Falcorans' Faith (9 page)

As beasts of the sky, the Falcorans’ strongest magic was Air, and they used it to cross the cutter from the auxiliary control room to Faith’s cabin so fast that they would have been little more than a blur to human eyes.  They moved as a unit, Tristan leading, Gray and Jon flanking him, all of them rushing to their Arima’s aid by pure instinct, without giving a second thought to what they were doing.  They were at her cabin door in less than a minute.

The next scream was filled with such terror that for a moment they were unable to move, think, or breathe.  Then Tristan used Air to crush the lock on the door and blast it open at the same time, not even noticing the loud crash it made as they all flashed into the cabin and surrounded the bed.  But, aside from the twisted, sweat soaked sheets, the bed was empty.  They stared at each other in confusion, uncertain what to do next.    

When the next scream began, Tristan leapt over the bed, using Air to yank the closet door open before he reached it.  There, curled into a tiny ball on the floor of the closet, was the shaking, sobbing, figure of their Arima.

Tristan hesitated for one fraction of a second, then deliberately shoved aside the heavy armor built of anger and resentment that he’d nurtured for two long years.  He reached down and lifted Faith into his arms as gently as he could, shocked at how little she weighed, and how thin she was.  He cradled her carefully against his body, sensing that she was very fragile.  How had he not noticed that before? 

The question fled as Faith opened her mouth and screamed again, a sound that seemed to rip his heart in two.  He began crooning softly to her, realizing that she was still asleep and in the grip of some horrible nightmare.  He looked up into Gray’s eyes, then Jon’s, and saw the same play of emotions on their faces that he felt within himself.

Using Water magic, he carefully nudged Faith into a deeper, sounder sleep where nightmares could not reach her.  He felt her body relax in his arms and sighed with relief.

“Jon, get a cool cloth for her face,” he said softly.  Jon turned and vanished into the bathroom.  A moment later they heard an odd, strangled sound and looked up to see Jon standing in the bathroom doorway, an expression of confusion and worry on his face. 

“What is it?” Gray asked.

Jon shook his head as he started to dab at the sweat on Faith’s flushed face. 

 “What did you see in the bathroom?” Tristan asked, allowing himself to study Faith for the first time.  Her face was, like the rest of her body, fine and delicate.  She had a rosebud mouth, a straight nose, and expressive brows over the large hazel eyes that were now closed.  She also had dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was so pale that it was translucent.  He could even see the fine tracery of blue veins beneath her skin.

“There are towels over the mirrors,” Jon said.  Both Tristan and Gray stared at him.  He’d spoken in a whisper, but it wasn’t the flat, emotionless monotone they had become accustomed to.  Instead, there was fear and worry in his voice.

Gray walked the two short steps to the bathroom.  A moment later he came out, his eyes dark with the same worry Tristan saw on Jon’s face. 

Tristan looked down at the woman in his arms.  What could possibly be so horrible that she couldn’t bear to look at her own reflection in a mirror?  Whatever it was must be hidden by the oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts she wore since, apart from the fact that she was too thin, he saw nothing to explain an aversion to mirrors.  In fact, he thought that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen though he had no intention of admitting it.   

He looked up again, meeting Gray’s gaze, then Jon’s.  After a moment Jon shook his head.  “No, we can’t,” he said.  “That would be a gross violation.  If we want to know her secrets, we must first earn her trust.  We cannot steal them from her.” 

Tristan knew that Jon was right, but he also felt an almost desperate need to know what had happened to her, or been done to her.  She was in a deep sleep from which she could not awaken until he released her.  If they looked beneath her clothes, she would never know.  What harm would it do? 

When he realized what he was thinking, what he was actually considering doing, it brought him up short.  What was
wrong
with him?  When had he become so callous?  Was he now so thoughtless, so selfish, that he thought nothing of violating this woman for the sake of his own curiosity?  He was thoroughly disgusted with himself.   

“We should put her back into bed,” Jon said.  “We can let her sleep this way for the remainder of the night, then awaken her in the morning.  She need not know we were here, that we saw her this way.”

Tristan nodded and turned back toward the bed.  Jonathan and Gray straightened the twisted sheets and he laid her down, surprised to find that he was reluctant to release her.  Gray covered her with the sheet and for a moment they stood watching her sleep.  Then they turned and left the room, closing the door gently behind them.

They made their way back to the auxiliary control room, all of their senses trained on Faith in case she had another nightmare, even though they knew it wasn’t possible.  Tristan raised his hands to his face and inhaled the scent of warm orange blossoms, causing his body to tighten to the point of pain.  He lowered his hands slowly, amazed that the scent was not the result of perfume, shampoo, soap, or anything else artificial.  It was Faith’s natural scent.

“What are we going to do?” Tristan asked, forcing himself to keep his hands at his sides. 

“Do?” Gray replied.  “As you’ve already made clear, we will not claim her.  Therefore, we have no right or responsibility to do anything other than the task appointed to us by our Princes.”

“Whether we claim her or not, we cannot ignore the fact that she lives in fear,” Tristan argued.  “I will not soon forget the sounds of her screams.”

“Do you still wish to deny her as our Arima?” Jonathan asked.

“Don’t you?” Tristan shot back.  “Are you ready to forget what was done to us?”

“I am past ready to forget,” Jonathan replied.  “The memories that have consumed me these past two years are now gone as though they’d never existed.  Faith has cleared my mind, showing me what really matters.”

“And what is that?” Gray asked.  “What is it that really matters?”

“Faith,” Jonathan said simply.  “If you do not wish to claim her, then so be it.  I will not let her go so easily.”

“You would attempt to claim a woman on your own?” Tristan asked.

“We both know such a thing is impossible,” Jonathan replied.  “But I will not turn my back on her.  If she will allow it, I will remain at her side no matter what rules, laws, or customs I have to break.”

