As if one could refuse the venerable mystic’s summons. It was over. Lorgin was right; there had never been a choice, now or before.
He looked up at Lorgin, eyes bright. A man caught between honor and self-preservation. The mettle of the man spoke volumes in just three small words.
“I will come.”
Lorgin said nothing, but placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder.
It was late when Lorgin entered the bedchamber. He had stayed with Traed for some time. It did not seem right to leave the man alone after revealing such truths to him, so they drank keeran, sitting side by side in front of the fire, mostly silent. Lorgin knew that ofttimes more was said with silence than with words. He believed this was such a time.
They agreed it would be best to leave at daybreak. Traed told Lorgin of a little-known tunnel point his father had told him of, a day’s journey to the west, high in the mountains. Although more difficult to access, its proximity to the keep, and Lorgin’s need for haste, made it the better choice.
At least their trek through the desert would be lessened considerably.
Lorgin gazed down at Deana fast asleep under the cover, curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed. The nights of Zarrain were, indeed, chilly. Quickly he shed his clothes, getting under the warm blanket.
He was not surprised when she rolled right over into his arms.
Smiling to himself, he waited for her to push her knee between his thighs. It was her favorite sleeping position with him, since their very first night together in the sanfrancisco; and he did not think she was even aware of it.
Ah…yes. He felt her leg slide between his.
His palm ran down her back, enjoying the feel of her soft skin as he idly stroked her saucy curls, trailing them with the tips of his fingers down her back. She made a little sound and cuddled her face deeper into his chest as she slept.
Lorgin gazed down at Adeeann lying peacefully in his arms, his thoughts wandering back over his conversation with Traed.
For the first time, he thought about Theardar, not only the suffering the man had caused, but how he must have suffered as well. Having to watch his child grow within his woman, knowing that with its life came her death. Did a man pray for the death of his child or his wife? How could he choose? Combine that with the knowledge that he was the executioner of that which he loved above all else…It was enough to drive a man mad…if he was not already mad.
His hold on Deana tightened as he tried to place himself in the mind of Theardar. It was a technique Yaniff had taught him as a means of gaining understanding and perspective. The mystic believed that only in such a way could one truly understand the intricacy of a situation. The large picture, Yaniff would tell him, shows much, but tells little. Look for the small pictures, the details within—there lies the pathway to the truth.
He tried, but it was impossible to have a full sense of Theardar, for Lorgin was not of a like mind and would never have committed the deeds that Theardar had. Nonetheless, on one level he could feel significant compassion for the man. Lorgin did not think he could bear to lose this Little Fire in his arms and wish to live. Only on that level could he empathize with Theardar.
Yes, he fully understood the consuming passion a man could have for a woman.
A passion that became life itself.
The rest, like Yaniff, he could not forgive.
Lorgin awakened Deana before daybreak with a soft kiss on her lips.
“We must arise now, Adeeann. We leave this day for Aviara.”
Deana sleepily opened her eyes, noting the dark shadows in the room, as well as the dark shadows under Lorgin’s eyes. “It’s still night.” She burrowed back under the covers against his warmth. “Let’s go back to sleep.”
“We cannot, much as I would like to. Come, wake up.” He squeezed her derriere. She rubbed against him in protest.
“I can’t wake up—see, my eyes won’t open.” She raised her face to him, eyes tightly shut.
His low chuckle vibrated against her forehead. “I think I know how to open your eyes.”
“How?”
He adjusted her leg with his thigh and slipped inside her.
“Lorgin.” Her eyes popped open.
“You see? If you have a problem, you need but ask me.” His hands pressed against her bottom, bringing her closer to him.
She placed her hands around his neck. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Kiss me,” he breathed.
She did.
Later, after they had dressed, Lorgin removed something from his cape, asking Deana to join him on the bed. When she did, she noticed he held three black strands embroidered with gold. She thought she recognized a few of the symbols as the same ones on his cape. He sat behind her, motioning for her to turn around.
“What are you doing?” His fingers threaded through her hair, smoothing it down.
“You will see.” His capable hands began sectioning out her long hair.
She tried turning around. “Are you braiding my hair?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her back. “I am weaving your hair. Be still.” She felt her hair being very intricately styled. Every now and then, he interwove one of the black and gold ribbons. His touch was very gentle as he silently worked, seemingly enjoying whatever he was doing.
“Why are you doing this?”
“There.” He leaned forward, lightly kissing the side of her neck. “Look in the mirror—tell me if you like what I have done.”
Deana gave him a strange look as she got up to walk to the mirror. Just when she thought she was beginning to understand him, he always did something weird. She cautiously looked in the mirror.
“It’s beautiful! How did you do it?” Her red hair was pulled back in a weave design, the ribbons laced all through the intricate pattern. The black and gold shot through her hair with each cross section.
Lorgin walked over to stand behind her. “Aviaran boys learn this at a young age. I am honored I have pleased you.”
“Wait a minute—is this one of those weird customs of yours?”
