Glimmer in the Maelstrom: Shadow Through Time 3 (8 page)

They looked at each other in alarm and Vandal said, ‘I’ll never make it.’ Storms like this hit in minutes and Guardian power wouldn’t save him if he was sucked into a tornado.

‘Quick. My house,’ Petra said. ‘It’s your closest bolthole.’

So it was settled. They ran up the street and Vandal felt relief wash through him, so much relief that it was scary. He should have been thinking about the storm, about his mother being home alone, but Petra was like a fabulous new game he’d discovered and couldn’t stop playing. Addictive. Her company was addictive.

I’ve been starved of friendship, that’s all it is
, he told himself, and glanced at her again. Same profile, big owly glasses that magnified her eyes, tiny nose and mouth, little pointy chin, hair like bats’ wings. Yet every time he looked away he saw something different. The potential Petra. The Petra he wanted to transform her into. Pocket Goddess.

Which was serious trouble. Friends. They were supposed to be friends. Better to leave her the way she was so he didn’t get ideas. He was going to Ennae. He didn’t want a girlfriend.

‘Ring your mum,’ she said when they’d dodged the reinforcing cable, run up the stairs and slammed the front door behind them. The first hot gusts rattled the tin roof above them as she led him through the entry into a dark lounge room and pointed at a phone on the side table. ‘Tell her you’re safe.’

She kept walking, throwing her bag into what must be her bedroom, before moving out of his line of sight. Probably checking that all the windows were secured. Vandal picked up the receiver and dialled his house. His mother was inside and safe so he told her he was holing up at a friend’s house and left it at that.

She didn’t ask any more questions and he wondered if she’d even thought of him while she’d been methodically closing windows and doors. It hurt, but he told himself it was just the madness, and once his dad was back it would all be different.

‘Was she home?’ Petra asked, handing him a cold glass of cola. The reinforced windows beside them rattled as the storm drew closer.

‘Thanks. Yeah, she’s fine,’ he said and took a sip. Pepsi. Good. He hated Coke. ‘Nice place,’ he said politely, nodding at the decor, Aboriginal artwork and ochre-coloured walls jostled with chrome crucifixes and modern paintings of the Madonna and child.

Petra winced. ‘No need to be polite. It’s weird. That’s what happens when you mix cultures.
And
we have three generations living together.’

‘Three?’ Vandal practically had to shout over a sudden gust of wind. Making conversation, trying to keep things flowing now that they were alone together.

‘My grandparents are on walkabout at the moment.’

‘Your grandparents live here too? That must be …’

Petra simply looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

‘Interesting?’

She shook her head. ‘Crazy-making. I want to be a graphic artist and live in New Orleans, so my grandma teaches me how to cure kangaroo hides.’ She pointed at the plush specimen draped over a stainless steel sideboard.

‘Ugly,’ he commiserated.

She nodded and that appeared to be the end of the conversation. They looked at each other and awkwardness jumped into the gap. Vandal thought it might be best to get down to business. ‘Would you like to sit somewhere comfortable while I fix your wrist?’

‘Sure.’ She shrugged casually but her gaze darted around. Nervous. ‘The lounge?’ She went to the apple-green three-seater and sat up one end, holding her arm out over the middle cushion so he couldn’t sit close beside her. Not that he was thinking of it, but it hurt his pride that she was pushing him away when he hadn’t even tried to get close.

Vandal told himself to focus on the job as he sat down on the other side of the velvet lounge, but his gaze kept straying to the room where she’d thrown her bag, wondering what it was like. There was a bed in there. Stupid that he kept thinking that, but he did. Petra’s bed. There was nothing sexual in the thought. Not consciously anyway. But he wondered if it was a white frilly room with stuffed toys on the pillow, or whether she had animal rights posters on the walls and a heavy metal CD collection.

‘So how do you do it?’ she asked loudly as another gust of wind pulled on the tin roof and it creaked in complaint. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘It tingles inside and feels warm when I do it to myself.’

Petra looked away quickly and smiled, then struggled to keep the smile from turning into a laugh.

Vandal was unwinding the bandage from her tiny wrist and he stopped to watch her. His own smile was puzzled. ‘What?’

