Duty (Book 2) (34 page)

I have to make things right again!

She rehearsed the lies she would say and wondered if she had the strength or skill to convince him that any of them were true. The nights spent talking with him from the carriage, the teasing, the arguments, the irreverent jokes about Chertanne, the shared joys and pains of their trail through the canyon ranked as the dearest memories of her life. She wanted his touch, his kiss, his regard, and most of all, his heart. He was the only person in Ki’Hal she felt she could be totally honest and open with, including her mother. Somehow, he understood her completely—weaknesses, follies, and sins—and loved her anyway without expecting anything in return. She desperately wanted to give him everything.

“Being a Chalaine means forgetting yourself,” she whispered, remembering one of Prelate Obelard’s sermons from when she was young. “While you will be crowned with glory, honor, and the gratitude of all peoples when your work is complete, your life must be your duty, your heart single, and your thoughts ever upon the Ha’Ulrich. Distraction from your purpose is the destruction of the world.”

Never had that world seemed so distant or her heart so filled with want. She sat and rubbed her Protector’s face, tracing his scars with her finger, his body a parchment she wished to imprint herself upon. Chertanne would never fill her heart or win her regard. Gen had done both. Gen’s wisdom and deep devotion made Dason’s lively conversation and flirtation seem stupid. That she couldn’t love and reward the man who had earned it, that she couldn’t kiss him as her mother had, that she would bind herself to Chertanne and not to Gen tore at her heart.

Full dark came. A queasy sickness knotted her stomach and weakened her limbs. A soothing breeze arrived with the night, but it, combined with the steady rumble of the small falls nearby, could not coax her weary body to sleep. As she stared into the utter blackness beyond the firelight, fireflies emerged from cracks in the canyon walls, the first fireflies she had ever seen. She’d read of them before, but seeing them flit about, tiny lanterns in the gloom, brought some comfort to her tormented mind.

At first only a few danced above the falls, their numbers gradually swelling until a great cloud of them cast a yellow glow over where she sat. Then, as if at some prearranged signal, they dove as one over the edge of the falls and into the cove. So great were their numbers that she could still see faintly by their light. Laying Gen’s head gently on the ground, she rose and hiked to the edge of the falls. What she saw took her breath away.

Many of the fireflies danced over the pool, their reflection in the water doubling their numbers and their light. Small swarms of others had flown into each of the delicate gazebos, flying in loose spheres inside them, illuminating the cove. In her mind’s eye the Chalaine imagined elven lords and ladies, graceful, noble, and festive, dancing and talking together underneath the stars in the soft glow. The waterfall’s noise seemed more like music now, and she thought she heard the song of birds in the branches of the trees below. She watched, entranced, until weariness overtook her and she turned back. She thought of waking Gen to show him but couldn’t bring herself to face him yet.

After replenishing the fire, she knelt by her Protector and unbuckled his sword belt. She laid the sword and scabbard across his chest as he would have done, and instinctively he wrapped his arms around them. In the weak light, he looked positioned for death.

The Chalaine picked up his hand and held it to her heart. “Please forgive me,” she begged. “Happiness with Fenna is still yours to have. Someday, when we are old, I will find you and tell you the truth.”

Placing his hand back on his sword, she curled up next to him. Laying her head on his shoulder, she fell into a deep sleep, not caring if danger found them.

The familiar dream came again and she ran. She knew the faces, now, and the names.

She awoke late the next morning, the sun already high enough to burn away the canyon mist. Reluctantly she pulled herself away from Ge
n’
s warmth and sat up. All at once she felt sick, not daring to look at the peaceful face of her Protector for fear doing so would crumble her resolve. After rinsing her own face in the chill water of the river, she walked along the bank preparing herself emotionally for the loneliness she had committed to pull on top of herself.

Thinking of Fenna smiling at Gen’s return helped steel her, and at last she crossed back to where he slept. Incanting softly, she put her face close to his and inhaled deeply, stepping back as his eyes fluttered and opened. He jumped to his feet in confusion, staring at the sky for several moments before settling his gaze upon the Chalaine. She braced herself.

Gen regarded her, face troubled. “What have you done?”

“I made you sleep, as I said I would,” she answered coldly. “You needed it, so don’t bother offering a protest. Let’s eat and leave.” Her tone took him back, and expectedly, he controlled his face into a stony mask of indifference.

“I don’t suppose you stayed awake to watch?” he inquired, voice empty.

“Does it matter? We’re alive. But you’ve been watching, haven’t you?” She was thankful for his irritable mood. It simplified what she needed to do.

“What?” he returned flatly.

“I’ll show you what I mean. Give me your knife.” The perplexity only showed in his eyes as he removed his knife from his boot and handed it to her. “Now hold out your arm.”