Without thinking, Tristan reached out with his senses for Faith, checking to be sure she was still free of nightmares.  He remembered the feel of her in his arms, the fear that had consumed him when he’d heard her screams.  And conceded that his brother was right.  It was past time to let go.  “I suppose we should begin again.  I am willing to try to become friends with her.  Do you have any suggestions?”

 “We must repair the damage we have already caused to her opinion of us,” Jon said, hiding both his shock, and the sudden hope that rose in him at Tristan’s unexpected change of heart.  “And, we must offer trust before we can receive it.”

“If that doesn’t work?” Tristan asked.  “What then?”

“Then we will keep trying,” Jon said.  “She is the woman meant for us, and I will never give up on her.”

Chapter
Seven

Darck Winicke slid out of bed, careful not to awaken Thelba.  He stood for a moment, watching her sleep, nearly overcome by the upwelling of emotion he felt.  Never in his life had he expected to be so happy, so fulfilled.  A woman to love who loved him in return, and a family of his own.  He reached down to tug the blanket up over Thelba’s shoulder, then turned and left the bedroom.

Their hut within the village was small, as all of them were.  The cave that hid the village was enormous, but space was not limitless.  He pulled the curtain that served as a door across the opening, then lit a small oil lamp.  Holding the lamp with one hand, he reached up to a high shelf and retrieved the pack of relics from where he’d put it the day his father had given it to him.

He sat down and placed the bag on the floor next to his feet and the lamp on a low table, smiling slightly as he thought of his father.  The past few months had, miraculously, healed years of tension between father and son.  He would be forever grateful that, before his father’s death, they had at long last been in harmony with each other.

He had not opened the pack after his father had given it to him.  He had no desire to step back in time, to remember the Brethren and their goals under Stalnek, or the man he’d been before the miracle of Thelba.  But yesterday Marqex had told him that Magoa had received a message from Stalnek.  A real one this time.

Magoa had told the Brethren several times that Stalnek was close to arriving, raising their hopes again and again.  Marqex knew from her contacts within Magoa’s town that no message had ever been received by Stalnek.  It had only been a ploy to keep the Brethren calm and hopeful even as they died off one by one.  Until yesterday.

In one week, nearly a full year from the day that the Brethren had fled Earth, Stalnek’s yacht would finally reach Onddo.  Darck wondered what his uncle’s reaction had been, or would be, to the news that there were no Brethren left, that they’d all died of some mysterious illness over the months that they’d waited for him to arrive.  Stalnek would be in a towering rage when he discovered that he was a leader to no people. 

He untied the knot holding the pack closed, and reached inside.  He found the three most important relics, according to Stalnek and his father, at the top of the pack.  The Book of Knowledge, a ruby cup with words carved into it in a language he did not know, and the
Erekorra
, a crystalline ball about eight inches in diameter.  He placed those three on the table beside the lamp and left the rest.

Hi picked up the
Erekorra
, an egg shaped crystal filled with a myriad of colors that constantly shifted and swirled within it.  He turned it over in his hands, wondering, as generations of Brethren before him had wondered, if it was simply a pretty bauble, or if there was some real meaning locked inside of it.

“Darck?” Thelba said from behind him.  He looked up and smiled at her.  “What is that?”

“I don’t really know what it is,” he replied.  “Stalnek called it the
Erekorra
, but as far as I know, nobody ever knew its real purpose.”

“The record?” Thelba asked as she sat down next to him and reached out with one finger to touch the object. 

“Is that what
Erekorra
means?” Darck asked.

Thelba nodded.  “What is it a record of?”

“I don’t have any idea,” Darck said.  “There was a large number of relics, mysterious items passed down from generation to generation within the Brethren.  Legend said that they belonged to the Narrasti who arrived on Earth after the destruction of their home world by the Ugaztun, now called the Jasani.  The use of the objects, and their meaning, has been forgotten.  These three items were considered the most important.”

“I think you should show this to Marqex,” Thelba said.  “If anyone can understand it, she can.”

“Yes, I agree,” Darck said.  He picked up the ruby cup.  “I wonder why this is important,” he said as he turned the object around in his hands. 

“That is a cup of peace,” Thelba said.

“How do you know that?” Darck asked.

“That is what the words carved into it on one side say,” Thelba replied.  “I can’t read the words on the other side though.  Something about it tickles my genetic memories.  One moment.”

Darck watched as Thelba closed her eyes and went still.  He’d seen her do this before, and it always fascinated him.  He’d never heard of genetic memories until meeting Thelba, and had a difficult time understanding them.  The ability to remember things that happened long before you were born defied logic. 

After a few moments Thelba opened her eyes.  “This cup was given to the Narrasti by the Ugaztun in a peace ceremony.  The Ugaztun received one much like it from the Narrasti in return.”

Darck frowned.  “I thought that the Narrasti and the Jasani were eternal enemies.”

“Yes, that is what most believe,” Thelba replied.  “That is what Magoa tells everyone.  But it is not true.  The ceremony I remember took place thousands of years ago.  In that time, the Narrasti and the Ugaztun were at peace with one another.”

“This, too, must be shown to Marqex,” Darck decided.  He looked at the large book, ran one finger over the heavy leather cover.  “I will share all of these items with her.”  He returned the relics to the pack and retied it.  “Thelba, I know that you will not like this, but in a few days I will begin traveling to the old encampment to keep watch.”

“Why?” Thelba asked.  “There is no one left there.”

“Yes, I know,” Darck agreed.  “But when Stalnek arrives he will send some of his men to go through the encampment to search for messages, signs of what happened, and most of all, the relics.  I must watch to be certain they do not become suspicious and decide to search for us.”

“What could possibly make them suspicious?” Thelba asked.