“Before we leave, Lucas, do
you mind if I take a look at those blossoms? I’ve never seen anything like them
before.”
At his nod, Glyneth gingerly
walked over to the edge of the crater.
His voice carried the
distance separating them. “We call them Venusian flowers--puffy and milky white, like the
planet. I have not seen them this far south. As far as we know, they first
appeared after the atmosphere settled down from the impact’s dust and debris.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “For some strange reason, all women love
them.”
Not this woman. Glyneth
contemplated the flowers from all angles. They were beautiful, in a cold,
calculating way, but something felt wrong about them. The Earth did not speak to
her through these plants. Why was that? And why would Columont’s women love
these alien growths?
She reached down and plucked
one. Its willowy stalk stood tall--about a foot high--and hard, almost like bamboo.
Completely covering the stalk was a type of white “fur,” warm to the touch.
Inside the gauzy white flower petals, she saw a clear oval, jelly-like mass,
with tiny bubbles suspended within it. As she watched, bubble by bubble floated
up to the top to be released into the air.
Exquisite, but again,
something niggled her about it. Without warning, the
ground beneath her shifted. Dropping the flower, she took a step, but her foot
slipped into a deep crevice.
“Lucas!” Before she finished
calling his name, the rocks moved, opening a larger fissure. She struggled to
keep her balance...but it was no use.
Even as he reached for her,
she no longer stood on the surface. Falling, sliding, tumbling, she lost sight
of the sky and of Lucas. Then she lost sight of everything as she hit her head
against stone.
Wings
Alien
Heat
by
Susanne Marie
Knight
A Wings ePress, Inc.
Futuristic Science Fiction
Romance Novel
Wings ePress,
Inc.
Edited by: Leslie
Hodges
Copy Edited by: Elizabeth
Struble
Senior Editor: Elizabeth
Struble
Managing Editor: Leslie
Hodges
Executive Editor:
Cover Artist:
mpMann
All rights
reserved
Names, characters and
incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the
author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval
system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Wings ePress
Books
http://www.wings-press.com
Copyright © 2003 by Susan
Christina
ISBN 1-59088-247-4
Published In the
December
2003
Wings
ePress Inc.
Dedication
For the
Brazettes--
Carole,
Cheryl, Lisa, Stacy,
and the original
Braz herself!
Prologue
::The third planet revolving around the life-giving Sun was
alien to the willowy growths struggling to survive in its inhospitable climate.
But comfort was not the reason they were here: the plants had a mission. They’d
been tasked to convert a cold, soggy world into a magnificent wonderland of
clouds and heat--duplicating Mother Venus, from whence they
came.
The first stage of the
colonization was complete: after the great bombardment of this planet, Venusian
flowers had slowly but persistently taken root in one location of the existing
habitat. With strength in numbers, they now readied themselves to branch out
into new territory. The transformation of this planet called Earth had begun!
Soon, increased carbon dioxide emissions would blanket the atmosphere,
noticeably altering the temperature. Due to the greenhouse effect, heat--blessed
heat--would bake the lands and skies.
Mother Venus would be proud
of her offspring. And sister planet Earth would revel in the alteration, now
being a truer reflection of the Almighty Sun.::
One
On this day, twenty years
ago, I was conceived. I hasten to add that this wasn’t a happy occasion. On the contrary. Nor can I ever rejoice on this particular
date since it was this very day, ten years ago, that the Outsiders stormed into
the village once again, but this time, they abducted my
mother.
My dear, sweet
Mamma. I died that
day.
Glyneth paused in her
writings. She allowed the ink on her words to dry and stared out at the bleak,
barren landscape. Whenever she needed a reprieve from the mundane routine of
village life, she would escape its confines by hiking a mile or so up into the
mountains to a secluded spot. Here she was free to write in her journal or study
forbidden books away from the censorious eyes of village
elders.
Or remember the past. She
picked up her quill pen and dipped it into the bottle of
ink.
Ten years ago, warnings of
the Outsiders’ imminent arrival failed to register alarm in my young mind--for
we were always at war, with one group or another. True, I’d heard graphic tales
about the hoard of men, north of the Great Beyond, who galloped on the fastest
steeds imaginable. After all, it was a known fact that these Outsiders
periodically raided our village every ten revolutions of the sun. As far back as
time remembered, women in their childbearing prime were the targets. Once they
were swept up onto the invaders’ swift horses, they were never to be seen
again.
To me, that had been just a
story told ‘round the campfire, to frighten misbehaving children. When one
constantly lives with war, a tendency to become inured to the
horrors of it is natural, even expected.
But this abduction!
Gracious, holy Lord, nothing ever was the same for me after I saw Mamma being
carried away, a jumble of screams and thrashing arms and legs. How could it have
been otherwise? Mamma was everything: the light, the sky, the silvery moon. She
was happiness, joy, and bubbling laughter mired in this backwards village. But
even she had a cautious side, and would take care to hush me whenever I would
unthinkingly prattle on about how the Earth spoke to me, telling me its
secrets.
As the Earth spoke even now. Sensitive to vibrations emanating from the ground, she now felt thunder pounding through the contaminated soil of the Great Beyond toward her position just outside the village’s boundaries. The Outsiders would arrive soon. Soon.
She increased her writing
speed.
Mamma was the only one who
understood me. I think I was vaguely aware, even then, that I was somehow
different from the other children who halfheartedly learned their lessons. They
never questioned how things came to be, never thirsted for knowledge. In fact,
learning and education still is almost as taboo as journeying out into the Great
Beyond. Fear of radiation strangles all villagers, even our soldiers. For if you are tainted by radiation, you are a
mutant.
As Glyneth was, with her strange telepathy and also her skin’s chameleon-like color changes. All due to an enlarged pineal gland located in the inner recesses of her brain. On the outside, she was as normal as everyone else. But on the inside...
She hurried to complete her
thoughts.
Tush, I digress. Once again,
with the dawning of this particular day, like the clockworks of old, the
Outsiders are due to swoop down and steal our women. And I am at risk, as are
all the young women in the village. Perhaps if I make the package less tempting,
they might bypass me for one who pleases the eye more.
Glyneth closed her journal,
then carefully removed excess ink from her quill pen. A
sudden pain pulsed within her head, causing her to sigh. The Earth was about to
speak again. This unusual ability to communicate with nature could be viewed as
either a blessing or a curse. She stilled her actions to receive the message. On
the ghost of a breeze came another warning. Her solitude would soon be at an
end. Someone scaled the arid hillside in her direction.
The intruder couldn’t
possibly be an Outsider. Which meant a villager, and villagers didn’t approve of
the art of writing. Glyneth slipped the journal and inkbottle into a pocket in
the long, loose fitting robe that covered her body from head to toe. Only her
eyes and part of the nose remained unhidden. The ancient ones had a word for the
garment she wore: chador.
She sighed. Sometimes she
was guilty of blasphemy; if only she were a man so she could escape wearing this
restrictive garment.
But idle wishes were seldom
granted. Besides, it would’ve been more to the point to desire that both
villager men and women had free choice on wearing apparel.
Glancing at the sun as it
blazed a path over the mountains to begin a well-worn arch in the sky, she wiped a trickle of perspiration off her forehead.
Another hot day in the making. How unusual to have a
scorcher this late in the year. Mid-October should have been a time for cooler
temperatures. Perhaps even a bit of frost.
Tush, I digress, again. But who was so bold as to track her movements, outside the village gates?
The
answer to that question was simple--it had to be
The young man soon came into
view, climbing a boulder and swatting a tangle of dried shrubs out of his way.
“Glyneth! I knew I could find you.” His high forehead
gleaming with sweat, he waited as if he expected her to congratulate him on his
feat.
She purposefully disappointed him. She never needed men, young or otherwise, and never would. Oh, they had their uses, such as fighting battles to protect the village and tilling the soil to produce crops. But how much better it would be if they didn’t wage war. All that wasted energy. All those precious resources squandered on petty grievances or clansmen pride.
Despite the warm coverage of her chador, she shivered. A revolting village law demanded that all women enter the state of matrimony by age twenty. As she would attain her majority in nine months, Devon Dikeman had taken it into his thick head that Glyneth would be his bride.
He reached her side and
curved his arm around her. “Come now. It’s dangerous for you to be out here any
day, but today of all days! Glyneth, what were you
thinking?”