As he did, the Chalaine slashed it deeply, blood dripping onto the stones. He didn’t blink or even grimace at the wound, a feat that still unnerved her.

She removed her veil. “Now look at me.”

As he did, she returned the gaze unblinkingly while his blood painted the stones at their feet. How she wanted to see his eyes smile again, to see them soften with kindness or flare with delight when he saw her. Ruthlessly she shoved down her want and put forth her hand and touched his skin. The flaps of the wound knit together instantly.

“What was that supposed to prove?” he questioned. “We both know you are a powerful healer.”

“I didn’t try to heal you, Gen; you just healed. Remember when you told me that I’d healed you in the carriage and I had no memory of doing so? That’s because I did nothing to heal you. If I touch you, you are healed.”

“Interesting. What does it have to do with me watching you, and why does it anger you?”

The Chalaine replaced her veil and swallowed hard. “You know the prophecy well. Do you remember the part about the Chalaine and the Ha’Ulrich walking hand in hand?”

“Yes.”

“Recite it, then.”

And upon the field of death they shall walk,

Hand in hand.

And about them the fire of war shall burn,

And about them the arrows fall,

And around them the blades cut,

And around them demons rage.

But he bears no burn, no wound.

From his heart to her hand is love,

From her heart to his hand is healing,

Without will, without spell,

Without sacrifice.

Hand in hand. Strength for strength.

“Stop.” She waited as he thought. “From the earliest Chalaine to me, woman to woman, was passed the mystery, Gen. He that loves the Chalaine suffers no wound if he stands with our touch. Hand in hand I am to walk onto the field of death with the Ha’Ulrich, and in my hand will be the healing that will keep him alive when the armies of Mikkik wage war upon us.”

“Then Chertanne is a dead man. He loves you not.”

“But you love me, Gen.” It took every ounce of effort to sound disappointed. “I couldn’t heal you like that if you didn’t.”

“So? I think everyone who knows you well loves you.”

She could sense the turmoil building in his mind, his confusion. “No, Gen, not in the way you do. I cannot heal Jaron, Dason, or anyone as I can heal you now. You love me as a man loves a woman. You’ve kept watch over me, desiring me. I
thought
you wanted me to wear the veil for your reputation’s sake. Now I realize that you just felt guilty for loving me, felt guilty for looking at me like a man looks on a woman he wants.”

His face flamed red with shame and embarrassment, and the Chalaine felt guilty and sick for dredging up an emotion in him he could not suppress. But however cruel, she could leave no thread uncut.

“And you should feel ashamed. What of poor Fenna? She’s the best friend I have, and you’ve betrayed her and fallen in love with another woman. At least Chertanne doesn’t try to pretend he loves me. Do you think Fenna will believe it when you pretend to love her?

“I’m saddened that you could do this to her. I suppose I should have known. The same thing was happening with Dason before you replaced him. Dason was falling in love with me, and when I am being truthful with myself, I must admit I loved him, too. He is a handsome, noble man. But if I could not love him or let him love me, I certainly would not love you. Not that way. You’ve been a good, loyal friend, Gen, but you’ve let your discipline slip and in doing so have hurt Fenna and made me doubt your heart, which I once thought to be true.”

He was broken, face ashen. “Please,” Gen pleaded. “I apologize for my folly. I will be true. And you must believe, Alumira, that I would have never done anything to dissuade you from your marriage and your duty. I swear it. I know you couldn’t love me in that way. I would never have asked you to love me in return. If it weren’t for the healing, you would have never known. I’m not sure I would have known either. It’s been so natural and gradual, so easy. Just let me do my duty. That’s all I ask. I never wanted to hurt you.”

The Chalaine couldn’t speak for several moments, grateful the veil hid the emotion on her face. “I will do as you ask unless I see that what you say isn’t true. I will help you, though. You must never call me Alumira again or act familiar with me as you have done. Since I know you feel more than friendship for me, those things are no longer appropriate.”

“Yes, Milady” he said with a slight bow. “I am truly sorry and I thank you for your forbearance and mercy. I will not fail you.”

“Then lead on.”

The Chalaine observed Gen closely as he surveyed their situation, trying to fathom what he felt, but he returned his face to the cold, meaningless demeanor he had once worn without reprieve. As they clambered their way down the side of the waterfall and searched for a place to cross the pool, his silence and his reluctance to even take her hand to help her in difficult places let her know she hit the mark she intended. Thinking on how hypocritical, false, and undeserved her words had been set her self-loathing to roiling. By nature, she sought to heal others, and she worked hard to convince herself that she was about that business for Fenna and for him.

