The Dreamer Stones (76 page)

She lost sight
of Liman, and before she knew it she laughed helplessly, watching
two women elbow the taller men aside, shouting to make themselves
heard.

A voluble
people with no false modesties. Refreshing and fun. She giggled as
a third drink appeared in her hand, drank it down, it was
remarkably delicious, tasting like sweet honey laced with alcohol,
potent alcohol, she thought. She understood not a word of the
conversations around her, nodded and smiled, and was nodded and
smiled at in return, and occasionally prodded, elbowed, backed into
… she giggled some more, forgetting Liman.

A firm hand
gripped her elbow and steered her. She tried to see who it was, but
could not turn her head without laughing, and gave up.

The hand
directed her to the front door and into the cooling night air. She
drew a deep breath of fresh air … and swayed. Whoever it was
gripped both her upper arms, steered her down the stairs onto the
cool grass, her sandals moistening immediately in the dew.

Laughter was
gone; she felt violently ill. The arms held her as she doubled over
and hurled into the grass.

“Crap,” she
muttered, propping her hands on her knees. “Sorry.”

“It takes a
strong stomach to handle the honey brew,” a deep voice said from
behind her. “Can you stand now?”

She nodded and
swallowed and the arms withdrew. She should be wary, but found she
could not summon that kind of distrust here.

“Thank you,”
she murmured as she straightened.

“Drink this.”
A hand offered a tiny glass containing dark liquid. “It’s a tonic
to counter the brew and will make the inside of your mouth taste
better.”

She stared at
the hand reaching over her shoulder and accepted the offering,
tossing it down. And felt immediately revived. Smiling, she turned
to face her rescuer … and had the wind knocked out of her sails. He
was sexy, really sexy.

“Um, thanks,”
she managed, holding the glass out.

His fingers
curled over hers and he smiled. “Pleasure.”

Quaking
inside, feeling foolish, like a teenager, she said, “I’m
Saska.”

“Where are you
from, Saska?” The fingers, so warm, withdrew, taking the glass.

“Valaris.” She
watched him secrete the tiny vessel into a pouch at his waist and
then stared at the suggestion of strong legs visible through his
dark - was it purple? - sarong. What was the matter with her?

Amber eyes
stared into hers and then raked her from head to toe. “You’re not
human, Saska. You were born on Valaris?”

Only her blue
hair set her apart from a human woman. “Canimer,” she murmured,
surprised at his knowledge.

“Ah, a Sylmer.
You are Immortal - no tail.”

“And you know
quite a bit …?” She was cool now, the beginnings of wariness.

“My name is
Sinsen.”

Oh, dear lord.
Of course it was. If she could fall like this, then what defence
had poor, innocent Lily?

“Sinsen. I
see. The man I seek.”

The friendly
stance and casual arrogance vanished and it was his turn to be cool
and wary. “I can’t recall a connection that would cause a Sylmer to
seek me out.”

A group of
noisemakers erupted onto the veranda, one a woman who proceeded to
puke as freely as Saska had earlier. The honey brew was undoubtedly
potent.

“Shall we
walk?” Saska suggested and turned to follow the nearby path.

It headed
towards the lake. Boats were returning, she saw, and the presence
of so much light intrigued her. Silvery light - she looked up.
Three moons, all full. Gods, it was beautiful. She heard him behind
her, but was so entranced she could not speak.

“Your first
visit, I assume?” There was amusement in his tone, a trace of
possessive pride. Merrix was fertile, verdant and water rich.
Incomparable sunsets - she could not wait to witness sunrise - and
glorious, magical moonlight.

“Why would
anyone leave here?”

There was no
answer other than a slight, indrawn breath, and then his hand was
under her left elbow and piloting her in that direction. Away from
the houses, jetties and boats. Away from people … and help.

She no longer
trusted him. She pulled her elbow free and turned to face him. They
were on the lakeshore, sand sifting into her toes. She was cold and
wrapped her arms over her chest, cursing her lack of foresight in
not lugging her coat along.