She deftly slipped out of
his grasp. “I often take walks alone.”
“Your parents are worried
about you. Your father asked me to bring you back, and I told Ike it would be my
pleasure and my duty as your soon-to-be husband.” His thin lips lifted in a
smile, and he swept his gaze over her as if seeing her without her garments. For
once, she was glad to be dressed in this traditional
fashion.
“Ike
and Vonda Paddock are my guardians, not my parents.” Of course
Her nose wrinkled with loathing. One day, she would avenge herself against the man, whomever he was. How she would enjoy punishing him, as she and her mother had been punished.
As for her mother, well, her mother was dead. Glyneth knew that fact as surely as if she had viewed the body. But she herself was alive to face the consequences of the day, and couldn’t afford to indulge in self-pity. Especially not today.
Glyneth allowed herself to be led. After all, what was the use of protesting? Through the headpiece covering her head, she pulled up on the long mane of her hair to allow a slight breeze to penetrate the garment and cool her neck. If only she had been a man, then she wouldn’t be in this predicament. More than anything in the world, she didn’t want to suffer the same fate as her dear deceased mother. She would try to make herself as unappealing as possible. Perhaps even go so far as to apply a fake appendage or two! These Outsiders were known to be fastidious in their selection of women. No female with the taint of radiation would be abducted.
Despair weighted Glyneth’s shoulders. For if she succeeded in deceiving the Outsiders, what future awaited her then?
Of course she knew the answer to that question. Her future would be yoked in eternal wedlock to the egotistical Devon Dikeman. Faith, the very idea curled her toes.
Two
The farther south the team
rode, the cooler it got. Which was peculiar, to say the least, since ancient
wisdom stated traveling in that direction at this latitude from the North Pole
always meant warmer temperatures. That folklore might have been true during
mankind’s Golden Era, but not now, after the Great
Destruction.
Without breaking his horse’s
stride, Major Lucas Jefferson rebuttoned his white cotton uniform top, then
pulled down rolled up sleeves in preparation for less sultry weather. Of course
seventy degrees was still seventy degrees, however, where he was from,
mid-autumn days usually kindled the mercury in a thermometer closer to eighty
marks of Fahrenheit. At least it did in recent memory.
This southern terrain
differed from his homeland in other ways as well. Desolate rocks layered from
erosion silhouetted the blindingly bright blue sky for as far as the eye could
see. Gigantic outcroppings of all the rainbow hues of goldenrod and ivory
littered the landscape with not one drop of greenery to disturb its intensity or
denote any type of life. Barren. This area was
completely barren, and that condition brought to mind the reason for this
expedition, for other than this, there could be no other incentive for Canusa to
send a team of warriors to this dispirited land.
Following behind the
fourteen men as they silently maneuvered over grooved and striated rocks, Lucas
frowned. Why he, as one of the heirs of the ten sons of the powerful Canusa, had
been chosen to participate in this particular endeavor defied logic and
conscience. And that another heir, Major Brice Adams, also joined the expedition
positively staggered the mind. Two Canusa scions performing
non-combative duty? What had the War Council been
thinking?
Lucas’ frown deepened.
Supplying fertile women to his province’s ever-dwindling population was crucial,
of course, but fate had selected him as a nobleman--a leader of soldiers--one
who was required to feel the heat of battle. Being assigned to this mission was
curious, very curious, especially in view of the increase in border skirmishes
with these primitive, barbaric villages outside Canusa’s control. Lucas was
needed on the frontline with his men. To be here, instead, was something of an
insult.
Another factor screaming to
be considered was his father’s declining health. Although still in the prime of
life, Lord Jefferson seemed to be wasting away. Soon, perhaps very soon, Lucas
would have to take his father’s place as heir to Canusa. Maybe this bride-quest
was some kind of leadership test. If so, then that explained Brice Adams’
presence.
“Hey, Luke! What do ya make of all this nothin’? Rocks, rocks, ‘n more rocks!” Lieutenant Will Flagg nudged his raven horse alongside Lucas’ alabaster one and flailed his scrawny arms in the air to emphasize his point. The animal, evidently used to his rider’s histrionics, threw a snort Will’s way, then continued to plod in tempo with the other steeds.
Ordinarily, Lucas wouldn’t
have acknowledged such a familiar greeting as the one Will Flagg issued.
Military discipline had to be maintained, after all, and as a major, Lucas
outranked the man. But fidgety, impetuous Will was a law unto himself. Ever
since his appointment to guard the Jefferson Compound, he had wormed his way
into everyone’s hearts. But, no matter. What was the
harm in Will’s informality since only Lucas could hear?
He grinned at the young man,
then sobered his expression. “Very
edifying, Lieutenant. I particularly liked the repetition--rocks, rocks, and more rocks. Be sure
to relay that to the scribes when we return so they can record our journey in
every minute detail.”
“Aw,
hell,” the pug warrior spit back at him. Even the red tips on Will’s
spiked brown hair seemed more inflamed. “Hey, so what if I didn’t go to
university, like ya did.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders, looking for all the world like a Rhesus monkey. “Did ya ever think that
maybe you’re the one that’s missin’ a few marbles, not me? I’ll show ya.” Rising
up from his saddle, Will hollered out to the stampede preceding them. “Hawke! C’mon back ‘n settle somethin’ for
us.”
Captain Russell Hawke,
easily the fiercest member of the group, cocked his head to indicate he’d heard
the request, then moving as one with his burgundy horse, slowed his pace to
comply. “Sir?”
The question was directed at
Lucas, not Will.
Pint-size in body and
patience, Will grabbed the older man’s sleeve. “Luke’s pullin’ his superiority
routine, again. I got a belly full of it, I tell ya.”
The only part of him that
appeared inflated, however, was his ego. For a warrior, this breech of etiquette
was extremely unusual. But, then again, Will was very young; he still had eight
more years of military training ahead of him.
“So what do ya say, Hawke,
how would ya describe this here territory?”
With an economy of movement,
Hawke disengaged Will’s hand. “You are an annoyance, bantling.” Crossing
powerful arms across his warrior chest, the man’s glowering expression further
darkened his ebony complexion. The silver bars on Hawke’s shoulders echoed the
severity of his stare. “Plus, you are in violation of military protocol. Major
Jefferson is your superior officer.”
Will’s close-set eyes turned
wild and woolly. Before Armageddon started, Lucas spread out his hands, palms
up. “Peace, peace, my good men. Save your wrangling for the battle ahead. I have
heard rumors those village hellcats fight with the strength of ten men.” He
arched his eyebrow at Hawke, the only veteran of the raids among them, having
participated in the previous one, and the one before that as well. “Is that
exaggerated?”
Hawke fingered the savage
slash cut deep into his dark cheek. “Slightly, sir,” he
replied.
“Females!” The passion in Will’s voice
had nothing to do with images of a carnal nature. Which was
just as well. Warriors who were sexually spent were no warriors at
all.
Marching past a barrier of
boulders, the troops then stopped at the base of a dried field of soil.
Thundering Jupiter, the vista in front of them had more in common with Luna’s
craters than the third planet from the sun! Lucas alighted to scoop up a sample
of the cracked, golden clay. “Just where on God’s... green earth are we heading?”
His
As Lucas got back on his
horse, his nostrils flared. Every sensibility was offended by this yellow
mockery of landscaping. But perhaps what affronted him more was the fact that
the people in these tiny villages scattered south of the site of the Great
Destruction could boast of fertile females, while all too often, Columont’s
wombs were as bare and desiccated as this sorry excuse for a
field.
Hawke must have understood
what Lucas was feeling for the older man nodded, then gazed off into the
distance. “The target is six leagues from here, sir. We arrive
“Six more leagues of
nothin’?” Will piped up as the horses picked their way over parched
soil.
By thunder, over seventy
degrees of heat could still produce a healthy sweat. The resultant perspiration
trickled down Lucas’ forehead so he rubbed it back into his thick, precision cut
hair. “Nothing but fecund women, Lieutenant. After we
return to Columont, I will recommend to my father that you have your pick from
our prizes. And you, also, Captain.”
Hawke swatted at a fly,
buzzing around his grizzled black hair. The insect was the first sign of life
this area yielded. “No, sir.”