At the far end of the pool a slender bridge spanned the river, the roar of the waterfall to their right drowning out every other noise. The quick-moving water converged at a narrow notch in the canyon wall, the constriction choking and foaming the water as it rushed over to plummet hundreds of feet to a narrow rapid below. A cool mist added to the morning chill, rising into the air from the troubled water and dampening their clothes as they traversed the delicate structure.

The bridge terminated in a narrow path that led by the gazebos they had spotted the day before, each beautiful and unique, carved with figures of elves, beasts, and intricate symbols the Chalaine had never heard of or seen. Gen passed them all without comment, heading directly for the cave entrance as if nothing else existed. Every step toward that black hole brought a deeper sadness into the Chalaine’s heart. There was no evidence of the birds that had sung so loudly the night before, and what the light of the fireflies had transformed into something so lively now lay dead, dreary, and lifeless.

“We’ll need to find something to light our way once we enter the cave, Gen,” the Chalaine advised.

He answered nothing but instead went to the entrance and stared into the darkness as if waiting for something. A faint, cool breeze blew out of the cave, smelling musty. A feeling, an almost palpable sadness, seeped from the entrance and discouraged entry. The cave was not really a cave but a finely carved hall still in perfect condition, if dusty.

“Gen?” she asked after a long pause. He raised a finger indicating for her to wait. She squinted into the dark, listening, when she discerned a small light coming toward them, followed by another, and then more. The fireflies. A clump of them hovered in a sphere ahead of them, casting a yellow glow to push back the darkness. As they walked forward into the gloomy hall, the fireflies stayed just ahead of them, providing ample light to travel by.

“You knew about them,” the Chalaine commented, trying to force some conversation. “I saw them last night, lighting the water and the gazebos. It was beautiful. How did you know?”

“Just a memory, your Highness.”

The Chalaine gritted her teeth at his lifeless tone. Each word was a corpse pulled from its grave.

The hallway sloped down for nearly a mile before leveling out and widening. The floor was made up of small square pieces of glazed marble set into patterns and shapes. Some she recognized as runes. Others were crafted into elaborate scenes of nature, people, and war. At long intervals, the right side of the hallway would open to the outside, revealing striking views of the river and the canyon. As much as she wanted to stop and look, she didn’t dare ask Gen to delay. She knew what he would say. He pressed forward unheeding of anything around them, focused on getting out of the canyon and nothing else.

Again the hallway sloped down and into darkness, the natural light from the windows fading behind them. Alcoves carved into the hallway offered convenient places to stop, and after what the Chalaine thought had been an hour, she asked Gen to halt their march so she could rest. He acquiesced, and she sat on a comfortable bench carved into the wall itself within a recessed arch. Rather than sit beside her, Gen stood at attention in front of her, face stony and cold in the weak light. The Chalaine half considered undoing what she’d done, confessing what she felt and accepting the blame for leading him on.

“We should go, Milady,” Gen’s voice startled her. “This place has an air of sadness to it, and we would do well to get out quickly.”
  “I feel it, too.”

They walked more swiftly now, a sudden urgency spurring them on as an unnatural veil of melancholy enveloped them. The hallway, once flawless, started to reveal pale moss, cracks, and small pools of water. The Chalaine wrinkled her nose as the smell of must strengthened. The wind they felt earlier dissipated and died, the scrape and splash of their footfalls echoing longer and louder than they had before. The Chalaine edged closer to Gen. Deeper they walked, stepping in stagnant pools of grimy water and slipping on slick tiles.

A loud wail, tortured and long, froze them where they stood. The sphere of fireflies broke and fled, leaving them blind. The Chalaine reached out into pure blackness, reaching for Gen, but her hand found nothing. She stepped forward, feeling about her.

“Gen! Gen! Where are you?”

Something flapped past her head, and she shrieked, fear pricking her skin.  She called for Gen with a softer voice, finding the wall to her right and feeling her way along it as she walked. Another moan, now closer, reverberated down the corridor, and she stopped, fearful of what she might find. Ahead of her she could make out a lightening in the gloom, and she made her way cautiously toward it.

The hallway turned abruptly to the right, and she spied a large room filled with sunlight. Voices, one powerful and strong, one hoarse and sad, argued with each other. She sneaked closer for a better look, moving slowly so as not to splash in the pools of water at her feet.

The room, dome-shaped and wide, rose some fifty feet into the air where a hole twice the width of a man had been chiseled, letting in the midday sunlight. The circle of light encompassed a raised pool of water surrounded by circular benches. In the center of the pool the Chalaine surmised a statue had once stood, but instead, a figure sat upon the broken pedestal. He sobbed, his face lowered.

At the edge of the pool, addressing him in an unfamiliar tongue, stood an imposing figure, cloaked to hide his features. Gen lay sprawled and unconscious on a bench nearby, and the Chalaine shrank back, fearing discovery.