.”
She hastened to get a broom while he stomped out the smoldering feathers in the center of the room. Soon the only evidence that anything had happened was the scorch mark on the flagstone. When they were finished, Nathan sent her off to bed. That surprised her. Normally they’d discuss the session afterward, Nathan pointing out her weaknesses and offering alternatives to strengthen her offensive moves.
Nonplussed at the change, still horrified at how close she’d come to killing him, she took a quick shower and crawled into bed. Sleep refused to claim her. Despite her exhaustion, she stared at the ceiling, reliving his ambush. Until he’d conceded the fight, she’d been on autopilot. Analyzing her attack plan, she saw the activity in her mind as if it would have happened. She’d swing the ax, delivering a sharp blow that would have severed his spinal cord.
The thought nauseated her. She pushed the scene out of her head and rolled onto her side. Nathan hadn’t been wrong when she’d first arrived. He’d said his job was to teach her how to defend herself against physical attack and he’d succeeded. Too well. Naomi had never liked the idea, but the mental and emotional discipline he’d taught her was intrinsically bound to the elven martial arts. It was impossible to have one without the other. As much as she enjoyed the peaceful aspect of the meditations, she still felt trepidation at her growing lethality.
Through it all she wondered why Inanna had sent her here. Nestled deep in the Carpathian Mountains, her complex housed a peaceful people—teachers, students and their families. Inanna wasn’t raising an army. There were no militant discussions among the residents. Weapons weren’t stockpiled. Naomi didn’t think anyone in the complex had ever picked up a rifle for anything but hunting. What was Inanna’s reason for sending her only adopted daughter to a man who would teach her to kill?
“Doan fret, mi lova.”
Naomi smiled at the Caribbean slang. Her invisible friend’s accent always thickened when Naomi was depressed, attempting to jolly her from the doldrums. Naomi remembered her meditation, her friend’s soothing song turning disharmonious. That had been what had warned Naomi something was wrong. “Thanks for helping out.”
“Couldn’t let him get the drop on you.”
She felt smug pleasure radiating from the dark. Her smile faded as she replayed Nathan’s attack. If he hadn’t have yielded, would she have really have killed him?
“Doan fret.”
Naomi rolled her eyes. “Is there anything more annoying than a figment of my imagination ordering me around?” She didn’t receive a response but knew she wasn’t yet alone. She drew in a deep breath and rolled onto her back again. “Tomorrow’s my birthday.” Sorrow blotted out her concerns about the afternoon. “You know what that means.”
The Caribbean girl’s voice became as sober as her own. “You go home.”
Naomi’s throat ached and her eyes stung. “I go home,” she repeated. Silence filled the darkened room, broken only by the sound of their breathing. She debated her next words, not wanting to know the answer despite a burning need to know. Gathering her courage, she turned her head toward where she imagined her friend sat. “Will I ever hear you again?”
“Oh, you’ll hear me.” The gravelly voice held a lower register and seemed to have moved closer.
Closing her eyes, Naomi tried to imagine what her friend looked like. With her accent, she always pictured a dark-skinned Jamaican girl with a wicked smile and deep brown eyes. “When? Will I hear you at home?” In her daydream, she saw the girl frown, knowing the answer before she heard it.
“You’ll hear me someday. We’re meant for each other.”
That statement almost always signaled the end of their conversations. Naomi sniffled, the tears beginning to spill over. Tomorrow she would climb down the mountain and return home. She’d be too far from the thinning between the worlds, too far away to hear her friend. And what did it say about her that her dearest friend in all the world was a disembodied voice? Had she been so lonely before her arrival here that she’d created the Caribbean girl from her imagination? Had she taken her general popularity at the complex so much for granted that she hadn’t been able to forge a deep connection with any of her peers?
Voice cracking, Naomi said, “What if I don’t hear you ever again? What if…what if you don’t exist?” She didn’t expect the resultant laughter. It startled her, and she opened her eyes to stare into the darkness. When the Caribbean girl spoke again, it was a husky whisper breathing into Naomi’s ear.
“We’re meant for each other, lova. Never doubt it.”
* * *
The old net on the football field had been repaired or replaced. Gaps that had once allowed the occasional ball through into the forest undergrowth no longer existed. Naomi paused to finger the frosted rope, looking up to scan the snow-covered playing field.
Home was near—just down the road and past the playground. Despite a powerful desire to run headlong toward it, Naomi held back. She remembered the bittersweet parting of a year ago, the excitement as she walked this path in reverse, heading toward her destiny. But what sort of destiny had she inherited? One that required death and destruction, the training of an assassin? No matter how often she meditated on her doubts or attempted to wheedle explanations from Nathan she couldn’t rectify the experience of her childhood with the knowledge that Inanna had wanted Naomi to learn how to kill.
