Crystal Shadows Page 9

  Except for those rare moments when his calm façade cracked and his raw, turbulent emotions brushed against her mind.

  She knew he wanted her. He wanted to plunge into her mind again, as he had during the Na’tahar. He wanted her body as well, and that realization terrified her. Worse, she felt her body responding to his lust, as though it was a thing totally apart from her rational brain.

  How long would he keep his distance? She sensed it wouldn’t be forever. Sooner or later that iron control would snap completely. What she would do then, she had no idea.

  She let out a long breath. With any luck, she would be home before that happened. She closed her eyes and tried to put thoughts of Derrin out of her mind. When she opened them again, she noticed the young mother had fallen asleep on a pile of furs nearby, one arm flung over her eyes. Her chubby toddler nestled at her side.

  Gina wondered why Derrin insisted they travel the path Zahta had set. He didn’t strike her as a man who took orders easily. No doubt he would have ignored his grandmother’s wishes if they didn’t further his own motives in some way. She suspected the answer had to do with the Na’laras’ power over the web, but when she had questioned him further on the topic, he’d clammed up. Clearly, he was hiding something from her.

  Gina looked up through the opening in the roof to the shadowed cliff face and wondered how far she could trust him. Did he really want to find a path to her home, as he insisted? Or was he seeking something else? Something he needed her help to find?

  A hand pulled at Gina’s braids. She jumped, jerking around in time to see the toddler, unsteady on his feet, fall to the ground with a hard thump. He let out a howl of outrage. His mother hurried to him, wiping the sleep from her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic smile. “Torrin has disturbed you.” She pulled the boy into her arms. “I am Bera, Celia’s daughter.”

  “I’m Gina.”

  “I know. Derrin brought you. You seek a path to your home.”

  “Do you know Derrin?”

  Bera nodded. “I was young when he came to the Rock Clan on his quest for manhood, but I remember him well. He did not dwell among us long.”

  Gina paused, reflecting. “Who else lives in this hut?”

  “Great Hawk, my father, and Turtle Man, my partner. Also Black Orna, my grandfather. He is an Elder.”

  An orna, Gina knew, was a carrion bird similar to a vulture, but much larger. Derrin had pointed one out to her the day before.

  “An Elder?” Gina asked.

  “They are the oldest of our men and women. Their wisdom leads the clan.”

  “I thought the Na’lara led her clan.”

  “No. A Na’lara holds the highest honor of the clan, but she does not lead. She shows the face of the Goddess to the people.”

  The connection to the web, Gina thought. “She shows the face of the Goddess by lifting the veil?”

  “At one time that was true,” Bera replied. “But now—”

  Little Torrin interrupted, climbing onto his mother’s lap and squealing. Gina smiled at him. Emboldened, the boy pitched headlong into her arms. Instinctively, Gina closed her arms around him. He buried his face in her chest.

  “Have you children of your own?” Bera asked.

  “No.” She tickled the squirming boy. He responded with a fit of giggles.

  Bera brought her cupped palms to her chest. “Torrin is ever in my heart. Sometimes I think of him as a man and wonder what guardian the Goddess will send to him.”

  “Guardian? What’s that?”

  “An animal spirit. It guides a boy to manhood.”

  “What about the girls?”

  Bera looked puzzled. “A girl has no need of a guardian. When her blood flows, she looks within. She stays all her life with her sisters in the clan of her birth. But a boy—” Bera gestured to the sky “—he seeks his manhood outside himself, and finds a home with another clan. When he reaches fifteen winters, he goes into the forest. There he awaits the animal brother who will be his lifelong helper. When it shows himself, he receives its name. A turtle came to my partner, an orna to my grandfather.” She smiled at the squirming boy on Gina’s lap. “I can only wonder what creature will claim Torrin.”

  Gina frowned, making a sudden connection. “Why doesn’t Derrin use his guardian’s name?”

  “Derrin has no guardian. Did he not tell you? He left the Baha’Na without completing the rites of his manhood.”

  “Do people often leave?”

  Bera shook her head. “No one leaves the Baha’Na. Who could leave the bones of their ancestors?”

