Love Never-Ending (2 page)

“Mama’s getting ready to go to Rebaccah’s Promise for a
visit. Qwenna wants to attend the teacher’s seminar in Bell’s Corner so Mama’s
going to watch Daniel while she’s gone.”

Jade laughed. “As though there aren’t enough people in
Rebaccah’s Promise to watch dozens of children, let alone one small boy. At
seven, he really doesn’t need much supervision, does he? Well, that’s all
right. She’ll enjoy the visit.”

Falcon reappeared with a neatly arranged tray of tea mugs
steaming with fragrant tea and a small platter of cookies. He carefully set it
down on the little table between his mother and Samara. After adding a generous
dollop of honey to Jade’s mug, he placed it within reach and quietly said, “Hot
tea at five. Cookies at two.”

When the ladies were sipping their tea and munching on the
delicate
quoltania
cookies, Falcon inquired with barely restrained
eagerness, “What is it, Samara? What did you want to ask?”

“Falcon…” Jade reproved quietly.

“I plan to start a newspaper. Papa has agreed to act as an
advisor. I wonder if you would like to be a reporter?”

Falcon sat down in an empty chair with a thump while he
stared at her in amazement. “Really? You want
me
?”

“You write very well, Falcon. You’re bilingual which means
that your stories can run in both common and valley language. Will you do it?”

“Yes! Yes!” He bounced to his feet and rushed into the
house.

“Where is he going?” Samara demanded.

He ran back onto the patio and shoved a sheaf of
linual
sheets covered with neat spiky writing and valley glyphs into Samara’s hands.
“See, I started. I wrote a story about the Midsummer Gathering!”

“This is exactly what I was thinking about.” She turned to
Jade and asked, “Satisfied?”

“Yes, I’m satisfied. Why don’t you use the library to make your
plans? I’m sure you have all sorts of ideas you’ll need to work out. Go on,
then! I’ll ask Robyn to clear away the tea things.”

Two weeks later Panther and Llynx proudly distributed the
first issue of the
Mystic Valley Times
. In addition to the headline
story about the Midsummer Gathering, it had an article on gardening contributed
by Eppie, an announcement section, a lost and found section and the warriors’
training schedules. For a first edition, Samara thought it looked pretty good.
And Hamilton pointed out people would be willing to contribute news once they
realized the advantages of a newspaper.

They printed extra copies on the hand-set printing press and
distributed them at the Midsummer Gathering where the council immediately
comprehended the advantages of a valley newspaper. That summer the council
proposed and passed new barter positions for newspaper workers. Unexpectedly,
Samara found herself with additional barter credits for her work as the
newspaper editor. And Falcon earned his first barter credit as a reporter.

Accompanied by Jade, Falcon visited Noah, the Lost Market
barter keeper, at his dome where Falcon made decisions about how his barter
credits should be allotted. Noah was impressed by his serious consideration for
the family well-being and his long-range plans for his future. It wasn’t often
an eleven-year-old, even in the valley, took time to look ahead. Falcon was
also the first of his siblings to request his own barter account.

Noah was actually taken aback but Jade serenely approved the
separate account while privately wondering when the older children would think
to ask for their own accounts. With amusement, she acknowledged Falcon had
hidden depths she had missed until Samara pointed them out. That was the one
thing about having so many children—sometimes you didn’t notice the quiet ones.

With
her
extra barter credits, Samara decided that
she would like to have her own home. She, too, was looking to the future. She
might not be eligible to have a bond mate or children but at twenty-six it was
time for her to establish her own dome.

She quietly went to the Cowal dome to consult with Stefan,
the builder. When she left a little later, Stefan had a great deal more respect
for Samara. They agreed on a three-room dome with an additional bump-out domed
bath. Three skylights would provide additional light. Samara chose a soft gold
for her dome color. Stefan offered to survey a site in the vicinity of the path
to Broken Pine near the old Llewellyn cabin Eppie had recently taken as her own.
Content with her decisions, Samara went back to her parents’ home to inform
them of her plans.

