“Have you ever smelled a dalis flower?” she asked.
“Ugh. I loaded a shipment of them once, back when I worked the docks. I’ve smelled five-day-old fish that were more pleasant. Why?”
“Oh, no reason.”
“They grow here, don’t they? You were going to prank me.”
“Is suspicion a warrior trait?”
“Healthy suspicion is, yes.”
Salomen chuckled as she returned to her position in front of Ronlin. Time to test her empathic senses.
At first, she felt only the usual impenetrable wall he presented. Then she gave a little push, just as she had when separating from her body—and passed through his empathic shielding as if it weren’t there.
He didn’t notice. There was no alarm in his emotions, just watchfulness, guilty enjoyment, and deep down, a small, twisted spike of admiration and resentment that she instinctively knew was aimed at Rahel.
Her intent had been to skim him, to sense only the emotions he would have shared in a palm touch, but her push had gone too far. That deep spike was private.
Shamed by her intrusion, she turned and began walking back. In her preoccupation, it took five or six steps to remember that there was an easier way. She imagined standing in front of her physical self . . .
. . . and almost tripped over Rahel, who was still looking upstream. Moving to a more comfortable distance, she said, “I’m back.”
Rahel swiveled toward her seated body. “All the way back?”
“No. Although now that you mention it, I’m not sure how to get all the way back.”
“How did you do it before?”
“I didn’t. It just happened.” Salomen crouched down to look at herself, staring straight ahead at the waterfall. “Would you touch my shoulder?”
Rahel laid a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Are you in there?”
“Unfortunately, no. Maybe I need to . . .” Her voice trailed off as she turned around, set her back to her physical self’s front, and scooted into her body.
It was the strangest sensation, as if the world was slightly blurry and then snapped into focus. All of her senses collapsed into one self, and she fell back to the mat with a whoosh of air.
“Bondlancer!” A Guard was peering over the canyon rim, his shout barely audible over the sound of the waterfall.
“I’m fine!” she shouted back. “Give me some Fahla-damned space to breathe!” She was very tired of Guards today.
Rahel looked down at her, brows knitted. “Are you telling the truth?”
She lifted a hand and rubbed her fingers together, marveling at the exquisite sense of touch. “Yes, I’m all right. And all here.”
“Good. What did you see?”
“Too much,” she said, remembering her accidental intrusion. “If I wanted to, I think I could see everything.”
Rahel watched her in silence, then shook her head. “You tease me for believing in you, but Salomen . . . the fact that you could see and don’t want to? That’s why you’re Fahla’s vessel.”
70
SELF-INFLICTED
The nightmares came less frequently. When they did come, Rahel reminded herself that they were just memories of emotions. She could defeat them by using centering techniques to create a safe distance. The reminder alone was sometimes enough to break their power, and she began to think of them as bullies. They had tortured her when she was helpless, but now she merely had to brandish a weapon and more often than not, they ran away.
Her world had expanded to include all of the State Park, which she ran through every morning, and a small corner of Hol-Opah that already meant as much to her as Dock One. Salomen took her back as often as she could, both to practice and to escape, though she never said that out loud. She didn’t need to; her body language bespoke a comfort and ease there that was missing in the temple.
Rahel had been astonished at the sight of her leaning against the boulder that first time, laughing with abandon after playing a prank on a city-bred warrior. She couldn’t see Salomen as the Bondlancer after that. The Bondlancer was a title, a role Salomen played because she had to, but it wasn’t her. Salomen was the woman who shoved Rahel to the side in order to make her step in a disgusting pile of paddlebird excrement, then couldn’t walk straight because she was laughing too hard. She was the woman with greater powers than any Alsean had ever held, who could rule the world through awe and terror if she wished, yet sought anonymity and took the time to rescue a fairy fly that had fallen in the water.
A disgraced First Guard awaiting criminal sentencing could not be friends with the Bondlancer. But Rahel could be friends with Salomen.
“Why is this so easy?” she asked one day, as they sat atop the boulder.
“Because we’ve both seen the worst the other can do,” Salomen answered. “After that, there’s nothing left to hide.”
“That was a quick answer.”
“That was a hard-earned answer. I’ve learned this lesson twice in the same moon.”
“The vallcat,” Rahel guessed.
“Yes, the vallcat.” Salomen’s smile was fond.
“Lanaril for a lover and you for a friend? She must be special.”
“She is. Neither of us would be here right now if not for her.”
“Will I ever meet her?”
“I don’t know.” Salomen’s expression fell, and she said no more.
Rahel understood. This was the line of Pollonius, staring her in the face again. Honorable warriors were slow to forgive dishonor—and they never forgot it.
Ronlin certainly would not. He looked at her with less suspicion now but no less judgment, and she envied him that moral high ground. Though he was younger and of lower rank, he held a position of great honor and the respect of everyone around him. He was who she had once been.
Yet he was not the one Salomen chose to watch over her body while she walked in spirit. Rahel clung to this honor with fierce pride. She was the one who taught Salomen to center herself, and on their third trip to the waterfall, she was the one who found a better way to rejoin Salomen’s two selves.
