The Age of Light (The Ava'Lonan Herstories Book 1) (12 page)

All he said was, “hhrrrmmpphh,” to that. The
noncommittal sound did not fool her.

“It’s not funny,” she rasped.

“No, of course not. Absolutely, not.” His voice
trembled with suppressed laughter.

“Hmph.” She snorted and turned away, fighting her
irritation.

“Do not take offense, little one,” he whispered, his
voice soft and husky, and utterly compelling. “I apologize for laughing.”

Jeliya was unappeased, but in no position to take
much exeption. Not after all he had apparently done for her. “Well, it was
rather funny, I guess.” She smiled, thrusting the negative emotions away. His
fingers brushed her cheek, startling her, but the caress was sweet and she
touched his hand. “I owe you thanks, kind Gavaron.”

“Little
ky’pen’dati
, it has
been my pleasure.” His fingers caught hers, and his lips brushed the back of
her hand. She suppressed a little shiver at the touch of his lips on her skin.
“I shall ever endeavor to keep the bad things away.”

“Bad things?” She went cold all over. That was a
term that she had given to things that scared her as a child…

“During your delirium, you must have had nightmares
that were associated with some of the symptoms of the fever. Do you remember?
At one point your fever was so high that I had to take you to the stream and
lower the water’s temperature to keep the fever from killing you. You spoke of
a red, burning sea. You clung to me, asking me not to let it overcome you. You
didn’t let go, even when you went to sleep. You asked me to keep the bad things
away.” He cleared his throat as if he were embarrassed, uncomfortable with the
memory. “I thought perhaps you’d remembered that. Another time the poison
attacked your eyes and I had to hold you down to keep you from tearing your
eyes out.”

The burning sea. Jeliya nodded, remembered, relaxed.
The
trushi
.
The
gila cat.

“And there was a time when it attacked your lungs.”

That silver voice - the ice hands - that had been
him.

“Thank you for everything,” she said again.

“Make no mention of it, dear one. And now, I think
you should get some more rest. You are still very sick.”

“I don’t think I can get to sleep,” she said, moving
her shoulders, where the muscles were aching dully. Her head throbbed and her
body felt generally abused. Her mind overflowed with information and spiraling
questions.

She felt his hands touch her and she stiffened,
pulled away involuntarily, the memory of the strange illicit/alluring
interaction between them still fresh in her mind. Right beside it was the
memory of her consciousness being whisked away so fast that she only remembered
it afterward.

“It is okay,
ky’pen’dati
. I
won’t hurt you.” She took a deep breath and nodded, made a conscious effort not
to fight him when he took her into his arms. He settled her against his chest.
Then he began to sing.

Soft silver wisps reached through the darkness
induced by the silk blind, wrapping around her, entering her mind with
soothing, calming fingers. The strong arms around her made her feel safe and
secure, and all her troubles and aches slipped away, leaving behind only
contentment and fatigue. The gray fatigue grew, overwhelming her gently; the
state of wakeness slid from her so quietly that the singing followed her to her
dreams.

...darkness
turned, became wavering light...

The forest was noisily quiet all around.

He looked through his garden, noticing which plants
and herbs needed to be replenished and mentally matching them against a list of
stores in his head. Some of the plants were wild, and difficult, if not
impossible to obtain seeds from, even with his exceptional skill at
horticulture. Thus he had to make regular forays into the forest to get
clippings of the plants he needed.

His list complete, he got his work harness and the
pouches that went with it, a contrivance that he had constructed for himself to
go gathering. The harness fitted around his waist where the
wuman
and equine halves met. Bags could be clipped to either side. Two suspender-like
straps ran up over his shoulders, to which a backpack or a quiver of arrows or
any number of useful things could be clipped. To this he attached his quiver
and bow, and from the side clips he hung two pouches filled with smaller, empty
sacks, each labeled for a different herb or plant. He also took a hunting knife
and pruning shears that he had made himself, and a pair of thick leather
gloves. Thus equipped, he set out on the little game trail that ran Este from
his home. He glanced back once, to make sure that all was well and that the
guard-rite was functioning properly, then made his way through the forest.

The land rolled gently as he cantered along to the
first of his usual gathering sites, the rainforest rich and lush and wet and
green around him. Late morn light struggled to get through the heavy growth and
hovering condensation, having a harder time of it than he. The trees were
enormous, wizen old giants hung with thick curtains of vines that filtered the
light as it strove to reach the
lyrifern
-covered
forest floor. The draped walls of vines and flowering limbs seemed to form
solid, impregnable masses, but they gave way before him.

He reached his first gathering site, set up wards
and began sorting through his sacks. The task was second nature, however, and
his mind turned to a more serious matter as he went about gathering.

Jeliya
. There was something about her that
kept bothering him, had been bothering him since he had first taken her into
his home. Something about the way she talked and held herself, even in
sickness. Something to do with that other that he was uncomfortably close to
remembering. But more than that, the fact that she had located him with such
apparent ease was disquieting to his comfortable illusion of being elusive. Her
coming was like an omen, the portents about her brimming with ill tidings to
the tranquility he had known for so long.