Naomi released the rope, puffs of frost floating into the air as she turned back to the road. Approaching the playground, she recalled the exhilarating sensation of traveling the path toward adulthood as she began her trek to the monastery. It had felt liberating. Now she walked in reverse, from adolescence back into childhood. Something stifled her spirit, smothering the young adult she’d become during her absence. She missed her mother, her people, but her recently acquired maturity flaked away the closer she came to the complex.
What did her future hold? Would Inanna expect Naomi to settle back into her childhood? Apprehension trickled through her as she tried to envision her old life—gossiping with the other girls her age, listening guilelessly to her tutors and reading ridiculous romance novels. That was childhood. That life no longer existed.
What will happen to me now?
She rounded a snow-covered garden, catching her first sight of the complex. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she shivered. Glancing over her shoulder, she almost considered returning to the monastery, returning to Nathan. This homecoming would be so much easier if she had her Caribbean friend to support her, sing to her, whisper with her during the lonely nights.
Naomi swallowed against the lump in her throat. How sad that she preferred an imaginary friend to her own mother.
“Doan fret, mi lova.”
She smiled at the memory of the girl’s voice. “I won’t,” she whispered. “I promise.” Deeply inhaling, she stood straighter and marched toward the complex. We were meant for each other.
Chapter Nine<
br />
Naomi wandered the halls alone, the sound of Solstice merriment a bare murmur in the background.
So many people! After a year of near-isolation, the number of attendees at her homecoming cum holiday party had overwhelmed her. It seemed as if they’d doubled in number since she’d left, though she recognized all but the handful of babes that had been born during her absence. The merrymakers were dancing and singing now, working off the delicious feast, raising their voices to celebrate the return of the sun. As much as the music enlightened Naomi’s spirits, she’d fled the festivity for much needed solitude.
She’d been unable to speak privately to Inanna, incapable of drawing her away to discuss the thousands of questions she’d gathered over the past twelve months. Once past the immediate spike of adolescent pique at the imagined slight, Naomi realized that her mother had always been busily diligent during Solstice. Rather than avoidance, Inanna was running the complex and its conviviality with the same efficiency she’d always had. The fanciful emotional distance only existed in Naomi’s mind. Once things settled, once the revelers tottered off to their beds, Naomi would have her mother’s undivided attention. Inanna had never ignored her; Naomi doubted such neglect would begin now. Meanwhile, she wandered the halls of her childhood, uncertain about her future, wishing for the familiar monastery with its meditations and sparring.
The thought stopped her. She hadn’t practiced her forms today, having left Nathan before dawn had fully brightened the sky. The journey down the mountain hadn’t been nearly as exhausting as climbing it had been months ago, and her overall health had improved with the constant activity during her stay. Was that why she felt restless now—lack of exercise?
Naomi glanced about, her aimless wandering having taken her into Inanna’s private wing, the suite of rooms Naomi had lived in her entire life. There was the door to her bedroom and there, Inanna’s. This wing held a private bathing area, kitchen and common area as well. Naomi drifted into the large common room, practiced eye gauging the available space. Yes, this will do fine.
She shoved an armchair aside and kicked off shoes and socks. Returning to the middle of the empty space, she closed her eyes and centered herself until she felt every grain of the wooden floor through the soles of her feet. Weaving the forms of elven martial arts was similar to meditation and required a certain level of internal attuning during practice sessions. She reached her balance point, opened her eyes and began. Her body moved on automatic, flowing from one form to another, muscles stretching and bunching in accordance with her gestures. Oddly, a sense of peace settled into her soul as she conducted her warlike exercise, both her body and mind relaxing.
Naomi worked her way through the forms, more than three hundred of them. She finished the final one, hands poised gracefully before her with wrists crossed, palms out, right foot extended in a position that would forcefully punch or push her opponent back. As she straightened to the starting stance, she noted that the room had become darker. An hour or more had passed. She drew a deep breath, feeling tranquil and loose, warm from the exercise. The Solstice celebration would go on for a while longer. Perhaps it was time to rejoin the party.
Turning, she saw Inanna silently watching. A flutter of butterflies interrupted Naomi’s mental equilibrium though she couldn’t say why.
Inanna smiled and approached. “That was enthralling.”
Naomi blushed. “Thank you.”
“I’d wondered where you’d gotten off to.” Inanna took Naomi’s hands in hers. “Too much stimulation?”
“Yes.” Naomi enjoyed the touch. Nathan’s only contact had been militant, and she’d missed the hugs and touches of her youth. The lack had been one of the hardest things to reconcile with her training. It hadn’t helped that her Caribbean friend was incorporeal, unable to provide the relief of physical connection. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been around more than one person.”
“You’ll become accustomed once again.” Inanna leaned forward, lightly kissing Naomi’s cheek.
She had to reach up to do so, and Naomi realized she was taller than the one woman who meant the world to her. When did that happen? “I missed you, Mama.”
Inanna caressed Naomi’s cheek. “And I missed you, sweetness. Every day.” She pulled Naomi’s hand, directing her toward the sitting area. “Come, sit. I’ve brought Turkish coffee. We can talk. I’m sure you have many questions.”