“If touch and smell are tied to your physical body, you should be able to use them as an anchor,” she said.
“How?”
“Focus on this.” She tapped the mat. “Feel it under your legs. Feel the vibrations of the waterfall. Feel the weight of your arms on your legs, and the warmth of your palms touching. Smell the water in the air, and the cinnoralis trees up on the rim. Tune into the things you can’t sense through your spirit self.”
Salomen nodded and stared at the waterfall. Her energies aligned more quickly now; she announced her separation after just a few ticks.
“I’m home,” she said a moment later. “On the back deck, with my father.”
“That’s five lengths!”
“And it was easy. Though I’m not sure I could have found it as easily if I hadn’t been looking for him.” A small smile touched her lips. “Let’s try Meadowgreen.”
“Is that one of your fields?”
“No,” Salomen said with a chuckle. “It’s a restaurant. The finest one in Granelle. I had a very memorable date there.”
“With Lancer Tal?”
“Yes. We’ve gone a few times since, but that first time was special.” She went silent, then spoke in quiet triumph. “I’m there. Hoi, this is new. There’s a plaque in the lobby that says ‘Preferred by Lancer Tal and Bondlancer Opah.’ If Corsine raised his prices because of that, he’s in for a surprise. Andira takes a dim view of her name being used for overcharging.”
It was disconcerting and a little painful to hear her talk about Lancer Tal. The picture she drew was very different from the one Shantu had drawn, making Rahel wonder about the path not walked. Where would she be now if Shantu had not seen Lancer Tal as a threat?
“Let’s see if I can find my anchor. The vibrations of the waterfall . . .”
“The scents in the air,” Rahel said. “The feel of your palms touchin
g each other . . . the hairy watcher walking up your leg.”
Salomen’s body swayed slightly. When she turned her head, her pupils were back to normal and a brilliant smile lit her face. “I did it!”
Rahel grinned back, as proud as if she had done it herself. “And you didn’t even fall over this time.”
“No, this was much smoother.” Salomen shoved her shoulder. “You are full of dokshin. If there was a hairy watcher on my leg, you wouldn’t be on this boulder.”
“Probably not,” Rahel admitted.
“And my father would have heard the shriek from the back deck.”
“That was not a shriek. It was a . . . startled cry.”
“Mm-hm.” Salomen’s dark eyes danced with amusement, then softened as she reached for Rahel’s hand. “Thank you. I cannot tell you what a relief it is to control this. And you’re the one who got me this far.”
“I’m just glad to be useful.”
“You’re more than useful. I know you’re still trying to overcome Pollonius, but for the love of Fahla, look at where we are. Do you think I’d be sharing this boulder with a criminal? I’m sharing it with someone I trust.” She looked down. “And this hairy watcher.”
Rahel narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”
Salomen scooted to one side, exposing the dark green ball of vicious death skulking toward her. “It’s a male. He’s out looking for—”
“Shek!” Rahel blurted, scrabbling backward. She swung her legs over the edge of the boulder and stood on the topmost foothold, torn between escaping and protecting. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head when a laughing Salomen put her hand down and let the hairy watcher walk onto it.
Holding the spiky beast aloft, Salomen said, “If you’d let me finish, I was going to say he’s looking for an available female, and you don’t qualify. He doesn’t want you.”
“Tell him it’s mutual.” Rahel stared in horrified fascination. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll bite?”
“He doesn’t want me, either. As far as he knows, I’m a rather soft, warm rock.” Salomen shot her a wicked smile. “But you’re getting better. I don’t think my father heard you this time.”
“Oh, go away,” Rahel grumbled, but she could not maintain her scowl in the face of Salomen’s mirth.
Their friendship had to be the most unlikely one on Alsea. It was a precious gift, as was Lanaril’s belief in her. Yet priceless as they were, they could not fill the hole left by her lost honor.
She spent more and more time at the caste house, seeking the companionship of other warriors and finding no shortage of sparring partners. Most of them went down beneath her stave sooner or later, but one man was her equal. She was sorry to learn that he was only in Blacksun for a temporary assignment, but they made the most of it, meeting each other at the same time every day for a battle that invariably drew onlookers. After retiring to the showers, they continued the battle verbally, calling back and forth over the sound of the water. Being treated as a worthy warrior felt so good that when he invited her to join with him after their fourth sparring session, she almost agreed just as a means of showing her gratitude.
Then she shook her head. “I’m sansara. You’re better off finding someone who wants the same thing you do.”
“Ah. And if I offered to trade full-body massages with you?”
“I’d say yes, on the condition that the offer doesn’t change once we get upstairs.” Caste house lodging rooms were often used for joining trysts, though she had never been tempted.
“That would be dishonest,” he said. “I have more honor than that.”
He did. And he knew his way around a massage, turning her into a puddle of useless but very happy muscles. When she accused him of dishonestly concealing his professional training, he laughed and admitted that in fact, he was a physiotherapist specializing in athletic injuries. Stave fighting was his hobby.
Rahel learned a great deal about massage over the next several days. On their final afternoon, she relaxed to such a degree under his hands that she slipped into full centeredness without even trying. When she came out of it, he was lying beside her on the bed, one hand on her arm to keep their connection while he smiled at her from his pillow.