As she anticipated, it wasn’t a popular decision. Samara
sighed and gently pointed out, “Mama, I’m a grown woman now. It’s time for me
to have my own home.”

“But Samara—”

“No, Mama. I’m not sixteen now. I’m ten years older, old
enough to be on my own. You can’t protect me anymore.”

“Samara!” Tears spilled over as Rebaccah fought the panic
that always seemed to ambush her when Samara was out of her sight.

“Mama. I need to do this. Please.” Shakily, she gathered her
mother close in a tight embrace. “I have to grow up sometime. You have to let
me go.”

After a time, when Rebaccah pulled away, Samara released
her. “Well,” Rebaccah observed as she brushed the last of her tears away, “we
need to make a list of the things you’ll need. You’ll have your promise chest
but there will be other things… We’ll make a list.” She gathered up
linual
sheets and writing sticks. “Now then, why don’t you make us some tea while I
start the list?”

Samara heated the water while she assembled the tea things
with trembling fingers. “Mama, I don’t have a promise chest,” she whispered so
that Rebaccah wouldn’t hear the tears in her voice.

“Of course you do,” Rebaccah replied absently. “The chest is
in the storage dome. And the linens and things are in my cedar chest in my
room. It’s a good thing that you reminded me. I’ll ask your papa to bring your
chest in so that we can clean and pack it for you.”

Samara spun around to face her mother. “Why didn’t you ever
mention it before?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Samara clenched her fists at Rebaccah’s reluctant admission.
“Don’t you think it hurt to watch all the girls ooh and ahh when Elizabeth and
Qwenna were packing their promise chests? Knowing I didn’t deserve one? Did you
ever for a moment think how much pain that gave me?” She turned her back to
Rebaccah, unable to hold back the angry tears.

With a heavy heart, Rebaccah went to wrap her arms around
Samara’s waist. “No, I didn’t think of that, Sammie. I’m sorry, honey. I was
trying to protect you and I hurt you worse.”

After a moment, Samara grabbed the small kitchen drying
sheet from the rack and wiped her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she muttered,
“Right. Let’s get on with the list.” She damped the drying sheet with cold
water, wrung it dry and plopped it over her eyes. “Now my eyes will be all red
and I’ll look like I’ve been crying.”

Her mother gasped in mock horror. “Oh, no!
Quel tragedy
!
Someone might find out that you’ve been crying!”

A watery giggle escaped Samara. “All right, all right. Get
on with the list.”

The two women settled down to making plans for Samara’s
move. When Samara’s father came home for dinner, they were finished with the
plans and had moved on to speculating whether Samara’s brother Andrew was ever
going to get around to asking Sapphira Taylor if she would accept him as her
bond mate. Samara thought they ought to lock them together in the village
garden shed.

Rebaccah chuckled and shook her head. “We’ll reserve that if
we run out of other ideas. I can’t believe how stubborn he is.”

“Oh, Sapphira will only wait so long. Then she’ll drag him
out to the nearest bonding circle when she’s ready for him. Don’t be surprised,
Mama. She ordered her pledging and bonding blankets from Tyger over two moons
ago.”

“Really?” Rebaccah’s face took on a thoughtful expression.
“Does her mother know?”

“Uh-hmm. Morgana went with her to pick yarn colors. Tyger
promised he would begin the weaving this eight-day.” Samara yawned suddenly.
“I’m so tired. I think I’ll go take a nap.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No. I’ll have something later. Andrew’s eating at the
Llewellyn dome. You enjoy dinner with Papa.” Samara went into her room and
softly closed the door. After stretching out on her bed, she stared out the
window at the gathering twilight, wondering how she could spend the rest of her
life alone. No one else could understand how she felt. No one could possibly
know the deep trembling fear and loneliness that ambushed her in the dark. Why
had Gil done this to her? Why? She searched her brain for a reason—any reason
for him to think she would take him as a bond mate. Before she drew any
satisfactory conclusions, she fell fast asleep.

