Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 (20 page)

M
ooraz stood chained in his cave, willing his fury to remain impenetrable. It had been a month since Noola had ordered him tied and gagged to thwart him from doing what honour demanded: presenting himself to the Guardian who would then take revenge for Mooraz’s part in his father’s death.

His Lady Lae herself had been outside the caves!

To have seen her one last time before he died … with honour. Noola had taken that from him, and without honour a man had nothing.

Yet though he struggled to cling to these ideals, in moments of weakness Mooraz remembered hearing the mourning calls for Breehan, soon followed by rages and the sound of heavy things being thrown, then voices trying to quieten Noola. She had not visited him for the whole month and each morning Mooraz woke and set in his mind the things he would say to her when she arrived, the anger he would express before righteously vowing to leave as soon as she released him. But as each day progressed, with new whisperings and loud arguments, he could not dismiss his growing suspicion that he and his pride were overshadowed by larger concerns.

Mooraz had expected sadness at the return of Breehan’s body. According to Hanjeel who had seen him last, their storyteller was greatly aged, and Noola had often spoken to Mooraz of the love she had held for Breehan, admitting shyly that the love was long gone. Mooraz did not want to think now of the possible reason for her coyness. He was no fool. Noola wanted him as a bedmate and he had vainly convinced himself that it was his naive prowess that had won her over. But what if it was more than that? If it was love?

Could he simply abandon her? And for what? His lady was safe. She no longer needed his service. It was Noola who needed him most.

Mooraz pondered this, alternating between reminding himself that honour was more important than life, and thinking that Noola had freed him when she hadn’t needed to and he owed her for that. She had been desperate to repopulate her tribe at the time that she’d captured him, and certainly a Be’uccdha sire was the least favoured choice.

Now they were all subject to the whims of the Maelstrom. Survival should be their highest priority. Not only that, the slow realisation had come upon him lately that all his thoughts concerned himself.
His
love of Lae and desire to see her,
his
honourable death being denied,
his
frustration at the Plainsman confinement. What had happened to the Mooraz whose life had been to serve, with no thought of his own needs? Had The Dark’s treachery killed that virtue? Or was it yet within Mooraz, able to be rekindled by another’s need?

Viewed in these terms, it was impossible to remain angry, and so when Noola finally came to his chamber he was silent and watchful. She did not knock but simply strode in and kicked aside his empty food bowl on her way to his fire, crouching well within the range of his chain while she restarted the flames. Her hair was uncombed and matted. As the fire built he saw her profile, a haunted eye and the stark line of her jaw as she stared at the licking flames. He watched in horror as she swayed towards them, then blinked and appeared to gather herself.

She rose and faced him. Even before her hands spoke he knew that something terrible had happened. Anxiety clutched at his breast and he was shocked to discover his feelings were all of protectiveness towards Noola. Fear for her.

Breehan was stabbed by your king
, she signed, her eyes not meeting his own.
We go to join the Northmen in alliance against the throne.
She pointed north, to where Fortress Sh’hale lay.
I will not rest until the murderer of our storyteller is dead.

Mooraz shook his head, all thoughts of his own grievances forgotten. ‘Mihale would never have —’

No!
She cracked her hands together.
Magaru read the flames. Your king stabbed our storyteller. Your king will die.

Mooraz searched her hard face for traces of the Noola he had known. There was nothing. The woman before him was all Plainsman leader, motivated by revenge, prepared to spend what remained of her race to achieve it. Noorinya herself would not have been more deadly.

‘And what of me?’ he asked.

She met his eyes, pushed her wrists apart.
I release you. Go to your lady. Let the Guardian kill you. I care not.

‘What of your people?’ he asked, feeling a desperation to save her from herself, to protect her. Noola had only a son obsessed with joining and four other women, one of them too old to fight. She needed Mooraz, whether she would admit it or not, and the surge of satisfaction that came with that knowledge told him clearly he still wanted to serve. ‘The Northmen will put your children on spikes,’ he told her. ‘They will not be your allies.’ And even if they did join the Plainsmen against Mihale, their combined force would never breach the Volcastle defences. Mihale’s safety was assured.

I will kill your king and you will not stop me.

‘I see that,’ he said. ‘Yet … let me come with you —’

To trick me?
She stepped back, shaking her head.
You are loyal to the throne
—

‘I have stood by once while Mihale was killed,’ Mooraz said, hating the taste of the words in his mouth but knowing he must convince Noola. ‘Let me protect you. I will not thwart your rightful revenge.’ Yet he did not say that he would be silent in the face of it, for at each step of their journey he planned to speak against Magaru’s telling and remind Noola that the survival of her people must come first.

