Adrift in thought, the Simathe High-Chief hearkened back to the private words exchanged earlier with Lord Contrey, one of Treygon’s oldest, most honored warriors.
A deeply respected man, Lord Contrey could have been chosen High-Chief long ago had he so desired. But when asked, the man had declined, saying he would rather spend as little time in Laytrii, among his fellow Aerisians, as possible. Contrey had experienced too much of human weakness and frailty, betrayal, and mistrust in his many centuries years of life. The duties of Treygon’s High-Chief required that man to spend a certain amount of time in Laytrii each year, fulfilling his obligation as Pronconcil. To avoid this fate, Lord Contrey had gladly cast his vote in favor of Ilgard instead.
Earlier in the afternoon, while the young Artan slept, Contrey had come to his lord’s personal chambers for a word.
Finished eating, Ilgard leaned back in his chair, twirling his spoon idly between thumb and forefinger while recalling their conversation, which had begun with a soft rap on his door.
“High-Chief?”
“Contrey? Enter.”
The door opened and shut, admitting the older man into Ilgard’s chambers.
Contrey didn’t await an invitation but made free to take an unoccupied chair before the hearth. There was no need for ceremony when no others were present. Not only had Lord Contrey mentored him through much of his warrior’s training, each had defended the other many times in battle. Lord Contrey was a teacher, an advisor, a friend, a brother…which was why he’d felt compelled to seek out his lord on this matter.
“The journey was arduous, my lord?”
He opened the dialogue with a simple query.
Ilgard did not lift his gaze from the fire he was building. “Aye, though harder have I seen.”
“But never in such fair company, I daresay.”
His High-Chief’s head came up, and he pinned his companion with an unfriendly stare.
“Your meaning?”
The older warrior permitted no amusement to manifest itself upon his carefully schooled features. Waving a hand in dismissal, he brushed aside the subject.
“My lord,” he began slowly, “I wish to speak with you.”
“Of her?”
The reply was abrupt. This man was no simpleton.
“Aye, of her.”
“What about her?”
Pausing, Lord Contrey wrestled with how to state what he’d come to say. Their lengthy friendship notwithstanding, one did not lightly offend the Simathe High-Chief. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands loosely.
“You are aware, my lord, that I am one of few Simathe ever to undergo Joining.”
“I am aware.”
“Then you know I speak from personal knowledge. This…Joining with the lass, regardless of her call as Artan, will not be painless. This is no matter to be taken lightly.”
Rising from the hearth, Ilgard went to a side table, where he proceeded to pour a drink for himself and his guest.
“Do you take me for a fool, Contrey?”
“Nay, my lord. Not a fool—never that.”
“Then why these useless remarks? Surely you cannot think I’ve not considered these matters.”
“Considered? Aye. Fully understood? Perhaps not.”
“Explain yourself, my friend.”
Authority laced that voice and Contrey did not miss it, even as his High-Chief proceeded to serve him as he would an honored guest.
“My meaning is this: I have Joined once, as few among us have done. As you know, Joining has only ever been undertaken with a man of great importance, whose safety was paramount at the time. Never has a Simathe Joined with a woman. That aside, Joining is not simple or easy. All who have done it would say so.”
Ilgard nodded. “Continue.”
He did. “Joining with a fellow man is a hard task indeed. However, Joining with a woman will be thrice as challenging. To Join with another is to feel most of what they feel, and to suffer as they do. It is to know their joys and fears, their happiness and woe. It is to continually carry another presence with you, a burden you cannot relinquish until their death. You are never truly alone, for awareness of them is constant. So intertwined is their being with your consciousness that, in time, not only do you become responsible for their welfare but their contentment, as well.
“My lord,” he went on, “you know other men—they are not like us. At any point they are like to play the coward, and they lack the ability to suppress what they feel. Sorely do they try one’s patience.”
Contrey smiled wryly. “Had it not been for the vows I made, I would have been tempted to run a sword through my charge, so sorely did he vex me.
