WINDWALKER (THE PROPHECY SERIES) (21 page)

“A prince is the son of a king…like a God,
he added.

Bazat did not like that at all. He was the ruler here, God or not God.

“You cannot rule here. This is my land. I am Bazat and you are trespassers!” He rolled the crystal between his hands then held it up to the light. “What is this thing you have with you? Is it an amulet? Does it work magic?

“You talk,” Evan whispered.

Adam was reading Bazat’s mind as fast as he could think, figuring out how to word his answer to their best advantage. He’d already guessed they had gone back in time. He used to hear Landan Prince talk about such things, and they were young enough to still believe anything was possible.

And, Adam thought the man was Mayan. He picked up on the fact that he was very superstitious, and was thinking he and Evan were some kind of War Gods. He thought back to the Harry Potter movies he and his brother had loved so much, and went for the magic angle.

We were cast out of our land for divination. We are shamans. We know secrets.

Evan’s eyes widened. He knew the meaning of divination. It was straight out of Harry Potter!

Bazat believed his own Shamans had power, and for him, this added to the possibility that they could be the sons of Sun and Mother Earth, especially if they knew magic.

“Where is this land of which you speak?” Khan asked.

Adam waved his hand.
On the far side of the world.

Khan frowned. “You lie. The world is flat. Everyone knows that.”

No, it is round, like your belly,
Evan said.

Adam gave his brother a frantic look.

“You tell me no! You tell me the world is round like my belly?” Bazat yelled.

The great hall went silent. Servants held their breaths, waiting to see which head was chopped off first. But to their surprise, Bazat threw back his head and laughed. The sound echoed within the great room and then out into the halls. And when he laughed, the servants laughed also.

Adam clutched Evan’s hand and waited.

Bazat’s laughter was over. He looked back at the boys. The smile was still on his face, but there was murder in his eyes.

“If you two are truly shamans and you know secrets, then tell me something only I would know is true. Tell me now, or I will cut out your hearts to the Sun God and chop off both your heads.”

Adam straightened his shoulders.

You made your first kill when you were nine. It was the man who ravaged your mother.

Your spear has a name. You call it Heart-eater,
Evan added.

Bazat hid his shock well. He’d asked, never believing their claims to be true. But this was another thing altogether. No one knew this but him. He waved to a servant.

“These little princes were cast out of their land. Let it be known that they are now mine.”

Adam was afraid to show the relief he was feeling. He grabbed Evan’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze, as if to say stay silent. Evan got the message.

We are honored
, Adam said.

Bazat squinted at them so long that his small slanted eyes seemed to disappear.

Adam could hear Bazat’s thoughts. He wasn’t sure whether they were going to be an asset or a liability, but he was intrigued enough to keep them alive – at least for the time being. And they were twins. There was something about their beliefs that had to do with twins, but he couldn’t pick up on all of it. He’d have to ask Evan. Evan liked ancient history better.

“You will eat with me each morning. I will ask you questions. You will keep me informed in a way that will ensure my rule, and protect me from my enemies,” Bazat announced.

Evan nodded. Adam did the same.

Bazat waved them away.

****

The woman with the soft voice and gentle hands was combing Layla’s hair and coaxing her to eat.

“You eat, Singing Bird. It will make you strong.”

Layla took a bite that was in the bowl and recognized the masa and berries. She’d eaten it before, in the Anasazi ruins with Niyol. It brought back so many sad memories that it was hard to swallow past the lump in her throat.

The woman seemed satisfied with the effort and kept combing.

Layla ate another few bites and then countered with a question.

“What’s your name?”

“I am called Acat.”

“So, Acat, tell me something. How did you know I would be coming here, and why does everyone here call me Singing Bird?”

Before Little Bird had time to answer, Layla heard footsteps and a very familiar stride. Even though he made her nervous, her heart quickened.

It was Cayetano.

“You are Singing Bird, because it is your name,” he said. “I have come to take you to the healing waters again. Soon your skin will be smooth as it was before.”

She frowned. He kept speaking as if he’d known her. If only her eyes would get well. She needed to see where fate had taken her.

“I’m not going outside again naked.”

Acat giggled, then reached out and took Layla’s hand and put it on her own shoulder. “You touch me. You see.”

Within seconds Layla could tell she wore nothing above the waist but what felt like large braided bib, and a swath of fabric tied around her waist.

“Does everybody dress this way?” Layla asked.

“Only women. Enough talk,” Cayetano said.

She felt him wrapping something around her waist and then he was scooping her up into his arms.

“Her eyes, her eyes!” Acat said, grabbed a tiny pot with the cooling medicine, lifted the bandages on Layla’s eyes and swiped it across her eyelids before pulling the bandages back down.

Moments later, Layla felt the sun on her body and cringed.

“The sun… is it bright?” she asked.

“Yes. It makes the crops grow and the babies healthy.”

“Babies? You have children?”

She heard a catch in his breathing. “I am speaking of the babies in Naaki Chava.”

“You don’t have children?”

“I have no other woman. I want no other woman. I have been waiting for Singing Bird.”

Layla was stunned. She needed to see his face and this place.

“I don’t understand. How could you be waiting for a woman who didn’t even live in this world?”

He didn’t answer and she didn’t push it.

As they walked, she began to hear voices now – lots of voices, people laughing and talking, some passing them closely enough she could hear their footsteps, then their voices, speaking directly to her as if they knew her.

“Singing Bird has returned.”

“Singing Bird… it is good that you are here.”

“Singing Bird, it is good you are home.”

It was one little comment after another that still made no sense, and Cayetano had not spoken to them or to her. She didn’t know what was wrong, but his silence was telling.

