Chapter Thirteen
Whore? Whore?
As No'One cast herself unto the Other Side and reentered the Sanctuary she had spent centuries in, she could get neither that word nor her anger out of her head.
Down below, in the training center, clean laundry had never been folded so viciously, and when she had finished her duties, staying in the mansion for the daylight hours had not been possible.
This was her only other destination.
And it was about time to come here to refresh herself anyway.
Standing in the field of colorful flowers, she took deep breaths. . . and prayed that she would be left alone. The Chosen were a kindly lot of sacred females and they deserved better than what she had to offer even a casual passerby - fortunately, they were mostly over on the Far Side now with the Primale.
Hitching up her robing, she started to walk, marching through the perpetually blooming tulips with their fat hats in vibrant, jewel-like hues. She kept going until her bad leg started to protest. And then still she continued to promenade.
The Scribe Virgin's precious territory was bound on all four sides by a thick forest, and peppered with classically styled buildings and temples. No'One knew every roof, every wall, every path, every pool - and now in her fury, she made a broad circle about it all.
Anger animated her, driving her forward toward. . . nothing and nobody. And yet nonetheless she surged on.
How could he who had seen her suffer ever call her that? She had been a virgin violently robbed of the gift she had intended to give whomever she would have mated.
Whore!
Indeed, Tohrment was not the male she had once known - and as the thought occurred, she reflected that in this they were the same. She, too, had shed an earlier incarnation of herself, but unlike him, her current persona was an improvement.
After a while, her leg ached so much she had to slow down. . . and then stop. The pain was a great clarifier, making the environment she was actually in supersede the one she had left down below but kept with her.
She was standing afore the Temple of the Sequestered Scribes.
It was unoccupied. As had all the other buildings been.
As she looked around, the true depth of the quiet sank in. The landscape was utterly unoccupied. It was as if, in a rake of irony, the vibrant color that had finally come hereto had not just replaced the pervasive white, but chased away all the life.
Recalling the past, when there had been so much to tend to, she realized that in truth, she had gone to the Other Side not just to seek her daughter, but to find another place where she could busy herself to exhaustion so that she did not think overly much.
Here she had nothing to do.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, she was going to go mad.
Abruptly, an image of Tohrment, son of Hharm's naked shoulders filled her mind until she was blinded by it.
WELLESANDRA
The name was carved on the breadth of his musculature in the Old Language, the marking of a true union of bodies and souls.
After having something like that ripped away by fate, he was no doubt as ruined as she herself was. And she had been angry at first, too. When she had arrived here after her death and was shown her duties by the Directrix, her numbness had melted away, revealing a fire of rage. There had been nothing to lash out at except for herself, however - and she had done that for decades.
At least until she had come to realize the "why" of her fate, the purpose behind her tragedy, the cause of her salvation.
She had been given a second chance so that she could be born anew into a role of service and humility, and learn the error of her previous ways.
Pushing the temple's door wide, she limped into the lofty room, where the rows of desks and rolls of parchment and flares of feather quills were. At each station, in the center of the workspace, was a round crystal bowl filled three-quarters of the way with water so pure that it was nearly invisible.
Indeed, Tohrment was suffering as she had, perhaps just starting the journey she felt as though she had completed over too many years to count. And though her anger was an easy emotion to feel in the face of his unjust accusation, understanding and compassion were the harder, more valuable stances to take. . .
She had learned this from the example the Chosen set.
Although understanding required knowledge, she thought, staring at one of the bowls.
As she stepped forward, she was uneasy with the quest she was about to initiate, and she chose a station far, far in the back, away from both the doors and the cathedral-size leaded windows.
Sitting down, she found no dust on the surface of the desk, nor minute debris within or upon the water, nor dried-up ink in the bottle - in spite of the fact that it had been a long while since the room had been filled with females seeking out the events of the race down below and recording the history that appeared unto their kindly eyes.
No'One picked up the bowl, holding it with her palms, not her fingers. With barely perceptible movement, she began to circle the water, picturing Tohrment's back as clearly as she was able.
Soon enough, a story began to unfold, told in moving pictures that were trussed in living color, and animated by love.
She had never before thought to search him and his life out in the bowls. The few times she had come here, it had been to check on her family's fortunes and the course of her daughter's life. Now, though, she knew it had been too painful for her to look into the pair of warriors who had given her shelter and protected her.
In her final, most cowardly act, she had betrayed them both.
On the surface of the water, she saw Tohrment with a red-haired female of grand stature - they were waltzing, she in that red gown, he robeless and showing off the fresh scarification that spelled out her name in the Old Language. He was so happy, incandescently so, his love and bonding making him shine like the North Star.