Only then did Naomi notice the tray on the nearby incidental table. Inanna had entered the common room laden with a salver of food and drink without disturbing Naomi’s martial dance. She frowned. Nathan would take her to task for not paying attention to her surroundings. Her frown deepened as she forcibly set the concern aside. Inanna wasn’t her enemy.
They sat together on a divan, pillows propping them up as they faced one another and sipped from steaming cups. A plate of Croatian povitica sat between them, and Naomi nibbled at the sweet yeasty bread. It was her favorite holiday treat, baked to perfection. The moist walnut filling did much to reinforce her sense of homecoming, so much so that she found herself loathe to broach the subjects she’d wanted to discuss.
Inanna let several minutes pass before speaking. “Your questions?”
Naomi peered at her over her cup. There were so many. How would she know what to ask first? Start at the beginning. “Nathan.”
“Ah, Nathan.” Inanna remained silent for several minutes, thinking. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “Once a long time ago we were at odds, Nathan and I. The world was young and we were both full of ourselves, each positive that we held the truth of the danger threatening our universes. His people held control over large areas of this world, wreaking their havoc upon mankind. The fairy folk had their realm but felt threatened by man. They actively kept humans intellectually stunted, jealously guarding the magic that permeated all things. They arrogantly assumed they could rule mankind forever.” She peered into her cup with a smile. “I felt that humanity had the potential to become strong, to use both the physical and ethereal tools available to evolve into higher beings. Nathan, the ruler of all fairy folk, had other ideas.” Sobering, she caught Naomi’s eye. “He was wrong. With help from an exceptional student, I won that battle. It forever trapped Nathan on this side.”
“You trapped him?” Naomi blinked. She’d detected a bitter core of hopelessness in Nathan, one she’d attributed to his banishment. It had never occurred to her that Inanna had been the person responsible for his plight. Despite that kernel of rancor, what little she’d gleaned from Nathan hadn’t indicated he’d wanted to reopen access to his home. If anything, he’d sung the praises of her mother, insisting that the portal to his homeland should remain barred to him. “But why does he work with you now? What changed his mind? Why doesn’t he want that door to be open? He has family on the other side—sisters, a brother, a wife.”
“Over the centuries Nathan has come to understand the fickleness of humanity.” Inanna tilted her head, her expression firm. “Before he was adamant about controlling mankind. Now he realizes how thin lies the veneer of mastery over a human. The closing of the door released the bonds of servitude from man and has ultimately protected the realm on the other side. Consider what this world would be like had that door remained unobstructed. The fairy folk would wander the Earth and create unrelieved havoc among us. Your only experience is with an elf—there are many races on the other side, many more dangers inherent in their natures and abilities. Worse, magic would be much stronger than it already is. Humans would have access to horrible powers that are only dreamed of in books. Look what humans do now in the name of progress and science. The world is wilting, spots of disease grow on its surface, spreading everywhere. Do you think that they’d be any less careless with magic?”
Naomi gaped. Magic? Fairy folk? While she’d come to terms with the fact that her teacher for the past year was in actuality a refugee elf, she’d refused to allow her mind to fully contemplate the next logical step. She pondered Inanna’s wor
ds. Along with elves came dwarfs and faeries, the old European burrows where the fey lived and played, trapping men and women who accidentally wandered into their realms. By extension, trolls and ogres had to be as real as Nathan, and countless other beings of which she’d never before heard. Unwilling to lose herself in that maw of the unknown, she focused on another word. “Magic was in the world before you closed the door?”
“Indeed, yes. A raw and potent spiritual element, extremely perilous to the user and his or her victims. The ancient myths of sorcerers have a basis in reality.”
Naomi had been an excellent student of history and mythology. She narrowed her eyes. “You mean like Merlin in the Dark Ages.”
“Merlin didn’t exist, at least not during the time period of his legend. Nathan’s door has been sealed for millennia. Merlin is an oral story told by the campfire of times long past. That tale was expanded upon as the centuries swept by before it was finally written down.”
Naomi could accept that Nathan had been stranded for thousands of years, at least on an abstract level. It was impossible for her to imagine it, however, not without horror. To be exiled for centuries is bad enough. She stared at Inanna. “But you said you opposed Nathan, that the door was open and you closed it. Is there some sort of time distortion involved? How long ago did this happen?”
Inanna’s eyes softened and she set her cup aside. “Quite some time ago.”
“Quite some…” Naomi put her cup down as well and leaned forward over the dessert plate. “How long? Exactly.” Her mother appeared nervous. Nervous? Inanna hadn’t ever looked troubled during their esoteric discussions, not in all the years Naomi had known her. “Tell me.”
“Before recorded time.”
Again, Naomi blinked, not quite grasping the answer. “Before recorded time,” she repeated, voice wooden. “Like before the ancients discovered writing? That kind of recorded time?”
Darkstone Page 9