When they reached the water, he set her on her feet only long enough to unwind the cloth from her waist and then picked her up again and walked into the water, easing her in little bit at a time so as not to shock the sensitive skin. As soon as he was chest-high in the water, he laid her down to float as if he was putting her to bed, still cradling her head on his arm for a pillow.

It was soothing, and a habit Layla was learning to appreciate.

“Cayetano?”

“I am listening.”

“There were many others who came with me. They had injuries and burns, too.”

“We were prepared. They have shelter and food. They are all being cared for.”

“There was a little boy. He fell just beyond the portal and I went back to get him. We were the last to come through. Did he live?”

“He lives. Acat cares for him.”

She was silent only for a few seconds. There were so many things she wanted to know.

“You said that you’d prepared for our arrival, but how did you know we were coming? Why did you already know my name?”

He was silent for a few moments, and Layla wondered if he would answer. It was hard to concentrate with the cooling waters lapping her breasts and between her thighs. Just when he had almost lulled her to sleep, he began to speak.

“There are people who can see things from the past and things that have not yet happened.”

“Like my grandfather,” Layla said, and then immediately flashed on his bloody body turning into dust before her on the ground. A rush of sadness swept through her, spilling out in a burst of anger that quickly turned to pain. “They shot him. I never got to say goodbye. One minute I was holding his hand, then fighting, and then when it was over he was dead.” Even though her eyes were covered, she put her hands over her face and began to sob. “He was all I had left.”

Cayetano pulled her close, cradling her against his chest.

“No, Singing Bird, no. You have me. You have always had me.”

He cradled her like a baby, letting her cry while his own heart ached for the time when she would know him again.

Layla cried until her head hurt, her heart hurt. She cried until the bandages fell off her eyes and the healing medicine was gone.

“Let me stand,” she said, and when he would have hesitated, she insisted. “I’m strong enough. I won’t fall.”

He moved his arms from beneath her back and head. When she dropped her feet to the bottom, the water rose to her shoulders, but it felt good to be upright.

She heard a catch in his breathing as he touched the scar on her cheek. The urge to see him was overwhelming, to see for herself that this man was not Niyol. She was convinced that she wanted Niyol back so badly that she was only imagining this odd connection to Cayetano.

She began cupping water in her hands and splashing it on her face, rubbing the gel-like medicine from her eyes until it was all gone from her skin.

“Is this place in the shade?” she asked.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“I want to see your face.”

Suddenly he was afraid that she would reject him. He grabbed her hands.

“The healer said your eyes were not well.”

She held onto his hand and then slowly opened her eyes – just a little – just a test.

At first the light burned, and she blinked several times in rapid succession until it eased. Her first sight of him was blurry, and then as it adjusted, she found herself staring at the span of his chest.

It was brown like hers, which she expected. He was taller than her, which she already knew. His neck, rising up from his shoulders was strong and muscled. His face was broad at the cheeks, slanting down to a more angular jaw and chin. His forehead was broad, with a nose that jutted proudly from the middle of his face. His ears were pierced, and there were small chunks of turquoise laced through cord, dangling from the lobs. Both sides of his hair had been pulled back from his face and tied together at the crown of his head in a topknot. The eyebrows and lashes were as black as his hair, and arched over eyes as dark as a night without stars.

When her gaze slid to his mouth, she started to shake.

His lips were full, with a most beautiful curve, but it was the scar at the corner of his mouth that nearly stopped her heart. It wasn’t a big scar, and it certainly wasn’t ugly. But it was familiar. Her pulse kicked out of rhythm as she reached toward him. He flinched and then sighed, as if accepting the inevitability of the moment.

Layla lifted her hands, and when she began to trace the shape of his lips, she closed her eyes too soon to see his tears.

All she could think was that she knew this shape, and the scar – dear God, she knew this scar - angling very slightly down, giving him the appearance that he was about to grimace.          

“I am losing my mind,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Because I know this, and I should not.”

She heard a swift intake of breath, and then his hands were beneath her backside and his voice was rough and thick with tears.

“Do you remember this, Singing Bird? Do you remember me?”

He lifted her up.

One second she was floating in the water and then he stepped between her legs. She made way for him without thought, and when he eased her down onto his erection, she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on.

He shuddered as he settled deep within her. It had been so long since he’d known this. He had to pace himself or it would be over far too soon. He had to accept that she was real and would not go away like she did every night in his dreams.

He buried his nose against her hair and smelled the cleansing root Acat washed into her hair. He could feel the scar down the back of her arm. All of this was real, so she must be, too.

He began to move his body within her, and as she rocked against it, his heart was full. This was real! This was true! He was thrusting up - then again - then again - and again - until the water was slapping against their bodies to the same rhythm as the ride they were on.

Layla’s arms were around his neck, her forehead pressed hard against his chest, her legs locked around his waist. When he shifted his stance and pushed her down harder on his erection she knew he was going to groan.

And he did.

His fingers were splayed wide beneath her backside, and when he began to dig them slightly into her flesh, she knew he would groan again.

And he did.

It was frightening that she knew that, but also a turn-on that she could do this to him - that she set him on fire - that it was her he claimed. The elemental need that shot through her was unrecognizable. In the few brief moments between one thrust and the next, she became a woman she did not know.

She remembered everything that pleased him - how to move, what to touch, how long to wait between each stroke. When the climax finally rolled through her, it came in a mind-bending wave.

Cayetano’s blood was on fire. He couldn’t think beyond how she made him feel. When she leaned back within his arms, he knew she was pushing him deeper into her womb. And when she braced herself against his chest, her fingers digging into his flesh, her eyes closed and lips parted in building ecstasy, he knew she was going to come.

And she did.

And because he’d been alone too long to be without her again, he went with her.