There were other scenes that followed, drifting down through the years, from when it had been all new between them to the comfort that came with familiarity, from small abodes to larger ones, from good times where they laughed together to hard times when they argued.
It was the very best that life had to offer anyone: a person to love and be loved by, with whom you carved meaning in the oak trunk of time's perennial passing.
And then another scene.
The female was in a kitchen, a lovely, gleaming kitchen, standing before a stove. There was a pan on the heat, some meat cooking therein, and she had a spatula in her hand. She wasn't looking downward, however. She was staring into the space afore her, her eyes unfocused as smoke began to curl up.
Tohrment appeared across the way, rushing into the doorway. He called out her name and grabbed a small towel, going over to a fixture on the ceiling and whisking the cloth back and forth with vigor as he winced as though his ears hurt.
Over at the stove, Wellesandra jumped to attention and shoved the burning pan from the red-hot coil. She began speaking, and though there was no sound associated with the pictures, it was clear she was making apologies.
After all was settled and calmed and no longer afire, Tohrment leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke for a bit. Then he went silent.
It was a long while before Wellesandra answered. In the previous pictures of their life, she had always appeared to be strong and direct. . . now her expression was hesitant.
When she finished her reply, her lips pursed together and her eyes locked on her mate.
Tohrment's arms gradually unfolded until they hung limp by his sides, and his mouth grew lax as well, his jaw unlatching to fall open. His eyes blinked repeatedly, open and shut, open and shut, open and shut. . . .
When he finally moved, it was with the grace of someone who had broken every bone in his body: He lurched across the distance that separated them and fell to his knees before his shellan. Reaching up with shaking hands, he tou
ched her lower belly as tears watered his eyes.
He didn't say a word. Just gathered his mate to him, his big, strong arms enveloping her waist, his wet cheek coming to rest on her womb.
Above him, Wellesandra started to smile. . . beam, really.
Down below her happiness, however, Tohr's face was cast in lines of terror. As if he knew, even then, that the pregnancy she rejoiced in was doom for all three of them -
"I thought I'd find you on this side. "
No'One whipped around, the water in the bowl splashing out onto her robe, the image ruined.
Tohrment stood in the doorway sure as if her invasion of his privacy had called him forth to protect what was rightly his. His temper had dissipated, but even in the absence of anger, his gaunt face was nothing close to what she had just seen of him.
"I've come to apologize," he said.
She carefully put the bowl back, watching as the choppy surface of the water calmed down and the level slowly rose to what it had been, replenished from an unknown, unseeable reservoir.
"I figured I'd wait until I sobered up a little - "
"I've been watching you," she said. "In the bowl. With your shellan. "
That shut him up.
Getting to her feet, No'One smoothed her robe even though it fell as it always did, in straight, shapeless folds of cloth. "I understand why you are in a foul way and quick to temper. It is in the nature of a wounded animal to strike out at even a friendly hand. "
When she looked up, he was frowning so deeply, his brows were a single line. Not exactly an opening for conversation. But it was time to clear the air between them, and as with the debridement of a festering wound, one could expect it to hurt.
The infection must be wrestled from the flesh, however.
"How long ago did she die?"
"Killed," he said after a moment. "She was killed. "
"How long. "
"Fifteen months, twenty-six days, seven hours. I'd have to check a watch for the minutes. "
No'One walked over to the windows and looked out over the bright green grass. "How did you find out she had been taken from you?"
"My king. My brothers. They came to me. . . and they told me she had been shot. "
"What happened after that?"
"I screamed. I took myself somewhere, anywhere else. I cried for weeks in the wilderness alone. "
"You didn't perform a Fade ceremony?"
"I didn't come back for nearly a year. " He cursed and scrubbed his face. "I can't believe you're asking me this shit, and I can't believe I'm answering. "
She shrugged. "It is because you were cruel to me at the pool. You feel guilty, and I feel like you owe me something. The latter makes me bold and the former loosens your lips. "
He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. "You're very smart. "
"Not really. It is obvious. "
"What did you see in the bowls?"
"Are you sure you wish me to say?"
"All of it plays in my head on an endless loop. Not gonna be a news flash, whatever it is. "
"She told you she was pregnant in your kitchen. You fell to the floor before her - she was happy, you were not. "
As he blanched, she wished she'd shared one of the other scenes.
And then he surprised her. "It's weird. . . but I knew it was bad news. Too much good fortune. She wanted one so badly. Every ten years we fought about it when she had her needing. Finally, it got to the point where she was going to leave me if I didn't agree to let her try. It was like choosing between taking a bullet or a blade - either way, I knew. . . somehow I was going to lose her. "
Using the crutch, he hobbled over to a chair, pulled it out, and sat down. As he awkwardly maneuvered his injured foot around, she realized they had yet another thing in common.