‘When you said that,’ she replied, not looking at him. ‘It reminded me of what my aunty caught my cousin doing once. “Feels warm when I do it to myself”,’ she repeated back to him.

Vandal laughed, and some of the awkwardness dissolved. He went back to unwrapping her arm. ‘Actually, it’s not at all like that,’ he said, then was stunned at what he’d just admitted.

She turned back to look at him, blushing, but with her voice firm. ‘So it’s true what they say about teenage boys.’

Stupid, stupid, but Vandal was blushing himself now. ‘You’re the one who’s nearly blind.’ And before he forgot, he added, ‘And I can fix that too if you like,’ as the bandage fell away. He tried not to wince at the bruises, telling himself they’d be gone in a minute.

Her smile faded. ‘Fix my sight?’

‘Twenty-twenty,’ he assured her. ‘Or better if you want.’

Petra slowly withdrew her hand. Her face, which had been alive with mischief, completely shut down. Scared? Vandal wasn’t sure. But it was enough for him to realise he was rushing her. For all he knew she might have been going along with this to humour him. Once he’d healed her arm she’d have to accept it. But until then he should take it slow. Careful.

‘If you can really do this stuff,’ she said. ‘Why haven’t you? You could cure people of diseases. Or —’

‘Not,’ he cut in. ‘I only discovered this when my dad left. I need to concentrate on getting my mum better. If I start healing lepers, I’ll get distracted.’

‘From what?’

He looked at her a moment then said, ‘It’s complicated.’

She looked right back. ‘Everything about you is.’

‘Can I have your arm?’ he said and held out his hands.

She slowly offered her wrist and he took it in one large hand, placing the palm of his other hand over the tender inner skin.

‘Can I watch?’ she said. ‘Or should I close my eyes?’ He was sure he heard scepticism in her voice. That or fear.

Vandal shrugged to relax her and tried to sound nonchalant, ‘Either,’ he said. Then he forced himself to concentrate, but the howling of the wind outside was stirring him up, as if it was an echo of some emotion he was experiencing. The room was so dark now he could barely see Petra’s face, and the cloying scent of the sweetpeas in the vase beside him was making him dizzy. He kept thinking about that bed. Kept thinking he should
stop
thinking about that bed.

‘Are you doing it?’ she asked. ‘I can’t feel a thing.’

‘I can.’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

She misunderstood, thank God. ‘So is it me? Am I not a good subject?’

‘I don’t know.’ Liar.

The howling died away, as though they’d moved into the eye of the storm. Petra’s voice also lowered. ‘Maybe it’s like hypnosis,’ she said. ‘Some people can’t be hypnotised.’ Definitely patronising him now.

Actually, I just need to stop thinking about your bed.
‘It’s so dark in here,’ he complained. The sudden eerie silence crackled with electricity.

‘You can’t do it in the dark?’

Vandal’s mind slipped further into the gutter. He tried to drag it back. ‘I can’t focus. Maybe if I could see the bruises.’ Petra’s skin under his hand was so soft, so smooth. For a horrible second he thought he was going to raise her wrist to his lips and kiss it, then it disappeared from his grasp.

He took a deep breath. Two seconds later the fluorescent light above them snapped on and ate up the shadows. A window rattled as the wind came back with a vengeance.

‘Get ready for round two,’ she said, going back to her side of the lounge. Petra of the glasses and the batwing hair was back.

‘You’re not scared of storms?’ Vandal didn’t want to touch her again just yet. He was pretty sure his hands were shaking, and she’d notice that for sure.

‘Well, I don’t like to be alone in case the roof comes off.’ She tried to smile but Vandal guessed she could sense his tension. ‘So … what next?’

‘I could fix your eyes.’ He really wanted to get rid of her glasses.

‘You haven’t fixed my arm yet.’ She was probably starting to wonder if she’d imagined seeing him heal himself. He was stuffing this up big time.

‘Sorry, let’s try again.’
And concentrate this time, McGuire.

