VirtualHeaven (24 page)

Kered woke her at the base of Hart Fell. The Tolemac sun
still ruled the sky. He tethered Windsong and offered his arms so she could
dismount. “We made it in two days, didn’t we?” She tried for a neutral
conversational tone.

“Aye,” he said, linking fingers with her and striding up the
steep slope.

“Wait,” she cried. He let her go and she ran back to
Windsong, encircling his neck and whispering against his black hide. “Goodbye,
precious boy.”

Windsong raised his head and tossed his mane. With a last wistful
look at the stallion, she returned to Kered. They stepped into the trees and
began to climb.

At the summit, smoke drifting from the thatched roof told
them Nilrem was home. Kered did not knock, just flung the door open. Nilrem
looked up from his contemplation of the fire. A

sinuous black cat rose to stand at his side, the flames
lighting his feral face.

“What brings you to invite the Gulap inside?” Kered asked,
slamming the door.

“The whisper of unrest,” Nilrem said, stroking the Gulap’s
flank.

Maggie clung to Kered’s hand. The Gulap yawned.

Kered removed Maggie’s cloak and ran a knuckle across her
cheek. She sensed that Nilrem had noted the caress and her skin heated in a
deep flush. The Gulap opened his mouth wide in a jack-o’-lantern grin.

“How did word of unrest reach you? I have just now left the
capital.” Kered placed his hands on Maggie’s shoulders and steered her to the
far corner of the hut and Nilrem’s bed.

“It came with the winds.” Nilrem lifted a goblet and drank.

Maggie huddled on the heavy furs of Nilrem’s bed. Smoke
wreathed the rafters, twisting into an opening in the thatch. Kered, slouching,
paced about the small hut, pouring out the story of Samoht’s treachery from
beginning to end. Each time he passed the cat, it took a swipe. Nilrem finally
slapped the beast’s flanks, sending a miasma of stink in Maggie’s direction.

“What do you suggest we do?” Kered asked.

“There is little to say. Had you chosen death for Samoht’s
men, you would have had more time. But you were merciful—far more merciful than
they would have been to you. ‘Tis too late to wish for their blood. I know
Tolem. Detained means a day or two, perhaps three at most.” He laughed into his
goblet of ale, dribbling some of it down his beard. “Eight warriors, you say?
When Tolem’s women are finished with them, they will scarce be able to crawl up
Hart Fell.”

Kered frowned. “His women? I fail to see what the beggar
women have to do with this.”

“Tolem’s men may subdue the warriors, but Tolem’s women will
keep them on their backs!” He slapped his knees, then wiped the back of his
hand across his mouth. “Just imagine—only eight Red-roses for so many women to
share! Of course, the warriors may be further delayed if some of the men are
desirous of those red rosy buttocks for themselves. All that clean flesh at the
beggars’ mercy, oh my.”

“Stop it,” Maggie said. “Can’t you be serious?”

“Ill-tempered, is she not?” Nilrem cocked a gray eyebrow in
question, then slapped the Gulap’s hindquarters.

“Range the hills, my friend. Warn us of intruders. Feel free
to taste of any who displease you.” The Gulap paced to the hut door and when
Kered opened it, the ebony feline melted into the twilight.

Kered sank to a three-legged stool. “Maggie is correct to
wish that we cease this speculation. How may we be together?”

“Together!” Maggie rose on her knees and threw off the furs.
She climbed off the bed and knelt before Kered, encircling his waist and laying
her cheek on his chest.

Kered tenderly stroked her hair from her face and lightly
kissed the top of her head. “Aye. How may we be together?”

“My son, your father is dead. The council is in shambles.
Renewal of war is imminent. ‘Tis unlikely that you will be together for many
months. Most likely, six or seven, and then only if you can wipe out all hint
of this idea of witchery.”

Maggie turned in Kered’s arms, riven with anger. “I am not a
witch!”

“Perhaps not, but the taint of the accusation will spread to
eat away at this man’s reputation. Can you deny that? How many saw you
together? Sensed your ardor for one another? The N’Olavan guard has but to
accuse you of casting a spell over Kered, the Red-rose warriors have but to
implicate you in Samoht’s disappearance, and poof—you are smoke and ashes, your
bones ground and scattered on the road to the capital as a warning to all.”

“By the sword.” Kered’s arms tightened about her.

Maggie bent her head, her hair curling over Kered’s strong
forearms. “Kered’s needed, isn’t he?”

“Aye, my child. Would you deny him his destiny now that he
has gained the sword and cup?”

“‘Tis
my
destiny to deny,” Kered snapped. “I will
decide. Hear the truth—Maggie secured the cup and sword.”

“Perhaps you did it together,” Nilrem suggested.

“Or not,” Kered returned.

Nilrem spoke softly. “Then look to the heavens before making
any decisions.”