“No?” Will raised his eyebrows until they almost met his hair line. He had twenty-two years to Hawke’s forty, and obviously was a bit in awe of the older man. Sighing, he shrugged. “Then I guess I refuse, too.”
Although warriors were
allowed to marry, they could not set up their own household until age thirty,
after they completed training. Hawke, however, remained quartered in the field
barracks by choice. By comparison, Will’s assignment with Lucas’ family enabled
the young soldier to live in the lap of luxury while he continued his
instruction. Sometimes, however, having too much luxury proved to be
detrimental.
Disappointment could not
keep Will down for long. “What about you, Luke? Is that why you’re ridin’ with
us, to make sure you snag the queen of the crop?”
Finally cresting the hill of
unnatural clay, Lucas viewed with distaste the orange sands stretching out
before them. What was next, red rivers? He nudged his
horse into a gallop. “I am already under contract, as you should know. With
Althea Adams of the
Restlessness settled over
him and he forged ahead of his companions. Althea was a comely lass, to be sure,
in addition to the distinction of having one of the tens sons of Canusa as sire
and Brice Adams as brother. Lord Adams ruled the neighboring
There was no question in
Lord Jefferson’s view nor in Lord Adams’, that Lucas
and Althea would produce healthy heirs together. As it was written, so would it
be done, and he would do his duty.
Lucas shielded his eyes from
the glare of the sun, now rising over a shrub-invested mountain. More life
secured a toehold in this alien land. And as for him, since tradition demanded
he perpetuate the family line by also producing more life--more heirs for the
The caw of a lone crow
echoed lazily over the mountain ridges causing Lucas to shake off his malaise.
Beyond those peaks lay the precious resource his people required to continue, to
survive. Maybe, the answer to his discontent lay there as
well.
Hawke and Will had respected
his need for solitude, but now they rode next to him, leading him back into the
tight-knit group of warriors. In a few hours, they would begin their assault.
The villagers, if they were smart, would be ready for
them.
To reassure himself, Lucas
patted the protective white armor rolled up on his horse’s saddle. This
encounter could be bloody, very bloody. But there was not a finer assembly of
soldiers in all of Columont than the thirteen flanked by his sides. Plus Brice Adams, of course. When it was all over, fifteen
future breeders would accompany them back to the province. They would come
whether they wanted to or not. Then as soon as the females were housed at the
Altar of Canusa, Lucas would fulfill his obligation to Lord Adams’ daughter. And
after the impregnation, he would be free to return to his troops and lead them
into battle.
“Glyneth, why have you
stuffed your mouth with cotton? You look so... peculiar.” Eighteen-year-old
Sylvie followed her adopted sister Glyneth into the house and closed the wooden
door behind her.
“In truth, Sylvie, I’m using
sponges, and I do it for the same reason I wear this scratchy burlap chador.”
Her breasts tightly flattened against her chest, Glyneth took only shallow
breaths to avoid irritating the binding. She glanced in a mirror and admired her
unappealing image. The Outsiders would have to be desperate to take a dreadful
piece like her.
Sylvie removed her veil and
shook free her long, wavy tresses. “But I don’t understand. The veil hides your
cheeks so the Outsiders will only see your eyes.”
Which was
why Glyneth had them ringed with blue smudges to make her look
tired.
“You forget what the men do, Sylvie. Remember how they take great delight in
ripping the scarves from women’s faces?”
Sylvie sat down on the bed
and swung her feet like a child, back and forth. “Oh. Right.” She was an exuberant girl, and the only person in the
village Glyneth could call “friend” and “sister,” albeit adopted. Thick red hair
and goggly green eyes, Sylvie had a ready smile no matter what the occasion--which truly was a
blessing given the cloak of dread the townsfolk often wore due to the
endless drone of warfare.
But how could she smile
today, of all days?
“You want to fool the
Outsiders.” Sylvie nodded wisely. “But you shouldn’t worry. Everyone says that
in addition to wanting females free from radioactivity, they look for big
breasts, wide hips, and an unblemished complexion.”
Which was
what Sylvie had, to a tee.
She then blushed. “I’m
sorry, Glyneth. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
Glyneth brushed back her
mane of hair and pulled it into a ponytail. “Goose. Of
course you didn’t hurt my feelings. Truth is truth, so there it
is.”
But truth could be tampered
with, as her falsely diminished chest could attest to. The hips though, were
genuinely narrow. She fingered the puckered scar on her forehead, presumably
caused by a radiation burn. Only rubber and glue, but it did the trick in
turning away suitors--except for
Looking out the window at
the hustle and bustle of normal village life, she puzzled on why no alarms had
been sounded. Why did folks carry on as usual today? Why weren’t they preparing
to do battle? Any minute the Outsiders would arrive. Although additional
territory wasn’t the invaders’ goal, surely it was wise to prevent the stealing
of female citizens? In fact, the only one who seemed ready to fight was
The Elders had paid no heed
to her warning of the Outsiders’ arrival. Dismissing her words as they had so
many times in the past, the Elders unceremoniously shooed her from their door.
“As foretold in the scriptures, so shall it be,” they had cryptically
uttered.
Glyneth placed her hands on her hips and stood in front of Sylvie. “The Elders mentioned scriptures to me, as if that was reason enough not to prepare for the Outsiders’ arrival. What scriptures?”
“Not to ring a peal over
your head, but if you went to church regularly as you should--”
“Most folks think I’m some
kind of mystic, just because I can cure a few ailments with herbs.” Many
villagers even called her a ‘witch’, whatever that term meant. “Vonda and Ike
understand. Believe me, I’m not welcome in church.”
Though Glyneth had lived with Sylvie’s parents for ten years, she couldn’t bring
herself to call them anything other than their names.
“Well, you know it goes
deeper than that, Glyneth. You and your family...”
Glyneth sighed. Prejudice. It all boiled down to prejudice. Just because
Mamma and her mamma, and so on down the line, were
different.
Sylvie shrugged her plump
shoulders. “I’ll tell you, anyway. Since the last full moon, every blessed soul
has been chanting the same thing. ‘Behold he cometh with clouds and every eye
shall see him.’” She leaned forward, and swayed to the rhythm of her words.
“Then, something, something, and ‘all kindreds of the Earth shall wail because
of him. He that overcometh shall be clothed in white raiment and shall take away
a woman that calls herself a prophetess, clothed in sackcloth.’ I forget what
is next, something about him being hurt, then, ‘The
land shall be as one again, uniting the old ways with the
new.’”
The village bell suddenly
rang out, calling its people into the square. Glyneth ran back to the window,
amazed at how everyone lined up for the slaughter. Ten years ago, no one
congregated in a group and most of the women had hid. Sweet Christmas, they were
all about to be attacked, but here they stood, almost like
sheep.
To wait outside like this was making it easy for the Outsiders. Too easy. She shook her head, causing her tail of hair to swish back and forth against her shoulders. “Never in all my years have I heard of these scriptures, and believe me, I have read every book stashed away in the village, and then some. But what is so peculiar is that the Elders have faith in that prophecy.”
Sylvie jumped up and hurried
to the door. “I am but a year younger than you and I’ve never heard of it
either, until a month ago. But never mind that, let’s join the crowd. The Elders
insist it’s our duty. I see Mother and Father there in the center. And
“I know.” Fear was an
emotion Glyneth rarely felt. But as if to make up for its absence, its cold
tendrils now dug sharply into her heart. All those people waited for the
Outsiders, waited for the unknown. “Sylvie, I confess, I’m
afraid.”
A shiver then rocked through
Glyneth. Whenever she was under a substantial amount of stress, chemical changes
in her body produced a slight but noticeable chameleon effect to her skin tones.
No one outside her family had this ability, in fact only amphibians and reptiles
could claim the honor. Legend had it that this ability was a “gift” from an
overactive pineal gland. She had no reason to doubt the story. In fact, all her
reading of forbidden medical texts supported the legend. Because of her “gift,”
right now her cheeks were probably a light greyish yellow, the color of the
walls.
She gazed in the mirror to
confirm. Yes, she looked like putty, all right.
Sylvie also glanced in the
mirror. Flipping back an unruly lock of hair, she covered her hair with her
headpiece, then finished wrapping her face with the
veil.
Glyneth had no choice but to
follow suit. All the villagers were expected to stay together like a swarm of
insects.