  “Derrin did,” Gina pointed out.

  “Yes, but for Derrin, it was different.”

  “Why—”

  Celia appeared at the doorway. “Come, Bera, Gina.”

  Torrin wriggled free of Gina and ran to his grandmother, who scooped him into her arms. “You too, my little one. The Clan gathers.”

  Gina followed the women to the common area, where the tantalizing aroma of roasting meat hung in the air amid talking and laughter. Children darted about, dodging the men and women who were preparing the communal meal. Derrin was nowhere to be seen.

  Gina wasn’t sure if she was anxious or relieved by his absence.

  Celia presented her father, Black Orna, pressing her palm to her forehead when she greeted him. Gina imitated the gesture. The lines of age cut deep in the Elder’s face, but he stood erect and moved with ease. A single white braid decorated with the black and silver feathers of his namesake fell almost to his waist. His dark eyes, so like Celia’s, sparkled as he clasped Gina’s hand.

  Bera brought a wooden plate piled with venison and drew Gina into the circle of her family. Little Torrin claimed Gina’s lap as his seat. Gina ate, not speaking much, searching in vain among the villagers for Derrin. Where had he slipped off to, and why?

  The sky grew darker, the air cooler. An enormous gibbous moon peeked over the tops of the trees and washed the sky in a soft glow. The villagers gathered closer to the cooking fires, their voices dropping to a low murmur. Torrin lay warm and heavy on Gina’s legs, sleeping.

  Bera stroked his wispy black hair. “Grandfather, tell us how the Signs came to the People.”

  “Bera, I cannot count how many times I have told you that story,” replied Black Orna, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement.

  “Yet I never tire of it, and Gina has never heard it. Perhaps the story will aid her journey.”

  His gaze swung to Gina. “You may be right.” He stood and raised his arms.

  A hush fell over the gathering. Then, with a voice as solid as the mountain behind him, the Elder spoke.

  “Before the wilderness, there existed only the Goddess, the Great Mother of the Baha’Na. She looked into the darkness and thought to fill it.

  “She opened herself and brought forth the wilderness. Then she formed a man and set him among his animal brothers. He moved with grace, so perfect in the forest that she longed to be by his side. So she poured her spirit into the body of a mountain doe and approached him.

  “The doe was the most beautiful animal the man had ever seen. He longed to possess her. He sharpened his spear, stripped himself bare and set out on the hunt.

  “Fear filled the Goddess, but her love was great. She allowed herself to be hunted, fleeing before the man’s pursuit for six days. She tired, and he drew closer.

  “On the seventh day, the man climbed a tree and waited. When the doe passed beneath him, he dropped to her back and plunged his spear into her heart.

  “Her blood flowed over his hands, into the soil. Her breath followed. As the man looked on the still form of the doe, it wavered, enfolded in a shining web of light. When the light dimmed, the man beheld the lifeless form of a woman.

  “His spirit shook. He wept bitter tears, and they fell on her wound. He thought to turn his spear on himself, but before the point pierced his flesh, the woman’s eyes opened.

  “The man’s repe
ntance healed the Goddess. She rose and joined with the man. She lived as his partner for many winters and bore him seven daughters. When at last the man died, she gathered her children in her arms one last time, for she had chosen to follow their father’s spirit beyond the veil.

  “Before she left, she fashioned seven men. To each, she presented one of her daughters. For each daughter, she created a stone talisman, etched with her mark—two rings, linked, pierced by a spear at the space of their joining.

  “The Goddess told the men, ‘The spear pierces the rings and is caught between them. Your sons will be born of my daughters, and in death they will return to me. Your arms are stronger than your woman’s, but remember this. It is only in her you will see my face. I give you the power to destroy her, but in doing so, you destroy yourself.’

  “The Goddess divided her body among her daughters. She gave her blood, the Wellspring. She gave her womb and her heart, the Rock and the Fire. She gave her voice, the Wind. She gave her life and death, the Tree and the Skyeagle. To her seventh daughter she gave her greatest gift, all that remained.

  “That which has no name.”