On that cryptic remark, Maggie shivered. Kered drew her up
and led her back to the bed. “I want you to rest, Maggie.”

She nodded. Her eyes felt heavy and the bed, though likely
flea-ridden, was soft and inviting.

Kered stepped out of the hut, drawing the crisp air into his
lungs to clear out the smoke. He looked up. The orbs had aligned. The winds
would rise, cutting to the bone with icy fingers. An intangible longing to shed
his life and responsibilities nudged at his conscience. All that he had ever dreamt
or desired in a lifemate lay sleeping behind him. All that he loathed—war,
brutality, the underhanded intrigues of politics—lay ahead. ‘Twas the height of
vanity to think that only he could cut through the treachery and restore the
Selaw treaty. The agony of his decision coursed like a river of fire through
his veins. He silently raged at the gods for setting Maggie in his path and him
in Leoh’s.

He touched his new gold arm rings. His hand dropped to the
sacred sword at his side. The gesture pulled against the bandages about his
ribs. A riffle of wind stirred the leaves at his feet.

An awareness that Maggie stood behind him made Kered turn
and face her. The night breeze molded the light silk of her gown to her body.
Her gaze caressed him before dropping to his hand on the sword.

She looked to the heavens. “No,” she whispered as if
beseeching him for mercy.

Her denial shredded his resolve. The wind blew her hair in a
glorious raven cloud about her shoulders, tearing at his insides. He knew what
he would do.

He snatched her against his chest with his free arm,
crushing her delicate bones against his own. The sacred sword’s hilt burned
like molten metal in his palm—searing his decision into his body. His mouth
sealed hers for an instant of time. “You are my soul, Maggie O’Brien.”

He thrust her away. Duty and love warred in his heart.

The gleam of the sinking Tolemac sun caught the ancient
blade as he whipped it from the scabbard. A red flame dazzled his eyes as he
inscribed an arc in the indigo sky, casting a fireball on the distant mountain.
Lightning tore the fabric of the newly birthed night.

The orbs blurred before his eyes.

He smote the blade to the ground.

“No-o-o-o.” Her scream echoed across the mountains.

Maggie woke entombed in velvet darkness. She lay
disoriented, her stomach churning. Tentatively, she lifted her hand. Heavy. She
let it drop.

Blackness pressed down on her. Breathing shallowly, she
rolled onto her side. Pain shot through her head. She moaned, gulped down
nausea, and curled into a protective ball.

Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings. A distant glow
might be light, perhaps from a candle in Nilrem’s window. The ground pressed
against her cheek was rough, smelled medicinal. She idly stroked her fingertips
along it.

Carpet
.

A moan escaped her as she forced herself to her knees. Bent
over, she explored with her hands. The near-total blackness told her nothing,
but her fingers and nose said new carpeting, its chemical scent heavy in the
air. Another scent came to her—the scent of plastic.

And she knew. Knew without a doubt where she was.

She staggered to her feet then fell back down. Her hands
grazed along something solid. She wept, silently, in great, body-shaking gulps.

“Kered.” She whispered his name tentatively, hopelessly, not
really believing he would answer. Silence was all she heard.

The pain in her head pulsed and throbbed. On hands and
knees, she crawled toward the faint glow. It coalesced into the gleam of a
streetlight shining into the front window of Virtual Heaven.

Maggie knelt in the doorway of the game booth and stared at
the light. Rain ran in sheets down the plate-glass windows. Her ears picked up
the harsh whip of wind. She shivered, now aware of the flimsy protection of her
gown. She listened intently, seeking some sign that Kered was with her. Only
storm sounds filled her ears.

“No, no, no,” she chanted, more alone than she’d ever felt
in her life.

As her stomach settled, she grew frightened. What if he lay
unconscious in the game booth? Gathering her strength, she stood up and turned
back into the small chamber behind her. She thrust her hands out and shuffled
her feet carefully along the floor, her fingers searching for the light switch.
Her legs trembled. The switch was where she remembered it to be, but she stood
for several long moments without using it. Finally, taking a deep breath and
offering up a silent prayer, she thumbed the switch. Light flooded the chamber.
Instantly, she flicked the light off again. She sank to her knees and leaned
her cheek against the wall in the comforting darkness.

She was alone.

She did not want to see the empty chamber, did not want to
face the reality of what she knew to be true.

Kered had sent her away.

The ebony shadows of the room filled her eyes, seeped into
her soul, and helped her slip into oblivion.

Maggie regained consciousness the second time with
sharp-edged clarity. The pain in her head lingered, but had subsided to a
manageable level. Her stomach no longer heaved. When she stood up, the world
only tilted for an instant before righting itself.