“People leave
Merrix because this perfection can be stifling,” Sinsen said,
coming to halt easily as if her attitude was of no consequence, but
his eyes were intense, betraying a deeper emotion. “Once you’ve
tasted the variety of choice beyond this airspace, you begin to
see…”

“What? The
power in acquisition? Of wealth? The variety of women?” She spat
the latter.

A silence.
“Are you here to spy on me?”

A strange
choice of words. He was up to something, something … illegal? “No,
I’m here for Lily.”

He frowned,
retreating. “Lily?”

It was
difficult in the moonlight to gauge age, but she doubted he was a
youth of eighteen or twenty as she envisioned for Lily. Older,
wiser, and not someone the Lady should bind herself to, even in
dreams. “The Lady of Life.”

Another
silence. He turned to gaze out over the water. Then, “Why?”

Lily’s heart,
her dreams, were about to be shattered. Sinsen did not feel the
same way. He did not remember her.

“She’s in
love, gods help her, with you. She sent me to sound you out.”

The casual
arrogance returned. “What will you tell her?”

“To look for a
life mate elsewhere.”

“Ah, you judge
so quickly?”

“Am I
wrong?”

“No. I can’t
even recall her face.” Sinsen ambled over to the water’s edge.
Kicking his sandals off, he strolled ankle deep into the lapping
waves. “How did you find me?”

“Luck.”

“An Immortal
Sylmer? No luck, I think.” He drew breath and stopped. Staring over
the moonlit lake, he said, “A delegation went to see the Lady. A
fungus decimated entire crops in hours, appearance to damage. She
wouldn’t resurrect failed crops, but pointed us to a pharmaceutical
specialist. From him we had what we needed - prevention. The fungus
was eradicated. It was one meeting. I had no idea I made such an
impression.”

“I think you
trade on your magnetism.” She should not have said that, for he
turned, a small smile on his face. Her heart bounced.

“Thank
you.”

“So, you saw
an opportunity … pharmaceuticals.”

His eyes
narrowed. “What of it? It’s not illegal.”

“On Merrix
everything is shared, and you want this … what is it, a licence? A
trademark, the rights? You want it for yourself. Big money, lots of
power, and then you can go where you please. Gods, men are so
greedy.”

“Not greed,
Sylmer. Freedom. Choice.”

“Many
societies have fallen because of freedom and choice, and I’m Saska,
not Sylmer!”

He bowed.
“Forgive me, Saska. But it’s easy for you to speak of implied
long-term effects, you who are long-lived. I have a few years in
which to experience these things, dubious as you and others may
find them.”

“Thus say the
Beaconites and look what they achieved in the name of a few years,
generation upon generation later. How many worlds have they
exploited without apology or regret? How can you want that for your
lovely planet?”

“I am one
man.”

“It needs only
one.”

He shrugged.
“One conversation will not sway me.”

Saska kicked
off her sandals to join him in the water. “Just think before it
goes too far. Travel if you feel stifled. Go to other worlds and
see the effects of pure capitalism. Sinsen, make an informed
decision, not one based on anger. Please.”

He did not
look at her. “You should be the Lady of Life.”

She drew
breath. “I was.”

Now he did
look at her. “Then I understand your passion.” He turned his body
to stand angled towards her, close, very close. “Passion for the
beauty and life of a world, but what of a passion for love? Why
could you not argue me into closer acquaintance with Lily? She may
have seen something worthwhile in me you do not … strange, no? She
is the Lady now, filled with ideals, and you’ve lost the power to
seek for love.”

“Oh, crap. Why
am I here then?”

“You’re
disillusioned. They say it comes in your line of work, and Lily
sent you on this errand, perhaps to show you there’s something
beyond illusion?”

Saska glared.
“You have no idea what you’re saying.”

Sinsen smiled.
“No?” He lifted his hand and ran his fingers over her naked
shoulder. Her sunburnt skin contracted, but it was not due to
sensitivity, it was the tenderness in the gesture.

Forcing
herself not to react, she shrugged his hand off. “I’m married.”

His smile
deepened. “And now you’re dead?”

She raised her
hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist and pulled her
closer.

“Unhappily
married, Saska? Your husband a philanderer? Your eyes, your body,
your voice betrays you, lovely Sylmer. Have you ever been
unfaithful to him?”