Samara shook her head and pushed the ugly memories away. It
was hard for her to believe so much had happened so quickly. With many willing
hands from the village, Stefan Cowal had completed her dome in record time. It
was less than a year since the Midsummer Gathering that offered her new hope.
Furnishings and household goods appeared daily until she had everything she
could possibly need and then some. At last, she had a place of her own.

* * * * *

On a low-hanging branch of a
malzhal
tree in the
shadowy quiet of the Far Woods, a young man waited silently for the deer to
pass his perch. From the night his older brother had died atop the judgment
seat, Jiph had lived a miserable existence. At last, he stuffed his few
belongings in a battered pack and walked away from Bell’s Corner despite the
protests of his mother who had no way of knowing why he couldn’t bear to live
there anymore.

He thought a lot about that night. In the hushed rush to
save Samara’s life, the villagers had failed to notice him hiding in the bushes
that lined the river. He had hunched over in the dark with his hands clasped
over his face as the horror threatened to overcome him. It wasn’t how he
thought the night would end when he sneaked out to follow his big brother Gil.
Something had gone terribly wrong. Angrily he determined that someone would
pay.

After the villagers had all returned to their homes, Jiph
had slipped from the clump of bushes, cautiously stretching stiff muscles
before creeping across the bridge to the empty practice field beyond. Once he
was past the dark empty training barracks, he’d found the trail to Bell’s
Corner and fled toward home. Soon, someone in authority would be coming to
inform his parents about Gil’s death. They must never find out that he had
followed Gil.

Jiph suppressed the shudders that spread up his spine as he
recalled the dark days after Dai and Merlyn brought the news of Gil’s crime and
death. His mother had cried for days until her cheeks were rough and red. His
father had become a silent withdrawn shadow that drifted from his weaving shed
to the small bedroom where Gil had slept. His father lived there, eating and
sleeping in solitary shame, until the night he died in his sleep.

The soft rustle of deer steps jerked Jiph out of his black
memories. It was time. Unaware, his prey approached.

Out-Valley, Appalachian Mountains

Bishop opened his eyes to the oppressive black terror of a
sealed tomb. After the first crushing seconds a low groan next to him yanked
him back to reality. He wasn’t certain of what woke him but abruptly, he was
wide awake. “What is it?”

“I don’t know but something’s not right. I woke up a couple
of minutes ago and I’ve been lying here, trying to figure out what’s bothering
me.” Trav’s eyes flickered around their space. He sniffed carefully. “I smell
roses.”

“Roses? In December?”

“And the air is warmer back here. I can feel a drift of warm
air on my face. See if you can locate the source.

Bishop unwrapped his blanket and found the flashlight. “If
there’s a way out, we can get you some help,” he began.

“Bish. I’m not worried about getting out of here. If Dance
is gone, there isn’t much left for me.” He sighed quietly. “I shouldn’t have
dragged you into it. I think I went a little crazy for a while. Take the violin
and guitar in case Dancer shows up, okay?”

Bishop frowned down at him. “Tell you what. The instruments
only go if you go. So if you want Dancer to have them, you’d better give them
to him yourself. Now I’m going to find our phantom roses.”

Bishop wondered what it would take to shake his friend out
of his rock-hard composure and then he remembered the day he had stood with
Trav and Dance at their parents’ and brother’s funeral. That day he knew that
the murders of their parents and brother had changed them forever in
fundamental ways. The anchors they counted on to keep them grounded were gone.