Taking a deep breath, she turned on the light in the booth
and refused to look about or make a pointless search. She approached the
control platform of the game with resolute steps. The keyboard still meant
nothing to her. At her waist, the game gun dug into her side. She pulled it out
of her belt and placed it gingerly on the console. Her gaze swept the wide,
white screen.

“Why?” she whispered to it. To him. Wherever he was.

She had thought her tears done, but new ones dripped down
her face. Grief-stricken, she touched the keys, tapping combinations, seeking a
way to turn the game back on.

A whir and hum filled the chamber in a sudden burst of sound
and vibration. Maggie flinched away from the controls. Her back came up against
the railing. The headpiece, resting there, dropped to the floor with a thud.
Then the game fell silent.

Fingers hovering above the slick plastic keys, Maggie
hesitated. Could she bear to see him climb that hill? Smile as if he cared. And
know he was out of reach. Had sent her away—no, thrust her away. She rubbed her
arms. They ached where his fingers had grasped her. She imagined the bruises
that would develop there in a few days. Her hands fell to her sides.

Thunder muttered in the distance.

On unsteady legs, Maggie walked out into the main room,
using the wall for support. She scanned the shop. Dimly lit by a streetlight
across the boardwalk, the shop looked comfortingly familiar. Until she gazed at
the south-facing wall. The wall that had separated Virtual Heaven from Maggie’s
Treasures was gone. Virtual Heaven stretched twice its former width.

Maggie stumbled down the aisles of video games and came to a
breathless halt. Hands out like a mime, she touched empty space. Crossing into
what was once her shop, Maggie rubbed her temples. Maggie’s Treasures had been
swallowed up, had ceased to exist.

Turning back, she headed to the door of Gwen’s shop. She
shook it blindly, feeling like an animal trapped in a cage. The small red light
of the security console mocked her. If she opened the door, the police would
come. And Gwen. Maggie desperately, unreasonably, needed to escape the shop and
the reality of her situation.

Maggie took a deep, shuddering breath and forced herself to
be calm. She had killed a man to save Kered. She could find a way out of a
simple shop. Quickly, she scanned the door, the security box. Short of breaking
the window, she had no idea what to do.

A curious lethargy settled over her. She leaned her face
against the cool glass and stared up and down the deserted boardwalk. How dull
and colorless the world looked. It could be midnight or five in the morning.
The dense cloud cover and heavy rain prevented her from reading the stars or
the position of the moon, prevented her from knowing whether Gwen had just
locked up a moment ago or had shut down the shop weeks ago for the winter
hiatus and gone to sunnier climes.

By the front door stood a revolving stand of periodicals.
The store must still be open, Maggie realized, otherwise the rack would be
empty and covered. In fact, the aisles of games would be shrouded against sand
and dust as well.

One magazine caught her eye. The cover story of
Video
Game
froze her to the spot, one hand outstretched.

TOLEMAC WARS—NO PEACE.

She grabbed the magazine and flipped quickly through the
pages, moving closer to the windows and the meager light shed by the outside
streetlamp.

Her hands trembled as the magazine fell open to a long
article that spanned several pages. But it was the photograph of a poster in
the right-hand corner, not the text, that drew her.

Kered
.

The opening paragraph of the article stated that Townsend
Creations, the company that had created the virtual reality game
Tolemac
Wars
, was undergoing an internal upheaval that might result in the demise
of the immensely popular game.

What would happen to Tolemac if Townsend Creations pulled
the plug?
Maggie thought, her pulse throbbing in her throat. Her head felt
stuffed with cotton, her hands suddenly ice cold. She scanned the rest of the
article to discover that the reclusive D. W. Townsend could not be reached for
comment. Stock prices were plummeting. A sidebar article asked the question in
a bold headline: will there be a
TOLMAC WARS if!

Maggie slapped the magazine closed. She stared at the date.
October. Not quite a year since she’d walked through the door of Virtual Heaven
to choose an outfit for a November storm party.

All around her, Ocean City was inundated with another
nor’easter. The waves snarled and snapped at the boardwalk, spewed their foam
up through the boards. The wind, muffled by thermal glass, still whined about
the gutters. The scent of damp and mold overwhelmed even that of the new
carpeting.

Maggie turned slowly about. What was it Gwen had said so
long ago? The poster artist, who also painted book covers for Hearts on Fire
Publishing, used live models. That meant the Tolemac warrior might
exist…somewhere.

She didn’t want some poster model. She wanted only Kered.

She thrust the thought away even as her feet took her to the
game booth and the large poster next to it. The magazine fell from her fingers
as she approached
his
poster with slow, dragging footsteps.

With a complete loss of composure, she slammed her fists
into the poster, pounding out her frustration and pain. Energy surged up her
arms, through her shoulders, and burst like a gunshot in her head. She
staggered back. An ozone scent filled the air.

