The Seekers Of Fire Part 16

"I am so sorry ..." Linden gratefully sank her face onto Nan's ample bosom, while the healer's plump arms encircled her shoulders. She was not really crying, was she?

"Rianor's cut was worse, darling, I would have treated him first, anyway. You'll both be fine, don't you worry." She stroked her hair. "You're such a sweet girl."

I am not. A part of me wanted to kill your boy tonight. I don't even know if I wanted you to help him first because I wanted to, or because I felt guilty. And it was a stupid thing to do. I would have given you sleepless nights if my wound were worse. I did not think. I did not think of you. I only thought of me.

Nan smelled of medicine and healer's alcohol right now. She smelled like Dada"and Linden had not thought of him either, for hours. Where were he and Mom? Were they still at home, or had they had to run? The Mentors had done nothing, Nan had said, but that did not mean that they would do nothing.

There would be a new Mentor, and the very first event he or she would preside upon would be the taking of old Maxim's body to the temple to be given to fire and Maxim's quintessence released to the Master and the Eternal Place. Everyone would attend. What if the new Mentor was the young Mentor from that night? What if he remembered Linden's face and saw how much Linden and Kelley looked alike?

Linden raised her head from Nan's embrace, her face tearless. Somehow the tangle of sadness, guilt, anger, confusion, emptiness, and shear exhaustion was not to be appeased by an old woman's caress, or by crying.

Rianor was still watching her; he seemed to read something on her face. He put his good hand on Nan's shoulder, gently.

"Nan, if you are done with Linde, I would like to talk to her alone." Nan hesitated, and he lowered his gaze to the ground. "Please?"

Nan shook her head. "Rianor, my boy, how could you do this to her? Why didn't you do it the way it should be done? You should have done it in front of everyone, so it could be properly sealed. You should have said the words. Did you say the words? No? I thought so."

"Nan. Words are not that important. We'll talk later, at Council. I am sorry for disturbing you twice tonight. Please, keep Blake with you, too." His tone was final, but Nan paid no heed.

"Are words not important? Silly boy, what is there to the world but words? "High Lord," "lady." These things are words, and they do matter. But what is done is done now." She slowly raised her body from the sofa, leaving a warm concave on the pillow beside Linden. Linden watched he pillow expand slowly, regaining its shape. Its colors were a soothing combination of black and green.

Only, she did not feel soothed.

"I'll come to see both your hands in the morning, after I have checked on Desmond. He's worse than you both because his wound was not clean. But he'll walk again." Nan squeezed Rianor's hand, then removed it from her shoulder and turned to Linden. "Smell or no smell, don't remove the vinegar, dear, don't sleep on your hand, and don't let him sleep on his."

Linden continued watching the pillow after the door closed behind Nan, and she started only a little when the lock clicked. The predominating color of the pillow was light green, interspersed with knitted black spirals, from which embroidered leaves of darker green grew. The leaves had silver edges. The light green fabric felt soft to her fingers; the black and the silver-edged dark green were more defined and rugged. Linden lifted the pillow and pressed it to her cheek. It smelled strange, like ... like a tree. And it felt like a forest, soft green in the background where faraway trees intermingled, with dark trunks and defined leaves for the trees that were close.

Linden had seen real forests. She had gotten very close to a forest, once. It was so long ago that Eileen had not even been born. She had climbed the Forbidden Hill by Kladenets Village in Balkaene Province with Grandmother Dragana. They had climbed so high that they had almost reached the Boundary before the first wild trees. Linden had reveled in the dark, forbidding, breathtaking beauty of large oaks that had been there for so long that even Grandmother did not remember the land without them.

However, Grandmother did not remember the land without the Boundary and the Ber Station on the top of the hill, either.

When they had gone back to Grandmother's cottage, Mom had yelled and cried and said that Grandmother might be a daft old hag who could go anywhere, to the Lost Ones if she wished, but she was never again to risk the life of her daughter. Grandmother said nothing, but when Mom yelled again, Grandmother said that only a stupid woman would imprison her own child, and slapped her, and Mom slapped her back. Then, for the first time ever, Linden heard Dad yell, then they went home to Mierber and never, ever saw Dragana or Kladenets Village again.