“So, this I say to you, because I am your friend: beware. Women are inexplicable creatures. Indeed, I judge that the men who wed them do not fully comprehend them. Your Joining with the Artan will undoubtedly be thornier than any of ours, for she will differ from you in ways a male of her kind would not.
“However, she is no ordinary woman. If she is truly the Artan, it is possible her lifespan may be lengthened beyond those of her people, and extended further by being linked to yours.”
He stopped—“You are aware of all this?”
Ilgard inclined his head. “Aye. You seek to warn me of the hardships inherent with Joining, and of the likelihood that the bond I share with the Artan will be of longer duration than most. Not merely longer but more perplexing, as she is female.”
“Aye.”
The High-Chief straightened his shoulders, gaze calm. “All that you say I’ve considered, and more. Howbeit, I value your counsel.”
“Very well, my lord. Such was my intent in addressing you.”
Swallowing the rest of his drink, Contrey set the cup aside and rose to leave. Yet upon reaching the door he stopped, turning back to his friend.
“My lord?”
Ilgard looked up from his wine.
Again the older man hesitated, tapping his scarred fingers on the wooden doorframe.
“One final word of warning would I give,” he said at last. “Since she is not Simathe, you must curb your spirit toward her. Bear in mind that the bond will differ in her mind. Far less will she know of you than you of her. She will not experience what you do.”
“Is that all?”
Contrey did not falter, but declared what he felt he must as judiciously as possible.
“Because she is a woman—and a not uncomely lass, at that—the vexations of Joining with her could, perhaps, change in time to something entirely different.”
His master’s face and voice tightened. “What is your meaning?”
“Only this, my lord,” the other replied, voice cool and hands gone still. “Guard well your heart.”
With that cryptic message he departed, leaving Treygon’s High-Chief alone with his gloomy deliberations.
Ilgard pulled his thoughts back to the present. Beside him sat the subject of Lord Contrey’s and his lengthy conversation. Having finished her meal, she was glancing about the dining hall, unmistakable interest in her oddly colored eyes. Leaning over, he placed a hand on the slender forearm resting atop the table. She started, eyes wide when she looked up at him.
“It is time,” he stated simply.
The Joining
Gut panic, combined with an animal instinct to bolt and hide, hit me at those quiet words, It is time. Time for my life to be irrevocably changed. Time for me to lose myself…in this man?
I honestly thought I’d made an uneasy peace with the idea of Joining, accepting it as inevitable. Now I found that wasn’t true. With the unknown staring me in the face, every primal urge shouted for me to run, to fight, to do anything except submit.
Licking lips suddenly gone dry, I whispered to the man beside me, “C’mon, Ilgard, let’s not do this. Please, let’s just let it go.”
Blank stare. I made so bold as to cover the hand he rested on the tabletop with my own, squeezing it while I tried again. “What
is with you? Please, let’s forget this. Nobody back at Laytrii has to know. Let it go. Let me go. I can’t do this.”
Fire flashed in those black eyes. Jerking free of my hold, he swept both of my hands under the tabletop where he clenched them in rough, calloused fingers.
“Look at me, my lady,” he lashed out. “Do you think I desire this any more than you? I tell you it is not so. Yet duty compels us both.” Pupil-less eyes scorched my face. “Now, will you come willingly, or must I carry you out over my shoulder like a recalcitrant child?”
Rage hit at the thinly veiled insult.
“You don’t have to carry me anywhere,” I snapped. “Let me go!”
He flung away rather than released my hands. “Then say no more. What is to be, must be. Let us be gone.”
Fury replaced all fear, if only temporarily. I shot to my feet. “Fine!”
Pushing back my chair with a vicious scrape, I stomped around and away from the table, my bare feet slapping the stone steps. Marching down the central runner, I ignored the Simathe who once again rose, standing in silent respect while I stormed past. I didn’t bother checking to see if their High-Chief was following. As soon as I cleared the door, I moved aside to lean against the wall, arms folded stiffly across my chest and lips pressed together.