Bishop straightened up and groaned. He had no way to know
how much time had passed since Trav had finally traveled a little too far down
the road to insanity and abducted him from his own bed in the middle of the
night. Hours might have passed or even days, though he suspected that he would
be a lot hungrier if it had been days. Bish rubbed his flat belly at the
thought of food. That was another reason to find Dancer’s damn tunnel. Half a
dozen apples and a box of granola bars wouldn’t hold them for long. Trav had
been on the run for so long, he probably didn’t remember what a real meal was
like. It was one of the drawbacks of trying to retire from the assassin
business…your clients tended to resist the notion of an unemployed assassin.
When your sole client was a Federal agency headed by Fremont Llewellyn, then
not only was retirement discouraged, it wasn’t even an option.

The reaction when Trav and his brother Dancer indicated they
were ready to get out of the business of permanently eliminating the
government’s enemies, wasn’t just “no”—it was an emphatic “Hell no!”
Unfortunately, Trav and Dancer chose not to accept that answer. The combined
price on their heads was enough to keep the bounty hunters from several
countries hot on their trails, so Bishop wasn’t banking on rescue. Somebody had
tracked them to the cave and sealed it shut with explosives. It was just pure
dumb bad luck that Trav was standing too close to the entrance when the
explosion rocked the cave.

All the people who would give a damn were either dead or had
disappeared. Loss and betrayal weren’t new concepts for Bishop. His father was
a manipulator and betrayer who made Judas look like a wannabe. In the past few
months Bishop had spent a great deal of time untangling all the clues and hints
that surrounded the hideous murders of Trav’s parents. And he was nearly
certain that they all led back to one person—his father, Fremont Llewellyn. In
his heart, he didn’t want to believe his father was capable of the murder of
innocents but the evidence was adding up. In the back of his mind, he even
reluctantly entertained the idea that Free had engineered the abductions of his
brothers and sister-in law.

For years he had marked time in his own life
before
and
after
his brother Baron and his new wife Jade were abducted from their
wedding reception. Life
after
they disappeared in the mountains never to
be seen again. Even though they’d been gone nearly twenty-five years their
absence was still like an aching tooth, a constant reminder of their loss.

That one event marked the turning point for so many other
things in his life. His half brother, Nikolas, had been abducted at the same
time. When he was eventually found wandering naked and freezing in the
mountains he kept muttering about a little blue man and a vanishing tunnel. No
amount of therapy or drugs had helped and finally Nikolas had to be
institutionalized. For a long while Bishop had faithfully visited, positive
that his visits would somehow make a difference for Nik’s recovery. And then
one day Nikolas disappeared without a trace as though he had never existed.

Bishop shook himself out of the black hole of bad memories
and dark speculations. Remembering wouldn’t help them now. He needed to locate
the elusive tunnel and help for Trav. He capped the water bottle and placed it
next to his blanket.

Refusing to consider the nightmare a journey through a
tunnel would be for him, Bishop flashed the light along the wall, minutely
examining the ripples and folds in the rock. It took him thirty minutes to
locate the opening. The scent of roses grew stronger as he searched.
Occasionally, he thought he heard the sound of dripping water but though he
listened as intently as possible, he couldn’t pinpoint the direction. It was
such a clever optical illusion that eventually he only found it by running his
hands along the wall. He froze, shivering with a chill that had nothing to do
with the temperature and everything to do with the incredible optical illusion
he’d encountered. The folds in the rock concealed an opening at least three
feet wide.

Holding the light on the crack, he took a couple careful
steps backward and watched the opening disappear before his eyes like magic.

With a strange reluctance, he stepped forward again,
pointing the flashlight through the dark space. He had a very bad feeling about
the odd split in the stone. Very bad. Trav desperately needed help and there
were no other options available so he took a deep settling breath and went
through the black opening into the unknown. The light flashed around weirdly
smooth walls that appeared to be some type of man-made material. The texture
wasn’t quite like any stone he was acquainted with. He reached out to touch the
wall closest to him and found the surface slick and warm.

The passage curved around to the right, then the left, then
the right, jogging in short and long stretches that seemed endless. He
investigated the first twenty feet and turned back. There was no sense in
making the journey twice. If the tunnel led to help, then he would have to
return for Trav. And if not? Then they were no worse off than the present.