Linden pulled the pillow closer. It smelled of Dragana, that was how it smelled, of some herb, some furniture perfume, something ... Something so distinct that it had brought the memory of Dad's infamous mother now of all times.

Linden had missed her and cried for her. But never before Mom. She wanted to cry for her again, now. Did she even live, after so many years? She had a lady granddaughter now, would she be proud? A granddaughter who chased her own forbidden hills.

She almost jumped when she felt Rianor's fingers in her hair, the other pillows s.h.i.+fting beside her as he sat. His touch was so different from Nan's. Linden forced herself to tear her eyes from the pillow and look at his face.

"Linde, I apologize for what I did to you with the wrist.w.a.tch. I did not think it would hurt, but that does not excuse my action."

She started crying, even though she had told herself she would not. "What exactly did you apologize for just now?"

He seemed taken aback. "What exactly are you asking? I apologized for causing you pain."

She avoided his eyes, looking at the pillow again. "You do not understand, do you?"

He tried to pull the pillow from her hands, making her look at him again. "Care to make me understand, my lady?"

She tried to blink the tears away. How could he not understand? "This wrist.w.a.tch faded into my body," she said carefully, fighting a great desire to look away from his eyes. His face was so close to hers. "You put something into my body without asking. Without warning. You hurt me. You violated me. How is that different from a rape?"

"Oh, Linde." He removed his hand from her hair, and for the first time since she had known him, he seemed at a loss. "I would have never looked at it like this."

Well, now he would.

He closed his eyes and ran his good hand along his forehead. He looked so much more ... vulnerable without his steely gaze.

"I ... the idea to rape you did cross my mind at certain times tonight. But I would never do this to you."

She swallowed. "Have you ... have you done it to anyone else?"

"That clarifying question is proof that I have found an apprentice with a true Scientific mind." He gave her a small smile. "No. I have not. Don't worry."

She tried to smile back, but could not. "I wanted to do bad things to you, too. Even kill you."

"You did not do bad things to me. Or kill me."

"I am sorry about your hand. Nan said to not sleep on it." He looked at her again, and she suddenly felt reckless. "She seemed to think I would sleep with you."

"Is that so? What you seem to think interests me more."

He leaned towards her, both the lantern on the wall and the smaller candle by the table casting light and shadows on his face. The effect was that his features looked sharper. The clean-cut outline of his cheeks and jaw was sharper, and so were the thin line of a whip cut, the fine nose, and the narrowed eyes that momentarily reminded her of a predator's.

She s.h.i.+vered and saw that he noticed. Suddenly torn between running to him and running away, she extended her good hand and lightly caressed his shoulder. His muscles tensed.

"Linde." Very carefully, as if it cost him great effort, he took her hand in his and moved it away. "Perhaps it is best to once and for all clarify some things between us." He stared at the candle, and if looks could hurt, by now it would have been an abused candle. "Linde, as a Scientist and your master, I respect and admire your mind and ideas. As a person, I like your flair, independence, and your choices." He gripped the edge of the pillow that she had released before touching his shoulder. "As a Scientist and as a person, I think that we can do many things together, things that matter. And then, as a mana"" She winced as the pillow shot towards the table, clas.h.i.+ng with the bottle of vinegar. "As a man, I want you s.e.xually. Very much. And this is not good. I have one of the smartest people I have ever met here with me, after a day full of way too many events of great importance, and all I think of right now is how your lips and skin will taste while I am pulling this dress off of you."

She imagined him doing ita"with details; then pressed her thighs together to control the tingling inside her body. She was not entirely sure how she wanted toa"or shoulda"react to all this. If she should react at all.

Again, he noticed, then purposely s.h.i.+fted his eyes away from her and stared at the candle again. The air smelled of vinegar.

"There are societal guidelines discouraging s.e.xual relations between members of the same House. Of course, I do not give a d.a.m.n about what society thinks. But since I consider myself relatively smarter than a brainless oaf, I do give a d.a.m.n about wasting the potential of our partners.h.i.+p to basic instincts. I will not try to take from you what I can take from any random wench, is what I am trying to say. I want your mind."

"I rather value it, you know. I would keep it for myself."

He laughed. "See? This is what I mean."