We leave now
, she signed, snapping her fingers.

Mooraz nodded. We. He could come. ‘The water from the sky …?’

None for days. Magaru says we must leave the caves. Ground shakes come.

‘Shouldn’t your concern be surviving the Maelstrom?’

We go.
She had the look of someone who would repeat that gesture endlessly.

Mooraz nodded. ‘Unchain me then,’ he said and held out his wrist. ‘I will go with you.’

She did not hesitate. Minutes later their party had gathered at the cave entrance: five women, two men, twenty-eight children. Mooraz felt pity well up within him. How many would die when they reached the Northmen stronghold? All? It was a futile quest, but Mooraz would do as Noola ordered to remain at her side and protect her.

They left the darkness of the caves, and for the first time in four years Mooraz felt the sun on his skin. It shone weakly through the golden mists and warmed his back where his sword was braced. Even that simple pleasure lightened his heart. He would speak to Hanjeel, see if he could gain the boy’s assistance in swaying his mother.

Yet even as Mooraz looked across their troupe to find Hanjeel’s back, the Plainsmen stopped and several of the adults and older children raised a fist.

The signal of immediate danger.

A heartbeat later Mooraz felt vibrations beneath his bare feet. Earth shake! He searched out Noola at the fore and ran towards her, but the Plains floor suddenly rocked and tossed children and adults alike. He sprawled twenty paces from Noola and was struggling to right himself with one arm when the earth beside her opened and Hanjeel fell in.

‘No!’ Mooraz bellowed, even as Noola snatched her son's arm, gripping it with both hands and nearly being dragged in after him before she could brace herself to pull him back out. The Plainsmen were eerily silent as they rolled and fell on the tossing earth, long training preventing the outcry Mooraz had indulged in. There was only grunting and the odd baby’s cry over the rumbling of rocks that echoed in Mooraz's ears as he scrabbled towards Noola. She was sliding in but he reached her in time to grab hold of her ankle with his hand and yank backwards.

The movement would have jarred her, but Noola held onto her son’s arm as though holding onto life itself. Mooraz braced himself and pulled again, gaining ground. Noola’s arms were out of the crack now but Hanjeel was not. Eef had reached Mooraz’s side by now and together they pulled on Noola’s legs, but a wild vibration through the earth saw them lose ground, and Noola slid forward as the Plains floor beneath them moved.

Abruptly the rumbling roar quietened and Mooraz could hear the whimpering of babes, gasps for breath and hushed reassurances from the mothers behind him. The ground had stilled. He let go Noola’s ankle and hefted himself up onto his knees, then closed his eyes.

Eef began to wail, ‘
Hanjeeeeeeeeeeeeeel
,’ the keening cry of mourning that told Hanjeel’s spirit that they grieved his loss.

Noola still clung to his arm with both her hands, but the rest of her son was gone, crushed in the rocks as the chasm had rejoined. All that remained of him was the protruding limb. Mooraz opened his eyes again and gazed at it, in shock this time. It was Hanjeel’s right arm, crushed near the shoulder. Exactly the limb that Mooraz had lost so many years ago.

He transferred his gaze to Noola, who lay staring at the remains of her firstborn in disbelief.

‘
Hanjeeeeeeeeeel
,’ Eef cried, and was soon joined by other voices as the tribe came forward and gathered around Noola. Yet still the leader’s expression did not change. It was as though she was locked into the moment of her son’s death and could not move on.

‘Noola,’ Mooraz said softly, next to her ear. ‘You are alive.’

Her gaze wavered, and he reached forward to unclasp her fingers from her son’s arm. No sooner had he prised them free than they latched tightly onto his own arm. He half carried, half dragged her a distance away from the mourning circle to assess her condition. Her eyes were wide and unfocused. ‘I am here,’ he said softly in her ear. ‘I am alive.’

She started to tremble and he pulled her closer to his body. They lay together in the dirt and Mooraz wished vainly for another arm then, to encircle her shoulders, to caress her hair, but the arm he owned was so tightly held by her he was unsure whether blood could flow through it.

‘It’s not your fault,’ he whispered, knowing the caves had collapsed behind them. By venturing onto the Plains she had saved the majority of her tribe, but Noola appeared to take no comfort from the fact. Her trembling grew into great shuddering heaves. He kissed her forehead and felt the wetness of her grief on his chest, but even as he comforted her, Mooraz was thinking ahead, wondering what they should do next.