He smiled slightly. “Aviaran men weave their wives’ hair. It is a sign of pride and respect. The ribbons mark my house, my line, and that you are the mate of a Charl.”
“I don’t know that I like being marked like some—Hey, wait a minute! You mean you have to do this for me every day?” She grinned flippantly at him. “That’s different. I think I rather like the idea of you playing lady’s maid.”
“As usual, I think you twist the meaning to your liking. But there is another reason the men do this, zira.”
“Why is that?” She patted her hair in the mirror.
“So that we can undo it in the evenings,” he whispered.
She threw him a look over her shoulder. “So, why did you do it now? It will be days before we reach the tunnel point.”
“No, by this evening we will be in Aviara. Traed knows of a tunnel point within a day’s journey from here.”
“I’m glad to hear of it. Is he coming with us?” She had hesitated to ask, but since Lorgin had mentioned Traed, she had to know.
“Yes, he will come.” Deana beamed at him. “And why are you smiling so?”
“I never doubted it.”
His expression was incredulous. “How could you not?”
“Because I know you.”
Lorgin’s arms came around her. “Do you?
Before they left, Rejar sincerely told Deana he thought her hair looked very pretty. Even Traed had stopped for a moment on seeing it. He had told her it had been a long time since he had seen a woman whose hair was woven. He had forgotten the beauty of it. Deana graciously accepted the compliments, realizing that what she had assumed to be a simple custom obviously held deep meaning for Aviaran men.
A contingency of Traed’s men escorted them through the desert, up into the mountains. Deana was not surprised that Traed had brought his phfiztger with him. Tumbles rested comfortably behind Traed
in a little basket on the back of a prautau.
At day’s end, they reached the mountain pass and Lorgin called forth the tunnel.
Chapter Fifteen
They emerged into a giant hall.
The whiteness of the walls almost blinded Deana after the strobe lights of the tunnels. She felt rather than saw Lorgin take her hand.
“Where are we?” She put her arm across her eyes to shield them from the brightness.
“It is called the Hall of Tunnels. Come.” He led her through the vast cavernous space. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the light. She noticed many people, most human, some not, going in all directions. Every now and then the hair on the back of her neck would rise and a great maw would appear, seemingly devouring the people.
“It’s-it’s like Grand Central Station, isn’t it?” She stared openly at what was going on around her, like a country bumpkin in the big city.
Since none of the three men escorting her had a clue as to what Grand Central Station was, no one bothered to respond. They led her to one of the large stone portals which flanked the walls.
Rejar and Traed stepped through to the outside. Lorgin started to lead Deana through, but she held back.
“You can’t just go out there!” Deana was wondering if it was dinner time for those hungry monsters in the street.
“Come—we need to go this way.” Lorgin yanked her arm, pulling her into the street with him.
Deana got her first look at Aviara.
They seemed to be in the midst of a quaint village.
The streets were of paved stone, wide and immaculately clean. There were some shops flanking the streets, each one unique and interesting-looking. Some sold flowers of incredible beauty; others jewelry, art work, all manner of handcrafts, perfume, and more.
It appeared to be late afternoon. Blooming trees and plants were everywhere, their scent sweetening the air with exotic, lush fragrances. The sky was a clear, light blue with not a hint of pollution.
People were strolling about, stopping to talk to others, or sitting down at small cafes.
The temperature felt like a perfect 72 degrees, with a light breeze. Little trilling creatures were singing in the trees, and crystal chimes hung from every conceivable place, issuing harmonious tinkling sounds.
It was utterly beautiful.
But Deana knew from her travels with Lorgin that looks could be deceiving. They had encountered many things that could not be judged by their appearance. Indeed, she was standing next to one right now: Rejar. So she continued to eye the surroundings very carefully as they walked along.
Traed had also been viewing his surroundings, not with the eyes of a stranger, but with those of someone coming home after a long absence.
“Adeeann, what are you looking for?” Traed asked.
“The monsters!” Deana spun around to make sure they weren’t sneaking up on her. She never noticed Lorgin trying to hide his grin.
“Monsters? What monsters?” Traed seemed genuinely perplexed.
“The ones that gobble you all whole for dinner when you walk the streets.”
Rejar leaned toward Lorgin. “Do you think she means the Guild?”
Lorgin chuckled as he pictured the ancient, austere body of mystics. “Most definitely.”
Deana smelled a rat—a six-foot-four rat with golden hair and amethyst eyes. “All right, Lorgin, what gives?”
Lorgin tried to appear innocent, failing miserably. “What?”
“Don’t give me that ‘what’ routine! You snookered me!”
Rejar raised a fascinated black eyebrow. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
Lorgin laughed out loud.
Deana turned, pointing an accusing finger at Rejar as well. “Don’t think you’re free and clear of this either. I don’t see anything wrong with the weather. I know Lorgin’s a lost cause, but how could you, Rejar? I thought you liked me.”
Rejar draped his arm around her shoulders as they walked. “I do like you, Adeeann. That is why I did not tell you about the dancing poisonous plants.”