Ah, you foolish
cunnu’mu
,
what have
you wrought?
he thought to himself as he clipped sprigs of suga’dish and
aba’she.
Suppose she has come for something you have, something important
you know? But I have nothing, nothing of value except my pen’lata, the only
thing I have left of my beloved one. Jenikia...
The name came unbidden,
unwanted to his mind, remembered, like a cloud burst of dark rain on the golden
eve. He hung his head, his shears limp in his hand. He remembered. After all
this time he remembered her name and her face, and his promise. He had promised
to keep that which had been a part of both of them safe, even from those that
might be descended from her. He remembered the words she had spoken as she bade
him to promise even unto death to keep what was theirs safe...

“This
is the last thing of joy I will ever know,” she said, touching his face, her
face streaked with tears as the av’tun lay behind her like an open maw, waiting
to engulf her, “for all that comes hereafter shall be empty and devoid of
meaning and light without you. My heart will be as barren as my body, and my
turns of reign only the means of counting time until my death. With you rests
all that is precious and joyful to me.” She drew a shuddering breath,
compressed her lips as she glanced back at the av’tun and all that it meant.
“They cannot know that what we share goes beyond all bonds that ever came
before,” she said quietly, her face finally giving in to the grief that had
caused the tears she could not fight. “We have been blessed by the Goddesses
themselves. Those that wait for me seek to stave off what has always been
inevitable. The end is already upon them. You must keep safe this last thing
that you have of me - and that I have of you. Even if those that are descended
from me come in search of you.” Her large, depthless eyes met his, imploring,
as they misted and ran with sorrow. “Promise me.”

He
took her into his arms, crushed her to him, his mouth hard and desperate upon
her own in a final kiss. “I promise,” he said, his own face tight with tears
valiantly fought.

She
nodded once and backed away, her eyes riveted to him as if to absorb every
detail and burn it into memory, for they both knew that this would be the last
time that either saw the other. Then, at the last moment she turned, lifted her
head proudly, and with one finally look at him over her shoulder, she stepped
out of his life forever...

He shuddered and shook off the memory that had
stalked him so, that had finally caught him, shaken by the force and vividness
of the past.

Jeliya
, he thought, suddenly, realizing part
of why her presence had disturbed him so.
She reminds me so much of Jenikia
that it hurts to look at her sometimes, though I hadn’t taken time to remember
or figure out why. The way she is shaped, the way she smells, the way she
feels, how she speaks - they could have been sisters. Or mother and daughter...

And the awful truth that had bothered him and eluded
him about his charge suddenly struck him with shattering force. Jeliya was, had
to be, a descendent of Jenikia. Her remembered words echoed in his ears:

If
those that are descended from me come in search of you ...

He went cold inside. Was this what Jeliya wanted of
him, why she had sought to snare him? He was almost certain that it was. And
had herself become a victim, and was now within his care - within his power...

He shook his head derisively.
Stupid
cunnu’mu
.
Do you think you can really harm that which is a part of Jenikia, even if
she does threaten all else that you hold dear? Could you bring yourself to do
that when shooting an animal for food makes you want to tear your own heart
out?

He knew that he could not. He would have to find
some other way to keep what was his safe.

A soft curse made him whirl, then freeze. Hunters.
Not three lengths away and approaching. He melted into the undergrowth and
vines, dropping his wards and lying absolutely still, his musings eclipsed by
this more immediate threat.

The hunters passed so near to him he could have
flicked the sweat from their skin. They spoke in low murmurs, but he could make
himself hear their words.

“We should have found her by now,” the first hissed,
winding through the tangled growth without a sound except his voice. “Where is
the little fool?” He stopped.

“We know that she fell into a patch of our new breed
of
thrista
,”
the second said, stopping also. He strained to see what they were doing. The
second was pouring over a piece of
papi’ras
. A map?
“Unless she managed to ‘
tun
home instantly,
which I seriously doubt, she’s either wandering around, feverish and blind, or
dead.” There was a malicious and hopeful glee in the voice.

“Shut up. The both of you,” a third one said in a
hiss as she came up beside them. “We have to find her, dead or alive. She has
to turn up eventually - there is nothing here in this narrow strip of unclaimed
land. Besides, nothing but our trained
lor’ugawu
will
touch something that has died in that type of
thrista
.
Now concentrate on the map - this is not our territory, and without the map we
are lost and would be victims to our own traps.”

“What of the tales of the spirit
Katari
?”
the first one asked, glancing around. “It is said to roam these lands.”

The female
warru
barked a
laugh. “Are you a child to be frightened by
nansi
stories? Pay attention to the map! Memorize it - or else, if it is lost, we are
joumbi
food!”

He watched them bend over the
papi’ras
.
He did not need it, for he knew of all the traps they spoke of, all of the
deadly plants that were intentionally placed and deftly avoided them. But these
were the ones who had created and planted the abominations - for that alone
they deserved to be left to the mercy of their own cleverness. They also wore
the colors of one of the several Tribes that others, who had tried to snare and
kill him before, had worn, and for that he felt he had the right to personal
vengeance. But they spoke of finding Jeliya, and if she was who he thought she
was, then what they spoke was treason. He did not even have to consider his
options.

He murmured the cantrip to a rite that he had
created for just such an occasion, when covert escape was needed.

In this time

Of fear and
rhyme

Forest shield

My limbs will
yield.

But this time, as the cloak of camouflage enfolded
him, he did not slip quietly away as before, leaving them none the wiser to his
presence. This time he waited until they were totally engrossed in the map,
then rose and bounded past them, snatching the
papi’ras
from startled hands. Their panicked cries followed him into the overgrowth and
he laughed in malicious triumph. They would not find anything this turn, or any
other, except their deaths.