Sylvie then tugged Glyneth
forward, out into the warm October sun. “Come, I see Kitty and her twins waving
to us.” With a grin in her voice, Sylvie pushed up on her bodice to make her
breasts more prominent. “I have sponges, too, but not in my mouth! Maybe we
should look on the bright side. Wherever the Outsiders live, it must be more
thrilling than here. I hope they pick me.”
“Sylvie!” Glyneth turned
away to hide her shock at her adopted sister’s bold action and words. No matter
how boring, home was still home. And to be stolen away, as Mamma
had...
Closing her eyes, Glyneth
contained her shudder. But when she looked up, she saw something that rattled
her more than Sylvie’s vulgar manner. Forming high in the sky were masses of
fleecy, white clouds, thick enough to hide the sun.
Gracious, holy Lord! The
words of the scriptures returned to Glyneth.
Behold he cometh with clouds
and every eye shall see him.
When she reached the
gathering crowd, she grit her teeth, waved to Vonda and Ike, then gave an
unsteady smile to the two children standing beside their mother, Kitty. Even
their young, innocent faces couldn’t dispel the growing unease swirling through
Glyneth’s belly.
I have a bad feeling about
this. Deep down to my bones.
After making the sign of the
cross, she then crossed her fingers for extra luck. Something told her she was
going to need it.
~ *
~
Finally, they arrived at
their destination. But instead of anticipation for the upcoming confrontation
fueling Lucas’ thoughts, more puzzles riddled his mind. Why did the raid on the
village have to occur on the same date every ten years? Being predictable gave
the enemy knowledge of the coming attack which completely removed the element of
surprise. He did not need warrior training to be aware of that. And with so many
villages south of the Great Destruction, why ravish this particular site again
and again? Of course the village did have an excellent reputation for producing
radiation-free females, and therefore offspring. Deviations in body form and
other offenses to the human eye came very rarely from this stock. No deformities
were ever allowed to live.
Posed on a mountain
overlooking hay fields neatly harvested into bundles, he surveyed the primitive
huts comprising the settlement. As tiny dolls moving to and fro, the villagers
went about their business as if impending doom was not sitting heavily on the
hillside. Maybe these foolish people had grown weary of fighting fate. Or
perhaps they finally realized the honor the sons of Canusa paid their
daughters.
Either way, the deed was
going down... now. The covered cage on wheels had been reconstructed, and waited
on the mountain to transport the future mothers of Columont. Every warrior
dressed in protective white armor, dully gleaming in the haze of the cloudy day.
Green and black paint slashed each face, a fearsome sight for the enemy to
behold.
Before Hawke gave the
signal, they bowed their heads to pray. “May Canusa watch over all his sons.”
Brice raised his fist in the
air and gave a fiendish grin. “And may Canusa’s sons be the first to plow these
virgin fields!”
By the lowering of Hawke’s
dark eyebrows, the warrior’s displeasure at the interruption was obvious. But
perhaps Brice’s words explained his presence on this expedition: to pillage and
plunder. The taking of these women, in the sexual sense however, would not be
allowed. The females were all destined for the Altar of Canusa, to be
distributed among those in need of heirs. Brice’s statement revealed his
unsuitability as commander. A wise leader must follow a moral path. This axiom
was as self-evident as the sun rising in the east.
“We go!” Hawke thundered. As
a unit, the warriors streamed from the hillside, emitting no sounds except the
rumble of horses’ hooves. Down the dirt roads into the farming village they
rode, intent on their mission, absorbed with their
goal. The defenses of these uncivilized dullards were halfhearted at best, and
rounding them up took no particular skill, especially for time-tested soldiers.
In fact, the only form of resistance was a groan of sorts, rising from the crowd
like early morning dew over a field of grass. Within ten minutes, every man,
woman, and child were herded together like cattle, ready to be auctioned off to
the highest bidder.
Success! Surprisingly, no
warrior had been injured. Not from arrows, spears, stones, nor female
fingernails dragging across a man’s skin. As the troops inspected the prisoners
and made their selections, Lucas scratched his jaw with bafflement. Surely this
was much too easy. None of the historic writings recorded by scribes related
expeditions as effortless as this.
Brice carried his inspection
too far. As was his right, he removed the headpiece and veil concealing the
woman’s face, as did all the warriors when choosing their captives. But then he
grasped at her neckline and ripped the front of her robe down, which exposed the
glaring white of her breasts.
Except for the wretched
female’s distress, the entire village square grew hushed at this outrage. Even
the warriors shifted their gazes from the dishonorable deed. As a scion to
Canusa, it was up to Lucas to chastise a fellow scion.
He threw the woman a spare
cotton shirt. “Major Adams, you shame us all.”
Arching his eyebrow, Brice
lifted his lips into a self-satisfied smirk. “What I did was within regulations.
Just checking out the merchandise. You can’t blame me
for making sure she had no extra legs, arms, or...” He devoured the last glimpse
of bare bosom. “...breasts.”
The man’s depraved and vile
conduct sickened Lucas. To spare the woman further grief, he gestured for Will
to take her upon his horse, while another unfortunate was picked to ride with
Brice.
Fourteen females now wiggled
their bottoms on the finest steeds of Columont. As Hawke’s left arm tightly
pressed around one such female--a
redheaded beauty putting up no protest, he then maneuvered his horse in front of
Lucas. “Sir. You must make a selection
now.”
Hawke was right. A warrior
had to concentrate on the task at hand, not contemplate his own naval, so to
speak. Glancing down at the group closest to him, Lucas spotted a pretty-eyed
wench with a bountiful bosom and, as outlined through her robe, large, shapely
hips. Clinging to her long skirt were two toddlers--twins. Excellent. Tried and true breeding
stock. Virginity was not required of these
“brides.”
After removing her
headpiece, he noticed her face crumpled up with tears. “No! No! I can’t leave my
babies!” she cried.
It was not this distraught
plea that caught his attention, but the actions of the pasty skinned woman
standing next to her. With her slender hand patting the curvaceous one’s
shoulders, this woman flashed sympathy from her dark eyes for the young mother.
And more than that, she flashed reproach at him.
Intrigued at such disdain
for his position, he turned his gaze upon her. If the other female could have
been described as buxom, this one was decidedly flat. Narrow shoulders, skinny
arms, and nonexistent hips all screamed unsuitable at him. And her features--her
eyes were ringed with the bluest of circles, and a long red scar puckered her
from the middle of her forehead to her eyebrow.
Perhaps Lucas should seize
this “fair treat” and make Brice ride with her! Rivalry was too strong in the
man, and after this incident, the pot was undoubtedly bubbling over. Imagine
what he would do if Lady Scar sat nestled next to him!
Lucas shook off his reverie.
No matter. This raid was not about personal issues. Slipping his arm around the
chesty woman, he lifted her up and settled her against him, ignoring her cries.
Lady Scar, however, glared at him with such indignation in her eyes, a chill of
unease vibrated down his backbone. Very peculiar, indeed, to
be adversely affected by an ignorant female.
All captives in place, the
team of warriors geared up for escape, and thundered down the well-worn road out
of the village. But even as he galloped alongside Will Flagg, Lucas could not
evict the unappealing twig-woman from his thoughts.
What if... what
if...
Damn. There would be hell to
pay, but he made a decision. “Lieutenant,” he shouted at Will. “I am taking this
one back. Go on ahead and I will meet you at camp.”
Not giving Will a chance to
speak, Lucas turned around and headed for the wasteland he had just
vacated.
“Oh, thank you! Bless you!”
the young woman sobbed over and over again.
He did not care about her
gratitude, only the deep, gnawing sensation in his gut that he had just done
something incredibly... stupid. Stupid? For an heir to
the Columont throne, stupid actions were unheard of. And yet, here he was,
returning to the scene of the crime alone.
Within minutes, he entered
the village gates. Strangely enough, no one had dispersed. They were all still
standing in the same spot, as if waiting for him.
Damn! This was getting
stranger and stranger. Lady Scar, however, had moved. Now off to the side, she
was on her knees, comforting the twins.
Abruptly coming to a halt,
Lucas then deposited the mother by her children. If he lived to be a hundred, he
would never forget the amazed look in the twig-woman’s
eyes.