She jerked
away, astonished by his arrogance, but even more astonished by her
reaction to him. “My life and its complications is not your
concern.”

“Yet you have
the temerity to tell me what to do?” He gave a laugh. “If you take,
Saska, you must be prepared to give also.” He stared at her
quizzically. “Your husband has been unfaithful to you in the past,
has he not?”

“Bugger
you.”

“And you think
he’s at it again, or will be soon - ah, and this time she’s a
friend of yours also. How very sad for you.”

“Then it is my
sadness, is it not?”

“Of course it
is. Nobody is able to bear the burden for you.” There was something
bleak and lonely in his words. “But sometimes, to feel alive, you
need to seek warmth elsewhere.”

She stared at
him. “Must I apply that to my husband also? Is he simply trying to
feel alive?”

“I don’t know.
Is he?”

She opened her
mouth to retort, all the while wondering how this strangely
intimate conversation came about, and then turned away from
him.

Was he? Was
Torrullin seeking affirmation of life? For a man with long years
ahead, the sheer scale of time he envisioned had to feel,
occasionally, like a kind of death. Was he grasping at anything to
feel alive, moment to moment?

Saska breathed
out. She could not overlook his transgressions, but for the first
time she understood them.

“Have I hit a
nerve, Saska?” Sinsen enquired, without the arrogance this time. He
sounded apologetic.

She did not
turn. “Maybe.”

“Is the fault
yours?”

“What do you
mean?”

“Does he seek
warmth elsewhere because you can’t give it to him?”

She turned
then. Her gaze was far away in the moonlight. “That is the real
question, isn’t it?”

He sighed.
“Don’t do that to yourself. Always we look for the blame in
ourselves - did we do this, could we have done that, are we enough,
is there something missing in us, and so on until we are driven
crazy by guilt. I say to you, grab at the opportunity to give back
what he deals out, and thus the guilt becomes his.”

“I cannot
compromise my ideals.” Yet she thought it, imagined it, dear god.
Warmth without strings, elsewhere, however briefly.

He moved away.
“Ideals. So many ideals … for what? Pain? Suffering? Anger?”

“You loved
someone faithfully and she betrayed you.”

He used his
innate magnetism, she saw, for a few minutes of interaction,
whether it be with a stranger or someone known to him, seeking
closeness in that brief intimacy, closeness missing in his life.
As, more and more, it was in hers.

Stiffly he
turned from her, the water swirling around his feet. “You cannot
know,” he muttered. There was regret in his tone.

“I know,
Sinsen, more than you think. You’re with her, aren’t you? As I am
with my husband? You accept what she hands out, because you love
her as I love him.”

“So many
opportunities. Women throw themselves at my feet - all my life.
Magnetism, you call it - she called it a terrible attraction, and
then grew tired of it. I irritate her, she says, she needs
normality, is attracted to normality.”

“She
lies.”

A grimace.
“How so?”

“My husband is
like you, magnetic, charming, contrary, arrogant … and
compassionate. We didn’t fall in love, Sinsen - we fell in lust. A
terrible attraction. Folk called it obsession. Do you hear the
parallel? Thus I am able to speak from experience, and state that
she lies. No woman wants normality after a man like that. She is
afraid you will leave her and thus she pushes you away first - do
you not see?”

Silence, and
then, “Did you push him away?”

“I think I may
have, yes. Into other arms.”

“The parallel
holds, then. She betrayed what we had, but I am the one seeking
warmth.”

Saska shook
her head. “You are too much like him, too much.”

“A kind of
poetry.”

“We only hurt
ourselves.”

“Yes.” He
kicked at the water, turned, and waded along the shore. He did not
ask her to accompany him. The choice, she understood, was hers.

“Sinsen. Tell
me, the more wrong something is …?”

He halted, but
did not turn.

“… the more
attracted you are?”

He turned.
“Yes.”

She released a
sad sigh. “Then it would really hurt.”

“Who would be
hurting whom?”

“I would
really hurt him.”

“Do you want
to hurt him?” he questioned.

“Very much,
and I hate that I do.”

“Does my wife
feel this way?”

“Probably.
She, too, may find someone very like you … because that would hurt
you more.”