She held out her arm readily enough, but there was something of the sideshow in it now. Prepare for the magic trick! Vandal clenched his teeth. He took Petra’s wrist in his hands, closed his eyes and began to gather the magic that lay in his blood into one focused point behind his eyes. When he could see that glowing ball inside his mind he said, ‘With Guardian power do I heal the broken flesh herein …’ And just as it had done before, the glowing ball moved through his body, down his arm and into his palm which lay over Petra’s wrist. ‘… Restoring strength and making whole, I order pain to end.’ He could feel the light dispersing from his palm but had no idea how to venture into her body with his mind to assess what the light was doing. He could only trust that the power knew what to heal and how to do it.

‘
Wow
, it’s like …’ Petra’s voice was soft with wonder and Vandal could barely hear it over the wind, ‘… the tiniest warm bubbles under your skin, effervescing, like a miniature spa.’

The last traces of the glow departed and Vandal let go her hand, opening his eyes to inspect his work. Perfect unblemished skin. He allowed himself a smug smile.

Petra raised the arm in front of her face and blinked. ‘Shit,’ she said clearly over the sound of the wind.

‘I think I’m a bad influence on you,’ he said, still smiling.

She turned to face him. ‘You’re incredible,’ and the look in her eyes was intoxicating, like open adoration. It made him feel like a God, maybe Adonis after all, and safe, completely safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t tell a soul. Yet despite feeling invincible for the first time in his life, somehow it wasn’t enough. He greedily wanted more, maybe to pull her into his arms and kiss her as well. It wasn’t enough that she was impressed with his Guardian powers, he wanted her to be in love with him too.

Which was so not what he was supposed to be doing with Petra. One thing his parents had taught him was that friendships which grew slowly were the ones that lasted. People who tried to tell you their life story on the first day were not the sort that made long-term commitments. And despite the fact that he might not make it back alive from Ennae, he wanted that with Petra. Funny little mouse. He wanted her to wait for him. To worry about him. To care.

Besides, if he grabbed her she’d probably throw him out into the dying storm. He smiled at that thought, tiny Petra Mabindi tossing someone twice her size out the front door. Any farmer’s wife who tried to cut off her tail with a carving knife had better look out. Petra would stick it between her ribs.

‘What are you smiling about?’ she asked.

‘Feeling smug.’

Her smile widened. ‘About these eyes …’ She took off her glasses and the hair fell from behind one ear.

The potential Petra was emerging and Vandal knew it was time to bail out. She was too close, too pretty all of a sudden, and the closed-up house too intimate. ‘The power’s all used up,’ he said quickly, ‘and I’d really better get home and check on my mum.’ The wind had dropped and the storm was over, as abruptly as it had begun.

‘Oh, okay’ She tried not to frown as she put her glasses back on, but the disappointment was there and Vandal felt it like a dull ache in his chest. Her feelings hurt him. The connection was frightening. ‘Sure you don’t want another drink?’

‘Nah, gotta ride,’ he joked, and she’d been about to smile when the realisation caught up with her.

‘You left your bike at school.’

‘I didn’t think you’d wait while I got it,’ he said, then cursed himself for reminding her of the scene outside the auditorium.

But instead of snapping at him, Petra smiled hesitantly. ‘You really were keen to talk to me,’ she said.

Vandal could have brushed this off easily —
I was guilty about your arm
, or
I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t blab
— but instead he heard himself saying, ‘You saved my life.’

She nodded. ‘Twice.’

They looked at each other and suddenly it wasn’t awkward. It was okay, despite the fact that Vandal could feel his cheeks growing hot.

‘Gotta go,’ he said.

She nodded again.

And he went. The wind was still gusting but the storm was over. The front door closed behind him and Vandal wanted to do something reckless: run around her debris-strewn front yard shouting, or skipping like a preschooler. But Petra might be watching, so instead he contained the excitement that was buzzing around inside his chest like a manic dragonfly and walked slowly back to school, skirting fallen trees and the odd strip of corrugated iron. He picked up his bike and set off for home, replaying the afternoon in his mind.

But the one thing that kept coming back and back was the sound of Petra’s voice saying, ‘
You’re incredible.
’

W
hat are you thinking?
Noola of the Plainsmen signed, flicking a finger off her forehead and frowning the question. Her hands fell back into her lap and she waited for her lover’s reply.