He grimly smiled. In one
more second, she would be even more amazed. Rather savagely, he ripped off her
head gear to reveal lower cheeks that bulged out like a bulldog’s, and a lock of
white streaking one side of her brown hair. Her mane of hair was pulled back
into a tail, emphasizing her gaunt, slightly ashen face.
Damn. He renamed Lady Scar,
changing the nickname to Lady Bulldog. But he had no choice but to follow
through with his abduction. One of those village idiots protested his selection
though, for the long nosed man growled and lunged toward Lucas’
horse.
Lucas quickly swooped Lady Bulldog off her feet and tossed her in front of
him, gripping her tightly around her tiny waist. Funny thing, she truly was as
light as the proverbial feather. To him, anyway. The
horse might have felt differently. But the noble steed, seasoned veteran that it
was, did not complain at this inelegant dumping upon its
back.
The woman, however, had no
scruples about complaining. “No! Please, you must put me down! You must! Why are
you doing this?”
That was a question she had
no right to ask and he certainly did not intend to answer. She was a hellion all
right, twisting and fidgeting as though her life depended upon it. Perhaps her
life did depend on it, for once they reached Columont, her miserable existence
would never be the same again... to her betterment, of course. Even her unusual
color changed, paling to rival the whiteness of his horse. To quiet the woman,
he squeezed her tighter around the waist, interrupting her air
flow.
Racing as fast as possible
out of the village, he then flinched as a piercing pain lanced the back of his
left upper arm. He glanced down at it, then swore. Hell
and damnation. An arrow. A bloody, crude arrow found
its mark into an unshielded part of his flesh. This entire
raid had gone off without a hitch, but leave it to him to be the only
mishap. As a
Swallowing words only a
soldier should hear, he pulled out the arrow, then
threw it down to the ground. Oddly enough, he heard the villagers chant: “Then the land shall be as one again, uniting
the old ways with the new.”
As an indication of her
shrewish temperament, the woman forgot her place, if in
fact, she was savvy enough to know women in her position should never speak
until spoken to. “Holy mother. They must think you’re
the one to fulfill the scriptures!”
While he pondered what
scriptures she referred to, he ground his teeth instead of replying. What devil
had seized his brain? Why had he returned an attractive female only to steal a
repulsive one? Truly, he had not properly executed his duty. Damn. If this
mission was a test concerning his fitness as future ruler of Columont, surely he
had failed. And failure, to a
Although his arm gushed blood, Lucas kept a firm grip on his prisoner. In all
probability, he would sink in his confederates’ esteem, especially when they
viewed Lady Bosom’s substitute. However the ultimate humiliation would be if he
allowed this one to escape. And Brice, vermin that he was, would never let him
forget it.
Flaring his nostrils, Lucas
tightly clenched his jaw. By thunder and all the planets above, he would not allow that to
happen.
Three
The current holder of the
great title of Canusa paced the smooth, marble flooring in the war room. His
footsteps echoed their master’s state of unease. At age sixty-five, he should
have been enjoying the peak of his power. Instead, he gnawed on his fingernail
until only the nub was left.
By the vast nebula above,
was there ever such a coil? And it all concerned that damned bride-quest. Canusa
sank into one of the many captain’s chairs placed around the conference table
and pondered his next move. The ancient scriptures of the Golden Era prophets
were specific about that southern village playing a special role in Columont’s
future, so in truth, he had not had a choice but to agree to the raid.
Consultation with the stars provided further instruction--to send Lord
Jefferson’s son on the pilgrimage to obtain fertile women. Against Canusa’s
better judgment, he had yielded.
But what continued to curl
Canusa’s spine was the warning he had received many dusty years ago from an
age-stooped oracle concerning his demise. Evidently, his downfall would not come
from honorable battlefields, but from his own house... and the noble house of
Canusa pulled on the
bristled edge of his walrus mustache. Since he was alone, behind closed doors,
he did not need to project a strong image for his subjects, and took advantage
of that fact by collapsing against the back of his chair. His house, to his
eternal regret, was barren, which meant the oracle had to have been in error. And that was
why he had acquiesced to his astrologer’s counsel to send Lucas
Jefferson.
So why did the cold pit of
dread pervade Canusa’s very soul?
Needing guidance, he
eschewed the services of an oracle for more scientific advice. “I would see my
astrologer,” he called into an electronic device connected from the war room to
his main office.
“Right away, most hallowed
Canusa,” came the lackey’s reply.
Within minutes, a slender,
black-garbed woman glided into the silent war room. Her translucent veil
glittered with silver stars which were the trademark of astrologers. Even though
it was difficult to make out her features, he lingered his gaze upon her sweet
curves. Women were so seldom seen anywhere in this land except, of course, at
their homes or at the Altar of Canusa.
She bowed her head. “How may
I serve you, great Canusa?”
Although he was indeed the
great Canusa, for some reason, women always made him nervous. Which was why the
only dealings he had with them involved the gratification of the flesh. To be
sure, there was no other reason to fraternize with females, except when dealing
in metaphysical realms where women’s intuition served them in good stead. His
current astrologer, Gaea, could boast of a ninety-nine point nine percent
accuracy rate.
He cleared his throat. Any
sign of apprehension would be construed as weakness. “Gaea, I have concerns
about the outcome of the bride expedition. What do the stars
say?”
The astrologer folded her
hands calmly in front of her. “There’s no need for worry, great Canusa. I
foresaw your distress, and consulted the charts this morning. A peculiar
fogginess hovers over the actual day of arrival, however it’s a certainty that
fifteen women will return with the warriors. Everything will turn out as
planned.”
He pressed his lips together
in a mulish fashion. “I am not distressed.” With the veil obscuring her
features, he was not sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a
smile.
“As you say, great Canusa,”
was all she would comment.
Annoyed, he gestured for her
to depart. “You may go. My time is short. The ten sons will soon arrive to
discuss a matter of vital importance to the State.”
After she bowed and took her
leave, Canusa resumed gnawing on his fingernail. The astrologer’s information
did not soothe his fears. He did not give a damn about the brides’ arrival; it
was the warriors, or more specifically, the
But perhaps Canusa worried
needlessly. Lord Adams’ son had inexplicably requested an assignment on the
quest. Brice Adams was an ambitious man. And, by reputation,
unscrupulous. Why did he appeal to ride on this mission? Brice had his
own agenda; he might have foreseen this as a chance to reduce the number of
heirs to the throne of Canusa.
Yes, that would explain the
man’s actions. And by ridding the world of Lucas Jefferson for his own ends,
Brice also would be doing Canusa a favor.
A sense of tranquility
quickly flooded his system as Gaea’s words returned to him. “Everything will
turn out as planned,” she had said. By the great galactic nebula, so it
would!
~ *
~
Glyneth had to make a
decision... and fast. The time to escape was now, with just her and this warrior
beast upon the horse. For if she waited until he returned to his camp, it was a
certainty she’d be imprisoned with the rest of the women. But Sylvie was there,
too. The foolish girl had wanted to be abducted, and she got her wish. Perhaps,
if Glyneth got free, she could then steal away and rescue
Sylvie.
In these next few minutes,
the odds were in Glyneth’s favor. Especially since the man had sustained a
wound, courtesy of Devon Dikeman.
Fear no longer strangled her
and she was able to smile a little tremulously, for loss of blood could make a
man weak.
The feel of the beast’s arm
around her waist did disturb her, though. Or perhaps it was his nearness--her
bottom close to his hips and hard thighs, her back nestled against his broad
chest. Clearly, the indignity of this intimate position against a total, brutal
stranger made it difficult to think.
Closing her eyes to
concentrate, she stiffened her back and inhaled deeply. Help me, sweet Mamma. Help me do the right
thing.
When she opened her eyes,
she spotted the towering cliffs that guarded the mysteries of the Great Beyond.
She now knew what to do.
“You’re hurt,” she shouted
over the fierce northerly wind battering her face. “You should let me tend to
your wound.”
“I think not, woman.” His
reply came low, tickling her ear. His manly scent teased her as well, a mixture
of cedar, bayberry, and musk.
Her resolve hardened. She must escape. There was no other option.
She would not suffer her mother’s
fate. “It’s of no concern to me.” For effect, she gave a shrug. “But I believe
your horse doesn’t care for the stream of blood wetting his
flank.”
“Hell.” He issued the word
slow and with meaning. But to give this beast his due, he did lean over to the
left to view the side of his horse.