Soon, the echoes of muted footsteps heralded Lord Ilgard exiting the dining hall, followed by his Chief Captain and four other men.
“Took you long enough,” I snapped, pulling away from the wall.
No response.
He started off down the corridor. Having no other recourse, I fell into step beside him. I think he walked fast on purpose so I would have to practically run to keep up. The other five Simathe in the narrow passageway pressed around and behind us, leaving no room for me to slow down.
“Jerk,” I muttered under my breath, glaring at the lead Simathe.
If he heard the insult he gave no indication, retaining that perfect, infuriating, Simathe calm. Evidently, the little rise of anger I’d managed to provoke at the dinner table would be the only show of passion I’d get from the man.
He led the way through long, twisting hallways toward another large wooden door. Here, we halted. He pulled a key dangling from a leather cord out from under his jerkin and used it to unlock the door. He motioned me to enter first. I obeyed, stepping into a tiny room whose only feature was a narrow spiral staircase, winding its way up, up, up.
I felt Ilgard brush past me, taking the stairs first. Grasping the carved, wooden banister attached to the wall, I went after him, making the steep ascent as quickly as I dared. The stairs were sheer, winding, and before long I was tiring. My bare feet ached; still, up we went. There was no railing guarding the other side—nothing but a sheer dropoff. I clung to the wall as we climbed, not daring to release my death grip on the railing or move even an inch closer to the opposite side of those narrow steps.
By the time we finally reached the top, I was flagging and out of breath. The Simathe leader, who suffered no similar ill effects, used the same key to unlock the door facing us and disappeared inside. Before doing likewise, I leaned against the doorjamb to catch my breath and peek inside.
The room was very dark. The only light slanted in from the tower behind me. I entered cautiously and stepped aside, permitting the others to file in behind me. Slowly, my eyes began to adjust to the darkness.
The last warrior entered and closed the door behind himself, sealing the seven of us inside and severing our sole source of light. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, and so hushed I could hear my companions breathing. A warm hand touched my arm and I jumped.
“Ilgard?”
“Come, my lady.”
Grasping my elbow, he guided me with sure steps to what I assumed was the center of this tower chamber. Above us, a square section of the roof slid back with soft creaks, revealing a patch of nighttime sky liberally sprinkled with stars. Soft light brightened the area. Although I could scarcely distinguish the set features of the warrior before me, his eyes—a deeper black than the shadows of night—gleamed unnaturally. The Simathe night vision?
I caught a breath when he drew his sword from its sheath, raising it slowly before his face. The men accompanying us stepped closer, forming a tight circle around their High-Chief and myself. Steel sighed as they also freed their blades, positioning them in front of their faces.
I took a nervous half step backward, and bumped into the man behind me. Panicking, I whirled to face him and again jolted backward, this time narrowly avoiding hitting the High-Chief. Lurching aside, I forced myself to stop and stand still, even though I couldn’t quit shivering in the cool air. Peering from one sword-covered face to the next, I nervously rubbed my upper arms in a vain attempt to get rid of the gooseflesh raised by fear as well as cold.
The first ray of moonlight dropped through the opening above, spilling onto the floor where Ilgard and I stood. As it did, all of the men—excluding their High-Chief—took two even steps backward. I gulped, gazing up fearfully at the man looming over me. He lowered his sword, stretching it out before him until its deadly tip was level with my waist. I tracked its movements with wide eyes, unable to look away. That first shimmering moonbeam now lay cold upon the blade’s point.
“Lady Hannah?” The quiet words came from somewhere behind me. “The time has come. Will you agree to the Joining, to accepting the protection of this sword and the one who offers it?”
Ilgard’s eyes caught mine. Under their steady assault, I could no more have refused than I could have stolen his sword and pierced myself with it.
“Yes,” I finally choked out.