  Black Orna’s voice fell from the stars into the dying fire. Later, as Gina lay on a pile of furs in a dwelling crowded with bodies, his words echoed inside her skull, and she wondered why her heart stirred in reply.

  * * * * *

  Gina upended the vine basket and dumped a pile of herbs on a straw mat in Celia’s hut. She’d spent the morning with the Na’lara, mucking along a stream bank in search of the elusive stalks. Not her idea of fun, but at least it had kept her hands busy while her mind seethed.

  Derrin had left her with Celia the day before, and had yet to reappear. Gina snatched up the basket and thrust it into place on a high ledge. Where the hell was he? Had he returned to the wizards’ city without telling her? If he had, what would she do?

  She felt curiously bereft with him gone, a feeling she didn’t want to examine too closely. All the time they’d been traveling in the forest, she’d had a sense that his mind had been hovering just beyond hers. More than once she’d been tempted to reach out with her psyche and touch him. But she’d always pulled back at the last minute.

  Her gaze swung to Celia, who sat with her head bent over a crude mortar and pestle, pounding a dried root into powder. Gina had avoided questioning her about Derrin’s absence, not trusting the woman to give a straight answer. Still, at this point, any information would be welcome.

  She forced a note of nonchalance into her voice. “Celia, do you know where Derrin is?”

  Celia didn’t look up from her work. “He has joined a hunt.”

  “A hunt?”

  “A hunting party left the village soon after you arrived. They will return when they have made a kill.”

  Gina blinked. Derrin had left her to go hunting? What the hell for? Was it some sort of macho competition thing? She almost laughed. It seemed men were the same no matter what world they lived in.

  She couldn’t fathom it, but Celia’s words were proven true the next day when six men returned to the village. They deposited two large bucks at the edge of the village and stood back as a group of old men gathered to admire the kill.

  Gina spotted Derrin talking with one of the other hunters, a young man who gestured expansively, then grinned. Derrin responded with a hoot of laughter.

  Her mouth dropped open. Derrin—laughing? Impossible. He hardly ever cracked a smile. Most of the time he seemed wound tight as a spring and ready to snap.

  Gina stared at him, not quite believing the transformation.

  His gray eyes glinted with humor and his lips curved in an easy smile. Even the scar on his cheek seemed less angry. He looked younger, happy and very handsome.

  He’d discarded his shirt. Without conscious volition, Gina’s gaze dropped to his chest. Hard muscle rippled across his torso under taut skin bronzed by the sun and gleaming with a fine layer of sweat. He shifted his stance, gesturing with one arm.

  Her throat went dry.

  She looked lower, taking in the tapered lines of his waist and the curve of his butt under sinuous buckskin. His long, strong thighs brushed against the sweep of his kilt. When he shifted, half turning toward her, the bulge under the soft material was difficult to miss.

  Gina swallowed hard. The man was gorgeous. And with that easy smile on his lips, he wasn’t at all threatening. On the contrary. He was every woman’s fantasy come true.

  A small boy ran toward him. Derrin let out a shout. Swinging the child onto his shoulders, he launched him into the air. The boy did a flip and landed in the second man’s arms briefly before jumping to the ground with a squeal.

  Derrin ruffled the boy’s hair and grinned his approval. Then, as if finally feeling Gina’s inspection, he raised his head and met her gaze.

  His smile faded and the laughter in his eyes died. She detected a slight tightening of his shoulders. He nodded a brief acknowledgement before turning away.

  I’m the reason he’s so grim. He’s not really like that.

  The realization hit Gina like a blast of icy air. Derrin had attempted to befriend her, but she’d given him nothing but distrust. Had her treatment of him bothered him so much?

  She couldn’t be sure of his motives. She didn’t know for sure if what he’d told her about Balek was true, and she was certain he was concealing important information regarding the web. Yet now, as he squatted at the little boy’s level and listened to the child’s chatter, Gina found herself wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  She pondered her discovery for the rest of the day, while the villagers butchered the hunters’ bounty and set about preparing a feast. That evening, Gina once again found herself seated next to Bera. Derrin greeted Bera’s family briefly before joining the man and boy he’d been laughing with earlier.