On the other side of the fire, in the intimacy of their shared cave, Mooraz shrugged, an awkward movement of one shoulder, despite his having had years to accustom himself to the loss of his right arm.

A mute and a cripple. They were an unlikely pair who would never have been brought together if he had not been captured by the Plainsmen years ago as a replacement for the men they had lost. Mooraz had sired ten desperately needed children to repopulate the decimated tribe and he was now the bedmate of their leader, yet he still positioned himself to hide his missing arm in the shadows when he was with her. It saddened Noola, but at the same time she felt a woman’s pleasure that her mate strove to make himself attractive for her.

‘I worry for Hush,’ Mooraz admitted, and Noola realised then that he still felt responsibility for the Cliffdweller girl who had been guiding him towards the royal Volcastle when they had been captured on the Plains.

I released her. She is free
, Noola signed, her hands spreading on the last word. Although Mooraz nodded to agree with this, he did not speak but merely continued to gaze at her hands. Noola wondered if he was still angry with her for not releasing him with Hush, leaving the Cliffdweller girl to travel to the Volcastle alone.

She will return when she has delivered your message
, Noola signed and smiled to reassure him.

He shook his head. ‘I should have sent her back to Be’uccdha. To her people.’

Is there danger for her kind at the royal castle?
Plainsmen were certainly not welcome there, but Cliffdwellers were a gentle race of oceanfood gatherers from the caves beneath Castle Be’uccdha. Hush’s cloven hoof feet, designed for agility on the rocks, and her large innocent eyes were more comical than threatening. Surely her people had no enemies.

‘There is danger everywhere,’ Mooraz said

Noola shook her head and pointed down at the ground beneath them. She felt safe in their winter caves on the edge of the Plains. The storms outside were often terrifying, but within their sanctum fresh water bubbled up in a spring, and in the gullies nearby, moss and milkweed were plentiful. They simply waited for a lull in the winds to gather it.

‘Even if she reaches my Lady Lae to tell her I yet live,’ Mooraz said, ‘I cannot leave here to return to her service until my covenant with you is fulfilled.’

Noola frowned.
I need you.

His slow gaze returned to the fire. Every day she searched his eyes for a sign of affection or love, yet all she could truly claim was his kindness and respect, and that was not enough to keep him at her side. One day the bargain she had struck with Mooraz would be at end. She would have the further two children he had promised in return for Hush’s release. On that day she must let him go.

It was not the Plainsman’s way to feel a loss before its time, but Noola had only to look at Mooraz to feel the emptiness of a life without his thoughtful conversation, the tenderness of their joinings, and his rare smile.

His wiry black hair had been short when Noola and her sisters had first captured him, but now she took pleasure in braiding it for him in the style of his House, Be’uccdha. The long clumps hung about his dark shoulders like strands of ocean weed, and sometimes he tilted his head to let them cover his stub.

Her sisters thought her mad, fawning over a captive — ex Guard Captain of their most hated enemy, The Dark — but Noola was their leader and she saw no danger in Mooraz’s dark eyes. His lord was dead, and even before that Mooraz had abandoned his service to The Dark. Now he was her lover and the father of three of her children — strange brown-skinned children who were a blend of his dark and her tawny colouring. The Plainsman line was no longer pure but their captive had ensured that their race would survive. Just as Noola was sure that the resourceful Cliffdweller girl who had been captured with him would also survive.

Mooraz continued to gaze into the fire and Noola could still see worry creasing his brow. Worry for the Cliffdweller girl who had rescued him from himself. After he had lost his arm trying to rescue his Lady Lae from the cruel son of Sh’hale, Mooraz had been replaced as Guard Captain. And worse than that, instead of being honoured for his injury as a Plainsman warrior would be, he had languished in obscurity in the bowels of Castle Be’uccdha. Of no further use.

Mooraz had told Noola those days were the emptiest of his life, and he had often thought he should end it, until Hush had come to him and rekindled his duty towards his lady who was Hush’s dearest friend. Together they had set off across the Plains for the Volcastle where Sh’hale had taken Lae. They’d planned to rescue her but Noola’s need for a sire had interrupted that quest.