Which was
exactly what Glyneth wanted. The length of his neck now
exposed, she straightened her hand, and with all the strength she could command,
gave him a heavy chop to the vulnerable neck. The blow hurt; she knew it would,
but it was not enough to vanquish the beast. Twisting around, she grabbed his
grotesquely painted head and cracked her own head against his
skull.
Oh, dear holy mother, that
was excruciating! Blinking back tears and reeling with a twenty pound headache,
she broke free from him, then tumbled off the galloping
horse. The impact with the ground took her breath away, but there was no time to
nurse injuries. First crouching, then hobbling away,
she dragged her battered body into the badlands of the towering cliffs, not
resting until she found a suitable cave lost within the
shadows.
She leaned against the cave
wall, her breath slow in catching. Pathways of pain pulsed hard and seared up
the right side of her body. Tentatively fingering her right arm, hip, and leg,
she found cuts and painful bruises, most likely discolored to a deep purple, but
thankfully nothing more serious. She’d done it; she was free. And there were no
sounds of pursuit.
Oddly enough, though,
remorse filled her. That man, that Outsider, had only been doing his job,
however hateful. Hopefully, she hadn’t hurt him too much. Her gaze lost its
focus and she smiled a bit distractedly. He had the most vibrant azure eyes she
had ever seen...
Using the ancient healing method which her mother always had called “energy medicine,” she dragged her fingers across her forehead to relieve the throbbing pain. Something sticky adhered to her hands, and she came away with black and green warpaint. Obviously, a souvenir of her head butt. She had warpaint of her own on--dark blue circles around her eyes to denote tiredness. Funny how her disguise to repel the Outsiders hadn’t worked. Well, at first it had, then by all the mysteries on Earth, that man had returned with young Kitty, and taken Glyneth instead. Plus he, as well as the others, wore clothes of white, as foretold in the scriptures.
Now how peculiar was
that?
Too tired to write in her
journal, Glyneth removed the sponges from her mouth and closed her eyes to shut
out discomfort now growing stronger in intensity. A brief rest would help to
restore her. When she woke up, she would track down the Outsiders and somehow
rescue Sylvie. After all, who would be expecting an attack on a band of
warriors? Sylvie and Glyneth could then slip away and return to the village to
regale everyone with the heroic tale of escape.
She snorted. Right. If there
was one thing she knew, it was her village. Of a certainty, Vonda, Ike, and
~ *
~
Hell and damnation! Lucas
rubbed his sore forehead. How could he have let the woman escape? A mere slip of
a thing got the better of a warrior from Columont? And an heir
to a son of Canusa? By thunder, he deserved to be royally
roasted.
But he would save his
disgust of himself for later, after he found her. And find her, he would.
Turning his horse in the direction of rock cliffs looming around him, he
followed a path into forbidding territory. His warrior training in tracking
would serve him well. He would soon locate Lady Bulldog, then yank her back up on his horse.
He smirked. He would yank
her by her mane of hair and take pleasure in doing so.
Coming across a narrow
opening in the rocks, Lucas dismounted to lead his horse through the gap. Then,
suddenly, something hard smashed to his temple, causing him to collapse to the
ground onto his knees.
“Take that, you blackguard,
for stealing my woman!” Above him, a guttural voice spit out
impassioned words.
Blackguard? What the thunder?
Instinctively reaching for his knife to protect himself, Lucas then was struck
again, and lost consciousness.
~ *
~
Moonlight, ethereal and
glowing, threw insubstantial patterns of radiance around the mouth of the cave.
Glyneth blinked awake, listening to the voice that had roused her from her
dreams. How could she have slept so long? No sounds interrupted the stillness of
the night. The north wind had spent its previous fury, leaving only calm, cool
air to weave in between the maze of rocks and stones.
But something had spoken to her. Telling her to... to
what? She shook her head but could not recapture the words. Ouch. Her headache
was not a forgiving sort, and the hammering within
returned tenfold. Leaning back against a stone, she closed her eyes
again.
Then she sensed it; it was a
faint noise growling through the Earth. Placing her ear upon the floor of the
cave, she isolated the sound. It was not a growl but a groan. A male groan. Most likely from that
Outsider.
Sweet
Christmas. He must have been in deep
distress. Indecision only stayed her movements but a moment. She’d have to
rescue him; she really didn’t have a choice. She was a healer, deep down to her
core. Healers couldn’t turn the other cheek to those in
pain.
After she stood, she waited
until all one hundred mallets quieted down in her head. Then she limped her way
out of the cave and out into the moonlit night. She stopped to inhale a ghost of
a breeze. Which way should she go? Dark and light patterns played havoc with her
sense of direction. Plus, stumbling in the shadows added more
bruises.
Another breeze floated by,
this time carrying scents of cedar and bayberry.
Yes! Glyneth quickened her
uneven pace. She’d follow her nose and find the man. Even though he’d ripped her
from her home, she bore him no ill will.
As the Earth had warned her
earlier, it now warned her again to make haste, for he was in trouble. She
scrambled over rivers of pebbles, thorny sagebrush, and razor sharp fossils in
her quest to locate the Outsider.
The groan came again; this
time, though, she heard it with her conventional ears. Under a spiny yucca
plant, she saw him, prone and motionless, the alabaster horse nowhere in sight.
Cautiously approaching him, she then knelt down to survey his injuries. Blood
spurted at his temple, flowing from a new, raw wound. Hmmn, perhaps he had
fallen off his horse, adding to his list of ailments.
One touch to his forehead
and she knew he was in the throes of a heated fever. Most likely infection had
set in. Lifting his left arm, she inspected the ugly gash from the arrow.
Puckered and swollen, it needed to be cleaned and bandaged...
fast!
She sat back on her heels.
Faith, where was she going to find water in the badlands?
The man thrashed his head,
then made a movement to rise. “Water,” he
moaned.
Exactly. Water. Using a firm grip, she prevented him from sitting.
“Rest now. You’ll be all right. I’ll find you
water.”
Her voice seemed to soothe
him for although unconscious, he allowed her to ease him down on the
ground.
By the light of the moon,
she squinted at the eerie landscape, willing the manna of water to appear. Yucca
plants, cactus trees, and a smattering of desert lilies bloomed hardy and strong
while the lofty rock cliffs kept silent watch over them.
Fortune smiled on her.
Patting the armor on the man’s muscled form, she found what she was looking
for--a long sheathed knife. “Stay put. I won’t be long,” she whispered in his
ear.
To her intense dismay, he
opened his crystal eyes and stared at her. “You,” he mouthed. Thankfully, he
then returned to the slumber of his dreams.
At the nearest cactus, she
bowed her head, giving thanks to the Earth for all its bounty, then split open
the bottom of the stalk. Inside the inner core was the pith--a soft, sponge-like center containing
stored water. Hacking a piece of this core away, she ran back to him and opened
his mouth. “Here.” She squeezed a bit onto his lips. “Chew on this, but do not
swallow.”
Even in the darkness and
with the black and green paint covering his skin, she could tell he was flushed
red with heat. Hotter than Hades, actually. She rested
her cool fingers against the warmth of his face.
“Oh, you
poor man.” Tears stung her eyes. She
hated to see anyone in pain. “I’ll find more water. Just
rest.”
Standing, Glyneth said
another prayer, then clumsily ran toward the closest
rock cliffs. Sometimes, water could be found at the base, collected during the
rainy season. With her fingers crossed, she came up on the
prominence.
Her luck held. Under the
overhang of the stony precipice gleamed a small pond of precious life-giving
fluid. In fact, the pool was larger than expected, so
perhaps it bubbled up from an underground stream. What she needed now was some
cloth. The burlap material of her chador was impossible to rip, so with no
concern for modesty, she unclasped the front of her robe, pulled it down, then
unwound the fabric binding that cut into her skin and flattened her
breasts.
Ah, relief! But there was no
time to revel in this freedom. Fixing the robe back over her, she then tore the
binding into strips, and soaked some of them in water. And, as tempting as the
water was, she refreshed her face as well. Many painful steps later, she
returned to the man. Very gently, she removed his chest armor, then bathed his head and arm wounds.
“By
thunder!” The pain of water against
open flesh obviously brought him to his senses. “What are you doing--”
“Hush!” She gave him one of
the wetted-down strips to suck on. “I must wash your
injuries.”