  “Black Crow is from the Water Clan, as Derrin is,” said Bera, following Gina’s gaze. “They were boys together. Shall I ask Black Crow and his family to join us?”

  “No,” Gina replied. She bent her head and concentrated on her meal.

  After sunset, Celia stepped into the center of the gathering. She held a ring of wood stretched with hide in one hand, a blunt stick in the other. The voices of the villagers quieted.

  The Na’lara struck the drum, calling forth a simple rhythm, a soft heartbeat that grew until it filled Gina’s senses. The beat disturbed, then soothed. It flowed in throbbing currents, seeking response.

  A man called, a shout more wild than human. A chorus of men’s voices, then women’s, answered. The song pulsed into the night sky, rising and falling, one voice, then many. The drum beat on, relentless, not fading until the last voice fell silent.

  Later, Gina slept poorly, the echo of the drum still pounding in her skull. She was lying awake when Celia came to her well before dawn, torch in hand.

  “Come,” the Na’lara said.

  Gina pulled on her boots and followed her to a narrow path above the village. The night wind stirred Gina’s braids. The stars were so brilliant she thought they might drop from the sky.

  Celia halted at a fissure in the cliff face. To one side, carved lines wavered in the torchlight—two rings, linked, with a spear thrust though the space of their joining.

  The spear pierces the rings and is caught.

  For the third time, a jolt of recognition shot up Gina’s spine. She traced the lines with one finger.

  “What does it mean?”

  “Two rings, the worlds of flesh and spirit. Also, the worlds of man and woman. Where the two meet, life begins.” Celia ducked into the portal, holding the torch before her. Gina followed.

  The torchlight danced on the rock with primitive frenzy. Celia advanced at a steady pace through the twisting passage, turning so many times it seemed she walked in circles. Smoke from the torch hung heavy in the air. Gina blinked, trying to clear her vision.

  The Na’lara stopped in the center of a large chamber and held the fire high, illuminating a rou
gh dome.

  “We enter the womb of the Goddess, the Sign of the Rock Clan.” Her eyes were deep pools, reflecting the firelight. “Turn away from your doubt. If you must be certain, you cannot know.” Bending, Celia picked something up from the floor of the cave and placed it in Gina’s hand.

  Gina looked down. She held one end of a long cord that stretched into the darkness. She grasped it, uncertain.

  Celia’s torch sputtered and died. Her footsteps faded into the black depths of the cave.

  Gina’s unease exploded into panic. “Celia, wait! Don’t leave! How am I supposed to…”

  Silence answered, complete and deadening. Gina fought the urge to scream. She stood in the absolute blackness, her breath coming in short gasps, her mind scrambling for a means of escape.

  With an effort, she quelled the waves of panic. The cord must lead out of the cave. All she had to do was follow it.

  The darkness brushed against her, sending a shiver over her skin as she followed the lifeline hand over hand through the dark passage. The path climbed, then dipped, then twisted so sharply Gina was sure she had turned completely around.

  The walls narrowed, forcing her to squeeze through a narrow cleft. The sharp rocks clawed Gina’s arm. Her breath stuck in her lungs. Thoughts ricocheted inside her skull.

  The uneven path led upward, then fell in a slick drop. Gina inched downward, groping for each toe and finger hold. There was no way to tell how far she would fall if she slipped, nor how long it would be before Celia came searching.

  She stumbled as she reached the bottom of the slide, flinging her arms wide and losing her grasp on the cord. Dropping to her knees, she scrabbled in the dark until her fingers retrieved the precious thread. She clung to it, fighting back tears.

  She continued her journey, a steep climb up what could have been a narrow staircase. After what seemed like hours, light filtered into the passage and the faint sounds of the forest intruded on the cave’s brooding silence.

  An opening appeared, sharp and bright. Gina lifted one hand to her eyes and stepped into the sunrise.

  She found herself on a wide ledge near the top of the cliff. The village lay far below, on the edge of its lush valley. The rising sun peeked between the slopes of the mountains beyond. She’d made it.