How about what I mean, you egocentric, tactless ... How about how I feel? His High Lordliness had not even asked what she thought of the whole issuea"what she wanted from him. And he just had to include random wenches in the conversation. She stared at the pillow, which was currently lying askew on the floor at the other side of the table. Why did he throw it like this? So careless.

Well, what did she want from him? He was still watching the candle, the light reflecting in his unreadable eyes.

Oh, but she could read him. The realization surprised her. His face was hard and, as usual, she could not touch his mind with hers, but through the part in her that thought with crystal claritya"or through some other, womanly, parta"there were things she just knew.

She could go to him now. She could break all his barriers with just a touch or a kiss. He could not withstand her. But the price would be that, with all his barriers broken, she would not be able to withstand him. In a way, it was exhilarating. She had the power to control hima"at the moment. Raw power that she felt rather than knew how to use. If she used it, however, she would be at his mercy. He could rape her, or do anything else that right now his barriers were telling him to not do.

She knew some self-defense, of course; she would not be completely at his mercy ... Oh, but that was not the question. The question was, would it truly be a rape? It was as if some previously undiscovered part of her wanted to both control him and be at his mercy. What would Cal or Mom advise her if she could ask them? They knew more about men than she did.

Cal would undoubtedly find the situation thrilling. She would perhaps frown her beautiful brows at the "random wenches" statement (who wouldn't!), but then complain how much her hand hurt and couldn't he take a look at it? She would smile at him shyly while he did and would thank him, and it would all be so sweet and cute that no barriers would be broken, but perhaps, just perhaps, he would kiss her. And next time, more. Cal would call it love, probably. Cal was in love often. Of course, he would not want her mind.

It would not work for Linden. More often than not, she had been irritated, sometimes angry, while watching Cal and her boyfriends (no watching further than the kissing part, of course). Acting as if you were more stupid than a man or weaker just so you could say you had a boyfrienda"what was the point? Why did you need a boyfriend? Linden had some experience with young men herself, kissing and somewhat beyond that but not to the end, and she did not yet have an answer. She had fancied herself "in love" once or twice, but she had either known the person was not for her from the start or learned soon enough. She had not even been "brokenhearted" for more than a few days because of these "loves."

No, that was not right. In a way, she was brokenhearted constantly. She wanted something, needed something. She did not even know what exactly it was, but it left a certain emptiness inside.

One thing was certaina"she had never before wanted power over a man, let alone his power over herself.

Perhaps Mom would advise Linden to go to Rianor. Mom, who had possessed the power to make Dad never see his mother againa"Dad, who was never a weak man. They quarreled often, Mom and Dad, and through the years there had been stormy "make up" moments when they thought the children slept and could not hear them through the wall. Perhaps in Linden's place Mom would deliberately break barriers with Rianor. She had once told Linden that the interplay of willpower was an essential part of a relations.h.i.+p and that Linden needed a man with very strong willpower to match hers.

But Calia and Mom were not her. She did not want to do what they would do. Oh, she wanted him, all right. She wanted him to show her the exact plans he had for her dress and everything else.

But more than that she wanted someone to understand her visions while still having visions of his own. Someone whose mind, like hers, leaped into unexpected places, so they could share the journey. A partner. A friend.

Linden had thought Katrina a person like that, but then Katrina had met Mark, who was sweet and good-natured but nothing special, and Linden could not understand. Linden was angry when Kat, one of the few Master Healers who had invented medicine beforea"with Mentors' blessing and everythinga"temporarily stopped and could talk about nothing but baby clothes. Linden was jealous of stupid Mark and the baby; betrayed. And then the baby died and she could do nothing to help.

At least she could not lose Rianor to a man. Of course, she could lose him to a woman, and something in her stomach overturned at the very thought. The jealousy was the same she had felt for Kat, and yet it was very different. Why, he might even have some woman now ...

Go to him. Just throw away the pillows between the two of you, press your body to his and let him do the rest. It will be enough.

But enough for what? Enough to become a "random wench?" Linden was not yet entirely certain what exactly she wanted from Rianor, but it was more than he would give one of them.

Carefully, she raised herself to her feet and went to retrieve the pillow he had thrown earlier. The motion made her slightly dizzy.