Mooraz had already lost his arm in a swordfight with Sh’hale. Noola believed he would have stood no chance against a castle full of Guardsmen. The ‘rescue’ would have been suicide, which she had saved him from by capturing him. But he would not hear that.

Those early days of his imprisonment when Noola had tied him to the cave floor and used his body to repopulate their tribe had left an ugliness in her mind. He had been nothing more than an enemy warrior then. Now he was her bedmate, and though she had forgiven herself for her desperate decisions, she often wondered whether Mooraz had forgiven her, or whether he had merely hidden his anger. Noola wanted to believe he was reconciled to his fate, and perhaps even enjoying his time spent with the children he had sired. She hoped, too, that he took pleasure from the intimacy he now shared with her — an intimacy she did not want to see end.

‘I hope no mishap has befallen her,’ he said. ‘It has been weeks since she left.’

This was a familiar conversation and one Noola had come to realise signalled a need for Mooraz to feel useful. Perhaps she should allow him more time in the nursery. His life had been to serve, and it must surely rankle that there was so little to do. Though it would hurry the day of their parting, Noola signed,
I am able to conceive today. Would you try?

Mooraz glanced away. ‘I will try,’ he said.

Noola rose to draw a curtain across the entry so that any of her tribe passing by would not see them. His need for privacy was stronger than hers, yet she appreciated the intimacy a closed room created. When she returned to the fire she saw that he had spread out a blanket and placed the ceremonial cushion roll atop it. Noola pulled her tunic over her head and lay with her hips on the roll, raised to ensure his seed would remain within her and not drain away.

Noola had never lain naked with a partner before Mooraz. Even with Breehan — especially with Breehan — she had feared it would make her too vulnerable, too prone to soft feelings. Yet perversely, for Mooraz was of Be’uccdha and the very man who had executed The Dark’s pogroms against her people, she felt safe with him. His slow gaze travelled over her thick Plainsman skin, pulled tight over protruding bones, and she wondered what he thought of when he was joining with her.

Do you have a lover waiting for you?
she signed. She had asked him this question before, but never received an answer.

His hand paused on his breeches and his eyes rose to meet hers. He appeared to be thinking, then he said, ‘I had never lain with a woman before you.’

Noola stared at him, astonished. He had surely seen thirty lifedays, and had only been with them for three. A warrior of those years who had never —

‘The woman I loved …’

Noola held her breath, waiting.

‘… she was betrothed to another’

Was she still? Or would he find her when Noola released him. She forced her numb fingers to sign.
Do you still love her?

He looked at Noola a moment longer. ‘I don’t know any more.’ Then he leant down to kiss her, something he rarely did, and then only in the heat of joining. Noola clung to his lips, her fingers winding into his hair, her tongue coaxing his, and then he was leaning heavily on her, his hand on her body, and the kiss exploded into heat. Noola pushed, rolling him onto his back so she could lie atop him, taking pleasure from his mouth as his hand explored her body.

His touch was like a wild morning wind, wakening her to pleasure. She had lain with many men but had never felt this way, as though she wanted to scream from passion, as though desire was a storm raging through her body, tingling the sensitive skin of her mouth when his tongue touched it, drawing on the tender peaks of her nipples when his fingertips caressed them, aching in the juncture between her thighs when she mounted him.

Lust was an ocean she was happy to drown in, barely able to draw breath.

I don’t want this to end
, her mind moaned but she had no way of expressing herself except through the shuddering gyrations of her body. She broke away from his kiss and threw back her hair, arching as she met his thrusts, staring down into his dark fathomless eyes, knowing hers would be mad with the desire she felt for him.

‘I love
this
,’ Mooraz groaned, and she closed her eyes. Then she felt his hand on her breast, weighing, squeezing, sliding down to touch where pleasure ran through her like lightning. ‘So strong,’ he whispered, and the stretching inside broke apart like a splintering rock flying in all directions. She wanted to scream for the bliss that tore through her, but instead she shuddered and gasped for air. He held her by the shoulder until she fell limply against him, her heart pounding an uneven rhythm and her breath ragged.