“I take that as the highest compliment,” he said. “It doesn’t happen very often, especially with warriors in the protective services. They almost never relax enough for it.”
He was proud of his accomplishment, and she felt a surge of tenderness for this beautiful, honorable man who had given her so much.
Calling her liquefied muscles back to work, she pushed up to her hands and knees, rolled him onto his back, and straddled his hips. “It is a compliment,” she said, letting her fingertips dance from his pelvic ridges all the way up his torso. “I’ve only done that with one other person in my life. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. That was a gift to me.”
She caressed his chest ridges, then planted her hands and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Then let me give you another.”
For nine days, she had sensed his desire and the discipline he used to submerge it. For nine days, she had felt her own power growing. In this room, she was not a penitent working to atone for her terrible choices. She was a warrior in the full strength of her skills and training, and one of those skills could bring him passion and release. She wanted to share it.
He did not ask if she was sure. They had too much skin contact for any doubt. And when he came undone beneath her hands and lips, her pleasure rivaled his. For so long, it had seemed as if she were capable solely of causing harm. This was exquisite, undeniable proof that she could give joy as well.
She did not want to break their connection, nor did he. They lingered in the afterglow, twined together and never ceasing their touches, until he murmured, “Not that I want this to end, but don’t you usually leave by now?”
She bolted upright. “Shekking Mother on a burning boat! I’m late!”
Nor could she face Lanaril without showering first. Oh, Fahla, she was going to be even later. She leaped from the bed, skidded to a halt, ran back to kiss him, and raced into the shower.
Five ticks later, she was dressing while he stood naked beside her, resignation in the set of his jaw.
“If you’re ever in Whitemoon, will you come to see me?”
She fastened her belt and stepped into his arms for one last warmron. “I don’t know if that will happen, but if it does, yes. And I’ll expect a full tour. You Whitemooners are always going on about that overheated city of yours; you can try to convince me that it’s worth all the praise.”
“I’ll convince you.” He kissed her cheek. “Thank you for everything.”
“You don’t understand what you’ve given me. I owe you the thanks. Safe journey.”
She was twenty-five ticks late when she burst into the study, panting from her full-speed run across the park. One look at the knowing smile on Lanaril’s face had her blushing like a pre-Rite child caught in the act.
“I think you will soon have no need of me,” Lanaril said as she lit the cinnoralis burner.
Though she had always known this idyll was temporary, the idea of losing it now hit like a stave blow. She dropped into the armchair and buried her face in her hands.
“Rahel . . . oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all.”
Light footsteps and the first tendrils of cinnoralis preceded Lanaril’s arrival in front of her.
“I should have more courage about this,” Rahel mumbled. “I know it has to end—”
“Stop. Don’t go down that path; it’s the wrong one. What I meant was that your being late is a good sign.”
“It is?”
Lanaril nodded as she sank into her own chair. “You have been so focused, so driven to do penance. You’ve viewed most of your choices through the lens of whether they will make up in some way for your previous acts—”
“But isn’t that why I’m here? To do penance?”
“If that were
true, then I would be your punisher. What have I done that would make you see me that way?”
“Nothing! Fahla, nothing, you’ve never—I’m sorry. I don’t see you that way at all.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” Her smile was not as serene as usual. “I’ve started this session poorly. Let’s regroup. You’ve been a challenging case for me, because you had not one but two very deep wounds. The first was your trauma shock. The second was the wound you inflicted on yourself in Pollonius.”
It took a moment to translate. “By hurting Salomen.”
“Yes. I know how to treat your trauma shock. But a self-inflicted wound . . . I cannot heal that, Rahel. It has to be you. And when you arrive late, for the first time since we began, that tells me you finally allowed yourself to deserve. You were happy, and taking pleasure for yourself, to the point where you forgot about doing penance.”
“I thought I just forgot the time,” Rahel muttered, but Lanaril’s chuckle brought out an answering smile. “You’re right, though. I was happy. These last ninedays . . . I’m starting to feel like I used to. Like I have something to offer.”
“And you have the right to take what is being offered. Would you have accepted him a moon ago?”
She shook her head. “So that means I’m healing?”
“It does. That’s why you will soon have no need of me. I’m not cutting you off,” Lanaril added when she tried to protest. “But you’ve graduated to a new level. We don’t need daily sessions any longer. I think twice per nineday will suffice now.”
Rahel looked around the study, which managed to be sophisticated and restful at the same time. It was the physical equivalent of Lanaril’s personality. Though she had spent some extremely difficult hanticks here, she had also come to associate this space with safety, comfort, and understanding.
She was already missing it.
“I never understood how you could do this in the first place,” she said. “I’ve watched you in the temple, giving so much to so many. And you’re the Lead Templar; you run this whole complex. How do you have time to counsel someone like me?”
“Because I choose to.” Lanaril’s shoulders eased down; she was settling into their conversation. “Most people who seek a templar only need us for a short while. They’re looking for comfort, reassurance . . . someone to help them find answers. We can offer that in the temple. If the answers are harder to find or the need for comfort more profound, we go to a counseling room.”