He felt her fingers loosen and was at last able to disengage them and use his arm to cradle her against his body. She was limp then, exhausted by her paroxysm of grief. The tribe’s keening cry had softened into a rhythmic moan, and Mooraz hoped Noola would sleep. It would give him time to think. They could not return to the caves, and neither was their destination safe. He must think of a new plan and convince Noola to follow it.

His priority in that moment was very clear — keep her alive.

Hush had once told Mooraz he would find love where she led him, and he had foolishly thought she was leading him to Lae, whom he had loved more than life. Instead they had been captured by Plainsmen and somehow Noola had come to love him. He saw it in her eyes, felt it in her touch, wished vainly that he could feel the same in his own heart. Yet though he could not, Noola’s love had bound them together.

Destiny, it appeared, was not always about prophecy and religion. It was clear to Mooraz that friendship, gratitude and the desire to be loved before you die were important also.

His duty to Lae was over. For better or for worse, his future now lay in Noola’s hands.

‘I
t’s my birthday and I want to celebrate. Besides, we’ve waited a whole year,’ Petra whispered. ‘And don’t tell me you don’t want to, Vandal McGuire,’ she said, closing the door behind her. It was suddenly so dark Vandal couldn’t see her outline.

He felt his way across to the other side of his bedroom where he wouldn’t be able to touch her, stopping at the end of the bed with his back to the wall. ‘I don’t want to,’ he said, frightened of just how badly he did want to.

‘Liar.’

‘We can do all the other things,’ he said. ‘You know you like them.’

He heard the click as she locked the door then turned back to face him. ‘I want you inside me,’ she said simply, and just as simply Vandal was undone. Logic he could deal with. But not this.

‘I so want to be inside you,’ he said. ‘But I’m scared.’ Petra was the only person in the world he could say that to, and after years of hiding his hurt it was almost a guilty pleasure to admit his feelings.

‘What are you scared of?’ she asked from the door. He was grateful that she hadn’t come closer. If he touched her he knew he’d do it anyway, scared or not.

‘If I we do this, together, I won’t be able to leave.’

‘I know.’

‘Is that why …?’

‘Yes.’

Vandal swallowed. ‘So it’s not because I’m a stud?’

Despite the tension she managed to laugh. ‘That would be odd. A virgin stud. Is that a Guardian thing?’

‘Sounding like the voice of experience. Little Miss Virgin yourself.’ He smiled at her in the dark and knew she’d be smiling back.

‘Tonight,’ she said, and Vandal took a long slow breath.

‘I’m not fifteen yet. Maybe we should wait until my birthday.’

Petra was silent.

‘Then what about next week on our anniversary?’

She let him sweat for a moment before she said, ‘What if you leave before then? Your mum’s … worse.’

‘Which is exactly why I have to go,’ Vandal replied, but he’d been distracted by the odd tone in Petra’s voice. Fear? Had his mum frightened her? Petra wasn’t the mouse she’d once been. Their relationship had strengthened them both. Made them feel safe. Or at least, he’d thought it had.

‘I don’t want you to go alone,’ she said. ‘If you’re going I want to go with you.’

Vandal shook his head, forgetting she wouldn’t be able to see him. ‘I’m not even sure I can get there myself. I won’t risk losing you in the void.’ Every time he remembered that day, how close he’d come to being lost forever, his mouth went dry. If Petra hadn’t been there …

‘If I can’t go, you can’t,’ she repeated.

‘What about helping Glimmer?’ Petra had been adamant about that in the beginning, but lately she hadn’t mentioned it much. ‘You said we should stick together. Family,’ he reminded her, testing her resolve.

‘I know,’ she said softly, then gained some conviction. ‘But I don’t care about that any more. I only want you to be safe, to be here, with me.’

When Petra had first talked him into helping Glimmer he had spent hours wondering what she was doing and how he could possibly help her control weather over four worlds. But time had passed and even with the Maelstrom in their faces every day, Glimmer and her destiny had faded, like the memory of a dream. Petra, on the other hand, was tangible, wonderful, and he didn’t want to lose her. But, ‘What will happen to Mum if I don’t bring my dad back?’

He could imagine Petra shaking her head. ‘Even if you found him without getting yourself killed, it’s been so long. Two years since he left.’

‘That’s not even five months on Ennae,’ Vandal argued, despite wanting to be talked out of it.

‘Alright, five months. But if he wanted to come back, why hasn’t he?’

Vandal had been asking himself the same question for over a year.

Going to Ennae was a lost cause, but what was the alternative? Concentrate on Petra and let his mum go to hell? Because that’s where she was headed. He could see it in the empty vodka bottles filling their bin each week. She wouldn’t talk. Or listen. Just drank, as though that was all she was capable of. He had to do something for her. He had to try. Didn’t he?