"May I please see the Aetarx doc.u.ments?" she said as she sat back, hugging the pillow to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, trying to keep her voice calm. "And what happened to Desmond? You did say there were 'too many events of great importance' tonight."

Her movement had broken his candle-staring. "You may see anything you want. You deserve it." Their eyes met, and she read in his some mixture of longing and respecta"and then, when her dizziness became stronger and she forgot about her wounded hand and tried to press it to her facea"concern.

"You need to eat." He stood, his good hand gripping the back of the sofa. "I do, too, for that matter. d.a.m.n it, I forgot. Eating helps after spending time with the Aetarx. Here, Nan has left us some bread sticks."

The sight of food was more than Linden could bear. Her stomach rebelled so much that she hid her face with the pillow, trembling.

"Come on, Linde, it will help," and when she just shook her head, "Don't tell me that you, too, follow some ridiculous diet."

"Me, too? Who else?" She had to ask at least that.

"Every lady of this House, except perhaps old Mathilda. All right, what is it that you do not eat?"

Everything, she wanted to say for some reason but said naught, and then the words started pouring as if by themselves, and not about food.

About the storm she talked, about mori and the heavy curtains of her bedroom, about Master Keitaro and dancing, about banners and changelings.

By the time she had fully described the strange banner animal to Rianor, she was so dizzy that there were dark spots before her eyes, and "up" and "down" were starting to seem relative rather than absolute directions.

He silently pressed a bread stick into her hand and then brought the hand itself to her mouth, pus.h.i.+ng until she was forced to part her lips.

"Eat, Linde. I am not letting you kill yourself."

Don't force me like that, she wanted to say, but could not, for he had meanwhile made her take another bite. "Thank you, Rianor" she murmured, instead, after she had swallowed and the dark spots started fading. "You, too, should eat." She took a new bread stick and handed it to him. "You should not only feed me. And you already did not let me kill myself once, tonight. With the sword. Thank you for that, too. And ... I am sorry."

Somehow they had so far avoided talking about the fight, the conversation drifting to other topics as if by itself, and already the fight was fading in her mind, like the distant memory of a frightening dream. What she had seen in the Aetarx room, what she had felt and thoughta"currently it did not seem more real than mori behind the curtains. But it was. Unless, of course, the mori behind the curtains were real, too.

"I should not forget. But for some reason I am trying to."

"Others before you have tried to forget as well." So Rianor knew what she was talking about. Was he catching her thought patterns?

"I will give you something to read." He stood, and she watched his good hand once again grip the sofa, a single muscle twitching on his cheek. Wretch the man and his control. He still walked with agility and confidence, but she was learning to read him. He was unwell. He had not answered her earlier question about Desmond, either.

"Rianor." She stood, helping herself by holding the sofa like he had, then slowly walked towards where he stood before a wall alcove. "What happened to Desmond. What happened to you?"

"Something that I should not forget. Rather, many things. Leave them for the Council tomorrow, Linde. Or, should I say, the Council today. Look."

She looked to her left, towards what, after a quick calculation, she determined to be an eastern window. The rain had stopped again. Countless little lights glowed in the distant windows of apartment houses beneath the hill upon which Qynnsent stood. Morning lights, lit upon getting up and snuffed when people left for work. Until yesterday, her own morning light would have been like that. A small light down below, one amongst many, with no more twinkle than a feather dropped by Firebird, the fairytale bird that was a messenger between worlds.

How different life looked today, viewed from above.

Far, far away, the closest peaks of Balkaene Mountain were ink-colored shapes against a pale sky glazed with pink clouds. Eyes narrowed again, Rianor, the High Lord, who for all of his life must have viewed life from above, stared at the sunrise, looking as if he presently bore the burdens of all lives below, and more.

She wanted to help him. Very much. She wanted to embrace and comfort him, but something in his bearing told her that he would not want this right now. He had not told her what had happened earlier, but something had. His thoughts seemed far away, and not somewhere pleasant. Well, if he was not going to have her there with him, she would bring him back. She hesitated, then lightly placed her hand on his arm. He blinked.