Time crept by, long seconds spent unable to avert my gaze from the Simathe lord. That eerie black stare bordered on hypnotism. As a full moon rose over the mountains, more light spilled into the tower chamber from the open, glassless skylight high above. When it nearly filled the entire opening, splashing coldly over the two of us, the High-Chief spoke.
“My lady, forasmuch as you have accepted my protection, hereby do I bind myself to you in the act of Joining, a bond severed only by death.
“Take up my sword.”
My trembling hands closed around the hilt he offered, but the weapon was heavier than expected, and I faltered. The tip teetered toward the floor until the warrior closed his fingers over mine, catching it up. Together, we lifted the heavy blade high into the air between us, piercing the moonbeams shining down.
Looking up, I witnessed the last inch of space in that skylight suddenly fill with moonlight. At that instant, an inexplicable streak of white enclosed us both. A gust of wind rushed in, swirling round and around, threatening to knock me off my feet. Its roar filled my ears, while a pressure from the outside built against my body. I gritted my teeth against the onslaught and saw Ilgard close his eyes a split second before my own slid shut.
Suddenly, I was aware of nothing but him. There was nothing, nothing in the world except the Simathe High-Chief and me, the two of us swathed in moonlight with only his sword between us. I could tangibly feel his presence, his nearness. It felt as if he, or his spirit—I don’t know which—kept stealing closer to enter me and take possession of my soul. I could hear his breath, feel his heartbeat, feel the blood coursing through his veins as if it was my own…
A second blast of wind jostled me and I stumbled, losing my grip on the sword. I plunged to my knees, and just like that it was gone: the wind, the total awareness of the warrior lord, even the brilliant shaft of moonlight. All had faded, leaving a mild, white glow that suffused the chamber with softness. It might’ve been comforting, had this whole ritual not been so bizarre.
Knocked for a loop, I knelt on the floor, breathing hard. Waves of dizziness swept over me. My head hung low while I fought nausea. And then arms were closing about me, lifting me to my feet. Even without looking, I knew who it was, knew it as surely as I knew my own name. My head drooped against his shoulder as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me close
.
“Ilgard?”
I whispered his name helplessly, darkness creeping in at the corners of my vision. My limbs went numb, and I toppled into unconsciousness.
Part Three
Joined
Confronting the High-Chief
During the next week I kept to my room, seeing and speaking to practically no one. Meals were delivered to my door, a soft rap announcing their arrival. By the time I stepped out in the hall to retrieve them, nobody was in sight. My clothing and personal effects arrived one night while I slept. Next morning, when I went to get my breakfast I found them lined up against the wall in the hallway. I did have to get one of the guards stationed at the end of the corridor to come help me move the trunks into my room, but other than that I kept to myself and the Simathe left me alone.
Throughout this period of solitude, I mentally replayed each and every incident comprising my life thus far in Aerisia. Every word spoken, each legend and story I’d been told, every scene of humor, anguish, joy, or terror. As I did, I ran an emotional gamut from disbelief, fear, and anger—the most prevailing emotion of all—to loneliness, grief, and homesickness. I’m not going lie: there were times I felt like despairing. I just wanted to go home. To see my family again would’ve been the greatest gift anyone could have given me.
Now I deeply regretted not having taken the time to say goodbye, at least in my heart, to my life on Earth and the people I’d loved. I wished I’d done what Risean had recommended. Still, how could I possibly have known what was coming? I couldn’t have foreseen everything that would happen, and couldn’t guess even now what the future might bring.
During one of these inward journeys, I rose from my bed where I’d been curled up with my pillows and a wet hankie and moved to the window, resting my head against the cool glass. Gazing out at the distant mountains with their green tree lines and rugged dark cliffs brought to mind the high, rocky peaks of my native Colorado. My eyelids drifted closed as tears trickled down my cheeks.
The Sunset Lands Beyond (The Complete Series, Books 1-3): An epic portal fantasy boxed set Page 19