She shrugged off his arm. “You are both impossible. I’m walking with Traed.” She looped her arm through his, leaving the two brothers to follow. “At least he’s sensible.”
Lorgin looked on, still grinning. “As you desire, gharta.” He winked over to Rejar, adding, “But I warn you, Traed; do not even think to ‘snooker’ her.”
The two brothers roared in laughter.
Even the corners of Traed’s mouth lifted slightly.
“Do not worry, Lorgin,” Rejar chimed in, “mayhap Traed does not remember how to ‘snooker.’”
Traed coolly assessed the younger man over his shoulder. “What I have forgotten about ‘snookering’ you have yet to learn.”
This caused another round of raucous laughter. Deana was getting steamed.
“That’s it! All of you are impossible!”
She disengaged herself from Traed’s arm, quickening her stride to leave the men behind her. Until she realized she had no idea where she was heading. Her step faltered slightly. It was difficult to leave in a huff when you had no idea where you were going. Her shoulders hunched when Lorgin calmly called out to her, inquiring as to the directions to his family home. More laughter.
She didn’t say one word as she waited for the men to come abreast of her, overhearing Traed’s low aside to Lorgin which sounded suspiciously like “most entertaining.”
Lorgin approached her, putting a conciliatory arm around her shoulders.
“You must overlook our teasing, Adeeann. We are all so happy to be back on Aviara.”
She squinted up at him. “I can understand that. It always feels good to come home.” Her look was pointed.
Lorgin gazed at her through lowered lids, his eyes momentarily flashing in anger. He lifted her chin with a proprietary finger. “Then you, too, must share in our joy, zira.”
Stubborn, arrogant man! This was not her home. But she was not about to bring that point up to him again, and well he knew it. She gazed at the surrounding beauty of the land, sighing. She supposed there was no reason for her not to enjoy the place while she was here. Lorgin drew her closer, causing her to smile slightly. How the man was able to sense her moods had always been a mystery to her.
Following an ancient roadway, they left the little hamlet behind, entering a heavily wooded area. Afternoon sunlight dappled through the trees onto dense wildly flowering foliage which carpeted the forest floor. It was cooler here. Cool and green. The same little tree creatures she had noticed in the village hopped from tree to tree singing sweet trilling songs.
The path/road continued to zigzag through the forest.
In the distance she heard a gurgling brook. It was a beautiful spot, hushed and cool; it was a place of peace such as many sought on earth, but few found. Often, when she had read stories of medieval England, she had pictured a forest like this one. She wouldn’t have minded staying in it for the rest of the day and into the night.
Occasionally along the road, they passed small stone cottages, some almost hidden in the trees, others near the road. Several times the inhabitants called out to them, waving, or inviting them to stop for refreshment. The men politely declined, anxious to reach their home and family. Deana smiled to herself as she noticed several young women specifically trying to get Rejar’s attention.
As they continued walking, Deana noticed that the cottages ceased altogether. After a while, they rounded a bend in the dirt road.
Set far back into the woods, yet still visible from the road, was an enormous stone mansion. It was reminiscent of Tudor houses she had seen around Massachusetts, except this one was entirely made of stones. Mullioned windows with long shutters graced the facade. Somehow she was not surprised when Lorgin turned down the pathway which led to the estate.
“I take it this is your humble abode?” She stood before the enormous double wooden doors, feeling dwarfed by their size.
“This is my—our family h
ome, zira.”
Before anyone could knock on the door, it flew open and a beautiful dark-haired woman threw herself into Lorgin’s arms.
“You are home at last! I was so worried about both of you.” Her dual-colored eyes flew to Rejar, sweeping him in a glance as if to ascertain the state of his health.
“You worry too much, Suleila.” Lorgin patted her back affectionately. “What could happen to the sons of Krue?”
“What indeed?” The woman smiled. “Come in, come in. Your father awaits you. Yaniff told us of your impending arrival.” Suleila’s eyes momentarily flew to her son, noting Rejar’s questioning expression as his intelligent Familiar eyes met hers.
He knows, she thought. So, now he knows.
She turned to seek Traed standing slightly behind everyone. “Traed,” Suleila whispered, holding out her hands to him.
Traed came forward to clasp her hands. “Suleila. It is good to see you again.”
“Yes. Welcome home, my special son.” It was a Familiar term used for a well-loved child. Suleila had bestowed it upon him when he was a young boy. It moved Traed greatly that she had remembered and greeted him in this manner. He gently squeezed her hands in recognition of the singular distinction she afforded him.
Deana waited for Lorgin to introduce her to his nextmother Suleila, noting that the woman’s long black tresses were woven with purple and gold ribbons. When Lorgin failed to make the introduction, she gazed at him quizzically.
“I must introduce you first to my father,” he informed her as they followed Suleila into the house.
“Why?”
“Because it is the way it is done.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Suleila has seen my ribbons in your hair. She knows who you are, though she cannot acknowledge you yet.”