The journey back seemed so much farther. Fighting off the
black heart-pounding panic that he always felt in small spaces, he continued,
jogging as fast as he could in the twisty corridor. Suddenly he burst from the
tunnel into the familiar space of the cave. He bent over and planted his hands
just above his knees. His chest heaved as he gasped for air. Nausea threatened
but he wrestled the panic into submission, refusing to allow the fear to
paralyze him. Trav needed help. He was going to drag Trav down that damn
passage until he found help.

After a moment, Bishop shakily straightened up and went to
check on Trav.

“We can get out this way, Trav. It will be tight in some
places but I can drag you behind me.” Faint rumbles near the front of the cave
finalized their decision for them.

Thirty minutes later, Bishop screwed up his courage and
stepped back into the tunnel. He shuffled the first five feet, dragging Trav
behind him on a jury-rigged stretcher put together from Trav’s sleeping bag, a
thin foam mat and one of the sturdier pieces of wood stacked in one corner of
the cave.

To Bishop’s untutored eye, it appeared to be a section of
fairly straight tree limb about two feet long. His woodworking experience was
limited to finished boards from the local home improvement store. He had no
idea what purpose the rough pole was intended for but it worked well as a
harness for him to wrap his rope around. After he cut slits in several places across
the top of the sleeping bag and the mat, he threaded the wood through the slits
and tied his rope around the ends. He refused to consider what would happen if
the passage narrowed to less than the spacious width it was at the beginning.

Behind Trav’s feet were a bundle of boxes, musical
instruments in their battered cases and two backpacks. They were roped together
so Bishop could drag them along behind him. It occurred to him that he was just
as far around the curving bend to insanity as Trav but to admit that would lead
to true madness so he grimly kept moving.

Drag Trav a few feet. Drag the boxes a few feet. Rest.

Repeat as soon as he caught his breath. Every so often
Bishop stopped to adjust the flashlight in the head harness he’d put together
with a ripped-up t-shirt from Trav’s pack. He was sweating profusely though he
was dressed in a bare minimum. Trav had abducted him in the middle of the night
while he was sleeping. Since he slept nude… Well, he’d been damn grateful when
he found a ratty pair of jogging shorts and a t-shirt that had seen better days
when he was rummaging in one of the boxes. Unfortunately, he did not find any
shoes so he shuffled along, wincing whenever he stepped on a particularly sharp
pebble.

The journey took on the qualities of a never-ending
nightmare. Bishop began to have visions of the tunnel closing in on them or the
ceiling caving in. Several times he stopped and fought back the unreasoning
panic and nausea. Once he curled up on the passage floor and cried.

Then with dogged determination he continued his
self-appointed task. Drag Trav—who had thankfully fainted in the first few
feet, drag the boxes and rest. It was a distinct shock when he realized he was
no longer in the tunnel but was standing in a decent-sized cavern. The roar of
a nearby waterfall drowned out any possible signs of an immediate threat. With
renewed energy, he pulled Trav and the battered pile of boxes into the cavern.
A quick check on Trav confirmed that he was still breathing. Trav had long
since fainted, so after checking his pulse, Bishop allowed him to sleep. He
collapsed next to Trav in a heap and finally permitted himself the luxury of a
well-earned rest.

As he sat there, hunched over with weary satisfaction, he
peered uneasily at their new surroundings. The flashlight had dimmed
significantly once they entered the cavern, making any accurate assessment
impossible. Off to one side, he noted a fairly level area that was probably the
best place for them to spend the night. A few feet past that the light caught
the flash and glitter of falling water.

After a while, groaning from his stiffening joints, he
clambered to his feet and set about the last chores for the evening. By the
time he had Trav moved and the boxes and other paraphernalia piled around them
as a barrier, he was more than anxious to spread his blanket and lie down next
to Trav. Not even the overpowering darkness when he switched off the flashlight
kept him from immediately falling asleep.