The roots from the nearby
yucca plant provided a frothy soap to complete the cleansing. Bandaging his arm
was a simple task, but his head proved more unwieldy. When she was done, he
appeared as a huge tuft of cotton in a cotton crop. She sat back on her heels
and muffled a giggle.
“I am delighted that I amuse
you, woman.” The man rose up on his unhurt elbow, and took a quick assessment of
their surroundings. “You... found me.” It wasn’t a question, but a
statement.
“Yes. I feared you needed
help.” She took a step back from him. Even though he was wounded, he might still
make a move to capture her. “Do you hurt much?”
As he shook his head, the
breeze waved the unbandaged straight hairs on his long crew cut, almost as a
wheat field bows in the wind. “Only my pride.” His
grimace of pain revealed perfectly white teeth. “But this fever does muddle the
brain.”
“I’ll get you more
water.”
When she reached for the
binding cloth, he held onto her wrist with an unrelenting grip. “No. Stay. I
must... thank you.” His uniform shirt was tight without the armor, and through
the thin material she saw bulging biceps, powerful pectorals, and a host of
manly muscles.
Glyneth gulped down hard.
She felt so strange around this man. Unfamiliar emotions stabbed at her, causing
confusion.
No! This won’t do. I must
control myself. She took a deep breath,
then glanced at her hand, neatly imprisoned within his
grasp. “Perhaps you can thank me by releasing me?”
He let her go, but continued
to pinion her to the spot with his mesmerizing gaze. “This much I can do. As for allowing you to return to your village, no. That would
not be for the best.”
“It would be best for me.” Warily eyeing him, she took a
chance on his weakened state and sat a yard away from him.
“No,” he repeated as if his
word was law. “You will be honored in my
The ten
sons?
That term echoed a form of government from antiquities past that she’d read
about in ancient, even prehistoric, texts. A mythological place, lost in the
mists of time--Atlantis, was said to have been ruled by ten princes and a king.
Was this man’s homeland modeled after a doomed
civilization?
Canusa, he had said. Somehow, that
word sounded familiar. As Glyneth puzzled on this new information, she scratched
at the fake scar on her forehead, then released her
hair from the restricting ponytail. Not having her head covered in a man’s
presence made her feel extremely vulnerable. “Who is Canusa? Does that mean you
are a prince?”
“The original Canusa was the
most holy of holies. Out of the ten sons--or the ten ruling families--one is elected to reign as the new
Canusa.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, then winced
with pain, probably because of his upper arm. “It is true, I am nobly
born.”
“Not a true warrior then.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I thought so.”
His eyes narrowed,
glittering dangerously. “You wound me again, woman. Make no mistake, you shall
not escape me a second time.”
“You’re in no condition to
threaten me! Sweet Christmas, I saved your life! Allow me to return home and we
can call the debt paid.” Standing, she pointed her finger at him in an accusing
manner. “Believe me, I don’t want your double honor.”
Before she could blink, he
was on his feet, towering over her. With one quick movement, he twisted her arm
against her back. “We shall call it paid now. By rights I should kill you for
your insults.”
Oh, how her arm did hurt.
But she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. “Kill me
because of words?” Due to his superior height, she lifted her head up to stare
long and hard at his cold, blue eyes. “You come from a savage
people.”
“Savage?” he shot back.
“That is ironic coming from an uncivilized villager.”
“Well, if being civilized
means going around stealing women, you’re right. We’re not
civilized.”
The man paused. Raking his
gaze over her, he released her arm, then did a quick walkabout where they stood,
scanning the rock formations in the dark. “Raiding your village is not something
we wish to do but it is necessary for our survival.”
“And so that makes it
acceptable, hmmn?” For some perverse reason, she was enjoying herself. Fighting
with words was far more exhilarating than thrusting with
swords.
He ran his hand over his
unbandaged hair and changed the subject. “You look different,
woman.”
If she wasn’t scared before,
the peculiar gleam in his eyes scared her now. “It’s nighttime, in case you
haven’t noticed. Everything looks different in the dark. If you’ll excuse me--”
Cold metal snapped painfully
hard against her left wrist. It was a silver bracelet, cruelly imprisoning her.
He snapped a duplicate one, connected by a chain, on his own wrist. “Handcuffs,”
he explained. “So you cannot refuse the honor waiting for you back at my
province.”
Wild, fiery fury consumed
her. “How dare you--”
“I dare anything to bring my
prize back to Columont.” With his free hand, he rubbed his forehead. “Good
offensive move, by the way. Called a head butt, I believe. By thunder, it still
hurts. But not as much as the blow...”
He yanked on the handcuffs,
pulling her along with him. “Never mind. Come. We will
find a spot to rest for the remainder of the night. I could use a good
sleep.”
Trailing behind like a
stubborn mule, she dug in her heels, but it was no use. She was no match for his
strength, even in his weakened, fevered state.
The man headed for an area
soft with undulating sand. “Your actions do your village proud. Plucky little
thing.” He sat down, giving her no choice but to follow suit. “I was not wrong
to select you. Quite an improvement without those bulldog
cheeks. Your color has also improved, but you could use more padding on
your bones.”
She flared her nostrils.
“Let me go.”
Instead of answering, he
reached over and flattened his palm against her breast.
“Get away from me, you...
you beast!” Tears springing to her eyes, she shoved him away with her unshackled
hand.
Surprisingly, he did not
pursue her, but settled down into the sand. “That is rather difficult to do with
handcuffs binding us. No matter. I am relieved to know you have more padding on
your chest than I originally thought. Your future mate will be
pleased.”
How could she lie down next
to this monster? Imbuing her words with all the venom she felt, she hissed, “I
hate you.”
Although his eyes were
closed, he curved his lips into a smile. “I know. Good-night.”
And blast the man, but the
next minute, he started snoring!
Glyneth chewed on the
fingernails of her free hand, trying to figure her next move. She raised her
left arm, only to drag his arm up, too. There was nothing else to do but ease
down on the sand and close her eyes. The man had won this round. But, she still
had hope. As the ancient saying went, tomorrow was another
day.
Four
At the first wink of
sunlight, Lucas woke up. A strange vista of desert life greeted him. Oddly
shaped cacti loomed large on the horizon. Nearby yucca plants raised their
spear-like leaves in pointed tufts to meet the new day. Poking through rippled
waves of sand were clumps of stringy grass, struggling to compete with the
endless ocean of granular quartz.
Although more natural
looking than yellow clay and fields of orange, this was not how he and his team
had come. So how would he find his way back to camp... or to
Columont?
But, never mind that, the
more important question was who had assaulted him last night? The attacker’s
words returned: “Take that, you
blackguard, for stealing my woman!” Of course. It
was that village idiot who had lunged at Lucas. The man must have followed them.
But the woman was not aware that Lucas had been attacked and that “Sir Galahad”
was on her trail.
Nor would Lucas tell her.
Why fuel her desire for escape? She was being difficult enough as it was. He
shook his head in disgust, and came in contact with the
woman.
Thundering Jupiter, his mind
must have been fevered indeed not to notice he slept with his arm around the
woman, while she nestled up against his shoulder, using him as a pillow. Resting
as a woodland nymph might, she sighed and laid her hand across his chest, in a
reluctant embrace.
He leaned over to inhale her
floral scent. The delicate fragrance stirred unfamiliar longings deep within
him. None of the seasoned courtesans he had the pleasure to plow smelled as
sweetly as she. The straight line of her nose, the hollow of her cheek, the
thick fringe of lashes now at rest--she was a delicate beauty--and he had
remained celibate for over a month now.
As he tightened his grip
around the woman’s ribcage, he cursed the rough material of her gown. If only he
could feel her smooth skin instead.
In a flash, her velvety
brown eyes opened. Pulling away as far as the handcuffs allowed, she glared at him even as the soft mounds of her breasts
rose and fell from her exertions. Her mahogany hair, flowing freely about her
shoulders like a lion’s mane, brought fullness to her thin face. And at the
sight, he caught his breath. She was, in a word, magnificent. The disfiguring snowy lock nor the puckered scar on her forehead
could not mar her distinctive appeal.
“Don’t touch me,” she
snarled.
He also sat up, and brushed
grit and sand from his uniform. “You need not worry. I remember. You hate
me.”