She approached him slowly and unevenly and sat at the desk beside him. "I am so sorry. " When he seemed a bit surprised, she shrugged once again. "How can I not offer condolences in the face of your loss? In truth, after seeing you both together, I don't think I shall ever forget how much you loved her. "
After a moment, he murmured hoarsely, "That makes two of us. "
As they fell silent, Tohr stared at the small, hooded figure sitting so still next to him. They were separated by about four feet, each parked at one of the scribing desks. But they seemed closer than that.
"Take your hood off for me. " As No'One hesitated, he tacked on, "You saw the best of my life. I want to see your eyes. "
Her pale hands lifted, and they shook ever so slightly as she removed what covered her face.
She didn't look at him. Likely couldn't.
With dispassionate focus, he measured the spectacular angles of her features. "Why do you wear that all the time. "
She took a deep breath, the robe rising and falling such that he was forced to remember she was probably still naked under it.
"Tell me," he demanded.
As she squared her shoulders, he thought that anyone who believed this female was weak had another think coming.
"This face" - she motioned around her perfectly angled jaw and her rosy, high cheeks - "is not who I am. If people see it, they treat me with a deference that is inappropriate. Even the Chosen did so. I cover it up because if I don't, then I am propagating a lie, and even if it grinds upon only me, that is enough. "
"You have quite a way of putting things. "
"Is the explanation not sufficient. "
"It is. " When she went to raise the thing up again, he reached out and put his hand on her arm. "If I promise to forget what you look like, will you keep it down? I can't judge your mood as well when you're hiding - and in case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly talking about the weather here. "
She kept her hand on one half of the hood, as if she couldn't let go. And then she locked her eyes on him - so directly he recoiled.
It was the first time she'd really looked at him, he realized. Ever.
Speaking with likewise candor, she said, "Just so that you and I are utterly clear with each other, I have no interest in any male. I am sexually repulsed by your kind, and that includes yourself. "
He cleared his throat. Pulled at his muscle shirt. Shifted in the chair.
Then he took a slow, relieved breath.
No'One continued, "If I have offended you - "
"No, not at all. I know it's not personal. "
"It truly is not. "
"To be honest, it makes things. . . easier. Because I feel the same way. "
At this, she actually smiled a little. "Two peas in a pod are we, indeed. "
They were quiet for a time. Until he said abruptly, "I'm still in love with my shellan. "
"Why wouldn't you be. She was lovely. "
He felt himself smile for the first time in. . . so long. "It wasn't just her looks. It was everything about her. "
"I could tell by the way you stared at her. You were enthralled. "
He picked up one of the quills and checked out the fine, sharp cut of its tip. "God. . . I was nervous that night we were mated. I wanted her so badly - and I couldn't believe she was going to be mine. "
"Was it arranged?"
"Yeah, by my mahmen. My father didn't care about that kind of thing - or for me, for that matter. But my mother took care of things the best she could - and she was smart. She knew if I got a good female, I'd be set for life. Or at least. . . that was the plan. "
"Is your mahmen alive?"
"No, and I'm glad she isn't. She wouldn't have. . . liked any of this. "
"And your father?"
"He's dead, too. He disowned me until he got close to the grave. About six months before he died, he called me to him - and I wouldn't have gone but for Wellsie. She made me, and she was right. He formally reclaimed me on his deathbed. I'm not sure why it was so important to him, but there you go. "
"What about Darius? I have not seen him
around - "
"He was killed by the enemy. Just before Wellsie was. " As she gasped and put her hand to her mouth, he nodded. "It's been hell, really. "
"You are all alone," she said in a small voice.
"I have my brothers. "
"Do you let them in. "
With a short laugh, he shook his head. "You are hell's bells with the rhetoricals, you know that?"
"I am sorry, I - "
"No, don't apologize. " He put the quill back in its holder. "I like talking to you. "
As he heard the surprise in his own voice, he laughed harshly. "Man, I'm just making all kinds of charm points with you tonight, aren't I. " Slapping his thighs to end their conversation, he got to his feet with the help of the crutch. "Listen, I also came here to do a little research. Do you know where the library is? Damned if I can find it. "
"Yes, of course. " As she stood, she swept that hood up over her head again. "I shall take you there. "
While she went past him, he frowned. "You're limping worse than usual. Did you get hurt?"
"No. When I move around too much, it aches. "
"We could take care of that down below - Manello is - "
"Thank you, but no. "
Tohr threw out a hand and stopped her before she went out the door. "The hood. Leave it down, please. " When she didn't respond, he said, "There's no one here but us. You're safe. "