She gazed in wonder at her hands, then up at the poster. It,
too, showed no hint of what had just happened to her. With less anger, she
spread her shaking hands. Her fingers touched the poster’s glossy surface.

“Just paper,” she whispered. With the lightest of touches,
she skimmed her fingers over his face. Nothing. Over his well-muscled torso. No
spark. No jolt. But when her hands reached the jeweled knife strapped to his
thigh, the knife strapped to hers flashed red hot. She screamed and fell back.
Frantically, she clawed the knife from its sheath. It glowed like molten metal.
She dropped it to the carpet. It lay there, blade gleaming, in the faint light
from the boardwalk.

Maggie paced a wide circle around the knife, her eyes glued
to Kered’s face. Nothing changed. Her world tipped and she sank to the stool
Gwen kept behind the counter. Her thigh burned.

As she kneaded the sore spot on her leg, she worried her lip
between her teeth. A connection still existed. But could she go back? Could she
find him again?

She rose and touched a mere fingertip to the flat, glossy
knife. A tremor swept through her. Grief and something else, something vague
and disquieting, filled her being. Reluctantly, she dropped her hand.

A terrible thought again intruded on her grief. What if
Townsend Creations stopped making the game? Did that mean the path to Kered’s
world would cease to exist? Did it mean
he
would cease to exist?

She looked over her shoulder at the rain-swept sky. What did
it take to get to Tolemac? A fluke of lightning at the right time? As if in
answer, there was a luminescent flicker over the horizon.

“What should I do?” she whispered to Kered, who stood as he
had when she’d first seen him and as he had at the last—impervious to all
around him, powerful and silent.

She hung her head and slipped down to her knees. Maybe he
needed her
here
. Maybe he needed her to keep the game going. The Shadow
Woman still merged with the trees behind him, a wraith, ready to defend his
back.

Maggie looked to where her shop had once stood. Her life,
here in Ocean City, had changed drastically in the time she’d been gone. What
must everyone think had happened to her? What did Kered think had happened to
her?

How long she sat looking up at Kered she could not later
say, but her legs had gone to sleep, and her back ached when she finally stood
and entered the game booth.

She stepped up to the controls just as she had that first
time—unsure, yet lured by a man’s smile.

“I need you,” she said to the empty screen.

The keys blurred. She dashed at her tears with the back of
her hands before bringing her fists down on the keyboard with a resounding
crash.

The whir and hum filled the game booth. Maggie gripped the
railing to anchor herself. Anguish clawed at her resolve.

They burn witches
, he’d said. Had he sent her away to
protect her? Had he sent her away because the question he’d posed to Nilrem—How
may we be together?—had no answer in a slave society? Or had other factors
conspired against them?

“It takes a while to warm up.”

Maggie shrieked and whirled around. Gwen stood in the arched
entrance to the game booth, her hair sticking up like a rooster tail, an old
chenille robe knotted over her sweatpants.

They fell into each other’s arms, sobbing and gasping out
unintelligible words of joy and disbelief.

Gwen shoved Maggie out to arm’s length and chastised her as
one would a lost child, dearly loved. “Where have you been? Everyone has been
worried sick about you! How could you do this to us?”

Maggie hugged Gwen close to forestall an answer. “I’m sorry.
So sorry.” She glanced over Gwen’s shoulder, like an addict who knew her fix
might appear at any moment. The screen remained blank.

“Look at me!” Gwen shook Maggie, then reached around her and
tapped a few keys. The hum of machinery fell silent.

Biting her tongue, Maggie allowed Gwen to drag her into the
shop and force her down onto the stool. “Please, Gwen, don’t ask me to
explain.” Maggie folded her hands tightly in her lap.

“I’m sorry, but you have to,” Gwen said softly. She briefly
touched Maggie’s shoulder. “For the past year, everyone thought you were
dead—or almost everyone.” Gwen squealed and hugged Maggie tightly once more.
“Oh, God. You owe me an explanation. You owe your mom and dad an explanation—”

Gwen stopped short. She reached down and picked up the
dagger Maggie had thrown to the floor. Light glinted off the blade. Gwen’s gaze
swept over Maggie, and she seemed to see her for the first time. “This costume,
this knife—” Gwen shifted her gaze to the
Tolemac Wars
poster. “I don’t
get it. Halloween’s not for two weeks.”

Maggie bit her lip and tasted blood. There was nothing she
could say that would not sound insane.

“You’re involved in that damned game convention in Atlantic
City, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve become a game groupie!”

“Game groupie?” Maggie tried to keep her voice neutral.

Gwen slapped the dagger into Maggie’s lap. “Take your stupid
prop.” She stomped to the doors, came back, and stood before Maggie with her
hands on her hips. “You damn well better explain yourself because with what I’m
thinking—” She stuttered to a halt.