"How beautiful the Sun is." She smiled at him and then at the Sun itself. It was beautiful. Red and bright like an apple, it had just floated from behind the peaks. Soft light trickled through pink and orange clouds, bathing the world in a warm, caressing glow. Birds had started singing outside, and in the distance a bird pa.s.sed before the Sun itself, a little silhouette against the red light. An oddly-shaped silhouette. Linden leaned forward, pressing her nose against the gla.s.s. Its shape, there was something in its shape ... The bird flew without spreading its wings! Birds should not be able to do that, but it was the second time she had seen one, the first one being right after she had fought the Ber.

Above a firewell. Before the Sun. A bird who flew like others birds could not. Could it be? She turned back to Rianor and laughed. "Firebird! I might have just seen it."

"A firebird?" Rianor cast a suspicious glance at the Sun, then looked quickly away. It had become too bright to watch. "This must be a piece of fire education that the Bers have forgotten to give me."

"Oh, not the Bers." She smiled at him again, with the sense of elation beautiful mornings gave her. It was already light enough to see the garden below, soil and branches fresh and sparkling after the rainstorm. She wanted to give this feeling to Rianor, too. Talk to him. Try to make him not think of whatever he is thinking of.

"It is a fairytale thinga"like the samodiva, but less frequently mentioned. Firebird can fly between the worlds of humans and G.o.ds. Do you know what G.o.ds are? From fairytales? Some invisible people who supposedly take care of the world and you can pray to them to help you, but mostly they do not listen and do to the world whatever strikes their fancy. They are expected to judge people, too."

"Sounds like Bers to me, except for the prayers. Or perhaps like the Powers That Be." Perhaps he did not mean it, but the way he said "Bers" told her many things. At least some of his worries had to do with them. All right, talk about Bers then. If he wished.

"Prayers, too, my lord, if you count the Master himself as a Ber. You are supposed to pray to him. I am, at least. Or was." She cast a glance at her bandaged hand. Lady. It would take some getting used to.

"You still are, officially; n.o.bility does not free you from that. But, except for the official Prayers once every thirty days, you are not required to do anything of the sort in my House."

"Good. I am not much of a praying person." She looked through the window again, squinting towards the Sun. It was so pretty, so magnificent. Something in it made her feel alive. "I have always wondered about G.o.ds. There are fairytales where the Sun is a G.o.d. My grandpa in the Sunset Lands told me when I was little that some peasants actually believed this. And I know that others, some of them city people, believe that the Sun rises and sets because the Master sends it to look after Mierenthiaa"or that the Sun is the Master himself. These are people who have gone to school; they should have read at least the first Science book. They should know that the Sun is a star, but still they are turning the Master into a fairytale-like G.o.d and the Mentors do not even whip them for it. Why? Mentors hate fairytales and usually whip adults for believing in anything from them."

"Perhaps because this is a fairytale that suits them. These here"a"he handed her a thick, leather-bound folder engraved with a Qynnsent cresta""think that the Master built the Aetarx from the same essence as the Sun. But whatever the essence of stars is, I doubt that my ancestorsa"or anyone'sa"knew it."

The light of the Sun. The light of the sword. Linden watched the morning sunrays play on the Qynnsent crest on the folder, and suddenly the idea of a big flaming ball in the sky did not make her feel elated and alive any more. The folder was heavy in her hands, and suddenly she was afraid to see what the words inside it said.

Words. Someone else's words again. Someone else's images. She did not want them. Not again. She did not want them.

"Why was it a sword?" Her voice was pleading, the answer to this question suddenly bearing great importance. "I had never seen a sworda"why did I have to fight you with one? I don't know how to use a sword. It was not right. It was not me. And then, in a way, it was." She dropped the folder and her hand clutched Rianor's shoulder just as he put one arm around her waist, supporting her. "Why did the light of the Aetarx turn into a wretched sword?"

He caressed her cheek, wiping away something wet. Was she crying? She had not felt it. Like before, he was very careful with his touch. "Don't torture yourself, my sweet lady. It is over."

She shook her head. "I wanted to fight you, I will not deny that. Something made me ... No, this is not right. I made myself. No one and nothing can make you fight. It is your decision. Always. It was my decision to fight you."

"It was your decision to fight yourself, remember? Do you think you would be here now if you had truly fought me?"