‘It’s not your fault that things are this way,’ Petra said. ‘It’s between your mum and your dad. They did this to each other. You shouldn’t have to make it right.’

She was so sensible, so logical, but that didn’t get him past the problem that he’d promised his mum he’d go. That wasn’t a commitment you could easily sidestep. ‘So you want to … you know, to save my life?’

‘No. It’s time you started saving your own life.’

‘Petra …’ His breath caught in his throat. ‘I’m in love with you.’ He listened to her breathing for a long time before she answered.

Her voice was soft, suddenly uncertain. ‘Prove it.’

Vandal felt his way to the door, his reaching hand connecting with her shoulder. The fingers slid around to the back of her neck and he tilted her head up for his kiss. For a long time that’s all they did. Kiss. Then he lifted her up into his arms the way he’d always imagined he would and carried her to his bed where he laid her carefully on the quilt. Then he lay beside her and she gasped, ‘Don’t squash me,’ and he realised he was lying on her arm.

‘Damn, it’s dark in here,’ he said, cursing that he’d spoilt the mood.

She shushed him with a kiss that turned slow and seductive and soon Vandal’s fingers had worked their way between her buttons and onto her skin.

‘No tingling touch this time,’ she said, her own fingers busy with the buttons of his shirt. ‘Just you.’

Vandal felt surprise, then apprehension. He’d given her so much pleasure in the past and tonight was the most important night. What if he was clumsy? If she felt … unsatisfied?

He must have stilled to think about that because Petra stopped unbuttoning and found his ear with her lips. ‘You’re more than the power you inherited from your dad,’ she said. ‘That’s not what I’m in love with.’

Vandal felt the reassurance of her words wash over him. All his life he’d been fighting to step out of his father’s shadow. To be his own man. But despite her permission to do just that, a part of him felt insecure. Petra had been wonderful for his confidence, but tied into that new self-image was the knowledge that she thought he was
incredible.
Now she wanted him to be nothing more than the Vandal he’d been before he discovered his powers. No one had liked that Vandal.

She touched his cheek. ‘Hey.’ Then the night-light clicked on and they were bathed in purple light. ‘What’s wrong?’

His arm still rested across her ribs but he lay back on the pillow, looking at the ceiling, knowing there was no way he could be honest this time. There was only so much a man could admit. ‘I just need a minute.’

He’d thought it would worry her, but she leant over him, smiling. ‘You’re thinking too much again, McGuire,’ she told him and reached down into his jeans. ‘The big guy doesn’t need to think about it. Why should you?’

Vandal smiled in spite of himself.

‘He’s saying, “Get her while she’s hot for you, boy!”’

He closed his eyes, his smile widening as the delicious sensations her hand produced pulsed through his loins.

He felt her breath on his lips. ‘Kiss me,’ and he did. ‘That’s better,’ she said when she’d helped him forget everything but the taste of her mouth and the feel of her hands. ‘Stopped thinking?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Vandal got busy with the contents of the little foil packet he’d kept under his pillow for such an occasion, while Petra threw the last of her clothes onto the floor. He turned back to her then and caught his breath. He’d never seen her completely naked, and he wanted to savour the experience.

‘Thinking again?’ she asked, but he could hear the catch in her voice, had seen her blush.

‘Admiring,’ he said. ‘Remembering. If you don’t let me use my powers, this could be the last time I find you in my bed.’ He reached out to touch a fingertip to her nipple and watched it harden under his gentlest touch, waiting to hear what she’d say, not sure if he was glad he’d admitted his fears or not. He spread his fingers and cupped her breast, heard her soft sigh of appreciation. Tried not to think. Then he thought anyway, that maybe it was going to be alright after all.

‘Look at me,’ she said.

‘I am,’ he replied, his gaze drifting lower.

‘My eyes, Vandal.’

‘Oh. Sorry.’ He looked up and found her large brown eyes gazing up into his. He smiled apologetically. ‘There’s so much to see.’

She blushed again. ‘Glad you like the view.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want …?’

She shook her head, her new feathered haircut spilling across his pillow. ‘This isn’t about … that. It’s about our hearts.’ She looked suddenly vulnerable and young. ‘It’s about love.’

And finally Vandal got it, and he stopped worrying. All he had to prove was that he loved Petra, and that would be so easy. Every time he looked at her he felt it. A surge like his Guardian power, only so much more. The need to kiss her, to touch her, to protect her and listen to her and laugh with her. But most of all, to be with her, forever. That’s what this was about, proving he would stay with her.