Only then did he roll her onto her back, the ceremonial cushion beneath her hips and his own strength still hard inside her. Her thighs quivered as he regained the rhythm and Noola thought she would faint from the sensations he awoke in her. ‘And now the child,’ he whispered in her ear, his braids cool against her cheek.

Her hands trembled helplessly at her sides as he sought his own completion, his one arm supporting him as his hips rose and fell, his lips on her cheek, her chin, her mouth. She tried to kiss him back but she was drugged with pleasure, and soon he found his own, his body shuddering, his head thrown back, braids scattering as a low rumble rose in his throat. She had watched the excitement build in his eyes and now they glittered in fierce satisfaction, holding her own, challenging her to deny his power over her.

Soon enough his blood would calm and he would again be Mooraz of the slow eyes and thoughtful speech, but Noola loved that she could arouse him to such passion. Loved even more the new knowledge that she had been his first. Mooraz had serviced the remaining tribeswomen who were now the responsibility of her returned son Hanjeel. But that was the past. Mooraz was hers alone now. She wanted to tell him how his touch had transformed her but she had no words to express the rapture adequately, even with the eloquence of her hands.

‘Mother.’ The whisper came from outside their cave as Mooraz was easing off her body, lying at her side. ‘Your bedmate will wake the children with his noise. What are you doing to him?’ It was her son, Hanjeel.

Noola recovered from her shock and grinned at Mooraz. He smiled back at her and she thought her heart would rise from her chest.

‘Can I not enjoy my duty?’ Mooraz demanded, winking at Noola. His hand came to rest possessively over her ribs. ‘You may find yours a chore but —’

As Noola had anticipated, her son rose to the bait. ‘My bedmates howl louder than the Maelstrom outside our caves,’ Hanjeel declared proudly. ‘You are not the only man among these women, Be’uccdha. Do not think because you are old and I am young that —’

‘Who will wake the babes now?’ Mooraz interrupted, to halt Hanjeel’s rising voice.

‘I am twice the man you are,’ Hanjeel hissed.

‘With four times the women to please.’ Mooraz smiled at Noola again and she mouthed to him,
You are not old.
He nodded. ‘I need no beads to work that equation. Your bedmates are only half as satisfied as mine.’

Noola blinked. Though it had been said in jest, Mooraz had called her his bedmate. Not his captor, or their leader. His bedmate. The warmth of their joining coalesced into a ball of delicious heat, deep inside her chest.

‘Say what you will,’ Hanjeel replied, his voice deeper and more confident now, ‘I have pleasures to bestow.’ Someone had joined him in the corridor. Perhaps Eef, who could not bear to let the beautiful youth out of her sight. Their footsteps were heard faintly and then Noola and Mooraz were again alone.

‘You son will be pleased when I am gone,’ Mooraz said and Noola’s happy smile faded.

She shook her head. Hanjeel did not understand her feelings for their captive, but he would not wish his mother unhappiness. She deserved a bedmate, and that could not be her son. Mooraz was the only other male, yet being another male, he threatened Hanjeel’s hold over his bedmates, at least in his own eyes. One day his confidence would match his physical beauty and the rivalry would end.

Or Mooraz would go.

How will you traverse the Plains?
she signed, thinking that she might use the danger outside their sheltering caves to dissuade him.

He gazed down into her eyes. ‘I will wait for a lull in the storms.’

The cave floor beneath her back suddenly felt cold and hard.
If you are caught in the open when it restarts …
Her hands fell away. Surely he remembered his capture, how weak he had been from coughing the choking Plains dust. If the Cliffdweller girl had not guided him to the caves, he would have died out there.

She searched his eyes, wondering if he ever had wished for that — to have died that day rather than become what Noola had made him. Yet now that he was hers alone, he seemed content, even happy at times.
I do not want you to die
, she signed, unable to keep the worry from her eyes.

‘I am destined to die,’ he said simply and turned away from her to lie on his back, gazing at the firelit ceiling of their cave. ‘When the Guardian Pagan returns he will exact vengeance on me for the death of his father.’ Mooraz closed his eyes. ‘It is no more than I deserve.’