He moved on top of her and looked down into her eyes, seeing the love shining back at him.
You know what to do
, he told himself. God knows he’d fantasised about it often enough. And somehow it worked itself out. One second he was fiddling and the next he’d slipped inside her and she caught her breath. The sensation of it overwhelmed Vandal. Incredibly, in that one movement he had stopped being a boy and become a man. He could see it in Petra’s eyes. Could feel it in his soul. His hips began to move of their own volition and the feeling of being joined with Petra was so sweet and so satisfying that he thought he might cry.

Instead Petra said, ‘Kiss me,’ and he did, thinking only of the love and nothing else. It didn’t take long. But Vandal knew that was alright too. Petra was kissing him and stroking his back and making the soft noises of pleasure that he dreamt of when she wasn’t there. And at last the tension built too high to be held back and he pulled up from the kiss so he could look at her, his hips moving harder, faster, oblivious to the creaking of the bed or his own rasping breaths.

Then the pleasure exploded and Vandal squeezed the breast he was holding, his body trembling against Petra’s, his head falling forward, his eyes closing. He had the presence of mind to keep his full weight off her, but that was all he was capable of. It was like being electrocuted — in a good way. Then he was limp inside and out.

Petra was still for a moment, then he felt her hands begin stroking his back again, as though soothing, or reassuring him. At last she said, ‘You’re going to think I’m stupid, but I feel different. As if I’ve changed somehow.’ She waited while Vandal thought of something to say. But it was difficult. His brain felt as drained as his body.

‘I feel different too,’ he said at last. An understatement. Vandal’s world had shifted. ‘I’m staying here with you,’ he said and kissed her hair; then he lifted himself to kiss her forehead and finally her lips. ‘And as soon as we can I want us living together. Not here.’ Vandal would work digging ditches if that’s what it took to buy them the independence they needed. To hell with his high science scores. The Maelstrom was destroying cities. Soon there wouldn’t be any universities left to study in. His future was with Petra, for however long they had.

‘We’ll run away if we have to,’ Petra said.

He hugged her close, rolling onto his side so they could lie together, still joined. Later he’d get up and dispose of the condom, walk Petra home. For now he couldn’t bear for them to separate, and Petra obviously felt the same way. She snuggled into his arms as though she’d been made to fit them. Vandal closed his eyes and imagined the life they would share together. Waking each morning in each other’s arms, eating together, shopping, cooking meals. Making love whenever they felt like it. Showering together. Oh, the fantasies he’d had about Petra and the shower.

He smiled as their happy future played out in his mind. But his body demanded rest and, without intending to, Vandal fell into a deep, satisfied slumber.

He woke some time later to an empty bed and slapped the sheets with a feeble hand before he frowned and looked at the bedside clock. Three a.m. That kick-started his brain.
Shit.
Her parents would be wild if she hadn’t made it home by now. He should never have fallen asleep.

The covers flew back as he scrabbled for his clothes. Something damp on his leg. The condom. Yet rather than eliciting distaste, this reminder of their new commitment to each other brought Vandal another surge of satisfaction. Still, he disposed of it quickly and pulled on his jeans, intent on catching Petra up and walking her home. They hadn’t had a cyclone for almost a week but he didn’t want to take any risks with her safety. And besides, if she was going to cop trouble, he wanted to share the burden. Perhaps it would be a good time to tell her parents they were moving in together.

Vandal felt around the floor for his joggers and came up with something else. Stiff fabric. His night-light wasn’t providing enough illumination so he went to the wall and switched on the ceiling light. Petra’s jeans in his hand. He went back to the bed and found her bra caught up in the quilt. Bra and jeans. That meant she was wearing a g-string and T-shirt. Not a get-up you’d normally walk home in.

She must have gone to the toilet. Intending to come back and dress properly before she left. But if that was the case, why wasn’t she back?

Vandal switched off the ceiling light and opened his door, then walked cautiously into the hallway. His mother was usually comatose by now but he didn’t want to risk disturbing her in case she wasn’t. She’d been weird lately. Worse than just drunk. Thinking Petra was Lae, come to Magoria to lure Vandal away too. The last thing he wanted was his mother ranting on to Petra, spoiling their special night.

He tiptoed to the bathroom but the light was off. He switched it on and looked in anyway. Empty, but there was a smear of blood on the floor beside the toilet. Had Petra started to bleed and gone to clean up. He’d noticed she was embarrassed about her periods. It would be like her to prefer privacy. But why had there been no blood in his bed? And where was she now?