Her dark eyes narrowed.
“Yes. Yes, I do.” She then surprised him by leaning close and placing her hand
on his brow. “Your wound looks a lot better. How do you
feel?”
Habit made him grip her
wrist. “I feel fine despite being trussed up in this turban.” Satisfied she did
not intend to rake her fingernails down his cheek, he
released her hand, then tore off the makeshift headgear. “My arm is healing,
thanks to you. Fever is gone, thanks to you. But my head is still sore, also
thanks to you.”
She dimpled a smile, and at
the sight, he caught his breath. “You’re welcome,” she said. “But surely the
fall off your horse deserves some credit, too.”
Lucas stood. So that was
what she believed had happened to explain his further injuries. “Do not push
your luck, woman.”
“Why
not? So
far, it’s been pretty dreadful.” She also stood and straightened her coarse,
loose fitting robe. “Perhaps it’s time to introduce ourselves? I’m
Glyneth.”
He did not reply. Easing his
free hand into his pocket, he pulled out a compass.
“What’s your name?” she
prompted. “Either you tell me or I’ll just call you
‘Beast’.”
The needle on the compass
floated to north, in the direction of the cliffs up ahead. Good. Perhaps Hawke
or Will had lagged behind, looking for him. Hopefully it was not too late to
regroup and continue the journey--in
safety.
Lucas stuffed the compass
back in his pocket, then gave a quelling stare at his
prisoner. “The designation of ‘Beast’, however quaint, is not fitting for one of
the heirs of the ten sons of Canusa. Major Lucas Jefferson is my name. From two noble lineages.”
He strode in a northerly
direction, yanking her behind him. “Come. Last night you found water this way,
correct? We will clean up, then head for
Columont.”
Moving as a snail might, she
hampered his speed. “You’re rather full of yourself. One of
the heirs of the ten sons of Canusa. Quite a
mouthful.” She shielded her eyes from the sun’s glare. “So you’re a
major, like that hateful man? The one you called Major
Adams.”
Lucas tersely grunted his
assent. A connection to Brice was not something to be proud of, but soon, of
course, the connection would be closer--they would be brothers by
marriage.
“I recognize the name
This woman constantly amazed
him. Who would have expected to find such a spirited, knowledgeable, female out here in the primitive wilderness? The Great
Destruction and its aftereffects annihilated everything, crumbling into dust all
mankind’s achievements. Mile-high tidal waves smashed coastlines with
unrestrained power, washing away the sum total of a population’s existence, and
separating a large section of land on the western part of this continent--of the North America that the woman
had mentioned. Fireballs, shockwaves, and wildfires ravished the planet, fueled
by the bombardment of countless meteorites raining death from the skies.
Poisonous clouds spewed out from the bowels of the earth, blanketing the
atmosphere, irrevocably changing the climate, and contaminating life with
irreversible radioactivity. Cities, airports, indeed, for a time civilization
itself--all gone. Pulverized.
Lucas shook his head to
dispel his gloomy thoughts. Mankind had lost so much. It would take many, many
years, perhaps even a millennium, to recover the knowledge now buried under the
iridium dust of meteorites. His people, ever industrious and diligent, had made
great strides, but complete recovery was still a distant
dream.
“Yes,” he begrudgingly
admitted. “As in Thomas
Jefferson.”
She looked pleased,
obviously misinterpreting his expression. “I can tell you’re surprised to learn
I have some education. The village possesses a few books, you know. Not all our
ancient texts were obliterated by the calamity.” Glyneth tapped him on the
shoulder, then pointed in the direction of a group of
yucca plants. “This way to the water. But as for your
first name--‘Lucas’--I’m not familiar
with that lineage.”
In the shade provided by the
cliffs, he spotted a pool of water. “A distinguished innovator of sight and
sound technology during mankind’s Golden Era. George was his first name. The
scribes mention he had some type of force.”
“And his descendant uses
force, as well.” The clinking of the steel bracelet left no doubt as to her
meaning.
Lucas mentally gave the
woman points. She had a quick wit. He liked that in a woman. “What is your
ancestry?”
Her narrow face froze like
stone. “As for my... father’s, I have no idea.” She shrugged as if to dismiss
all her male relatives. “My mother came from a respected line of
healers.”
He was not usually receptive
to other people’s moods, but he knew instantly he had inadvertently hit a raw
nerve. Filing this information away for further analysis, he got down on the
ground by the pool, cupped his hand to drink, then
cleaned off the last vestige of paint. Awkwardly, he wiped his face on his
sleeve. Not having the full range of motion of two hands hampered everything he
did. Which brought up another, personal
matter.
“You probably want to
relieve yourself.” He noted the slight blush on her cheeks after she nodded.
“Good. Take off your robe and I will unlock the handcuff.”
Her pinkened face darkened
to ruby just as he suspected it would. “What?” she shouted. “You can’t be
serious. I’m not taking off my--”
“Insurance,” he calmly
explained. “You will not leave if I have your clothes.”
She stood rigidly, with
brows lowered, obviously willing him to disappear in a puff of
smoke.
“No dress, no release.”
Shrugging, Lucas suppressed a grin. Legend stated that in distant times, a
volcano no longer in existence--
“You are a beast.”
“The ends justify the
means,” he countered.
She shot daggers at him with
her gaze. “You’re proud to be a student of Machiavelli?”
“Thundering
Jupiter!
How do you know about Machiavelli?” Only by studying with scholars at the
university was Lucas acquainted with the ancient political philosopher Niccolò
Machiavelli. So how on God’s green earth had she heard of
him?
Pursing her lips, she
started unclasping the top of her gown. “Perhaps people in the villages aren’t
as ignorant as you Outsiders believe.” She allowed that thought to sink in for a
moment. “If you turn around, I’ll disrobe.”
He complied. A modest woman
was to be admired. Plus she was also intelligent. Extremely
so. Happy, the man chosen to be her husband. And
if the man did not appreciate this rare jewel of a woman, then he did not
deserve to touch her.
Her voice floated over to
him. “You’ll have to unlock the handcuff now. My sleeve doesn’t fit over
it.”
Even as Lucas looked down at
her wrist, he stole a glance at the rest of her. How could he resist? As a
woman, she called to him, and as a man, he could not help responding. Bare on
the top, she hid her nakedness by turning her shoulder and using her right arm
as cover. From the waist down, she wore a linen petticoat that barely reaching
her knees. As he gazed at her shapely legs, he licked his
lips.
By thunder and all the
planets above, she was an enticing little slip of a thing, and he was in need of
release. But scruples were scruples, despite being a presumed student of
Machiavelli. Lucas swallowed his desire, grabbed the bulk of the gown, then unlocked the bracelet. “I am not worried that you will
not return. You can go now.”
Her back to him, she
departed in a huff. “Pardon me if I don’t say thank you.”
Waiting a second to watch
her stomp off behind some bushes, he could not resist a dig. “You really are too
skinny, woman.”
She did not dignify his
taunt with a reply.
He had his own personal
needs to take care of, so he hurried to find another set of bushes. Hefting over
his shoulder the robe so imbued with the woman’s floral scent, he felt a heavy
thud against his chest. Intrigued, he searched for a pocket and pulled out a
small book. A journal. Not only was she knowledgeable,
but she could write, too. As he relieved himself, he read part of the last
entry.
Once again, with the dawning of this
particular day, like the clockworks of old, the Outsiders are due to swoop down
and steal our women. And I am at risk, as are all the young women in the
village. Perhaps if I make the package less tempting, they might bypass me for
one who pleases the eye more.
Ah, that explained her
dog-tired, bulldog appearance. Perhaps the scar and the white strand of hair
were also fake. Women often dyed their hair. He ran his
hand through his own. Before he left on this mission, Althea Adams had colored
her locks to match his dusky blonde hair.
He could not imagine this
woman, this Glyneth, showing affection in that peculiar
way.
The stirring of noises told
him she waited for him by the pool. Slipping the journal back into the robe’s
pocket, he readied himself for the trip. Without a horse, hope was decidedly
slim. If luck was on his side, they would avoid “Sir Galahad,” find his team,
eat some food, and continue on in relative comfort.
Indeed, he positively itched
to return home. These border villages had once again overstepped their
boundaries to steal Columont livestock. An ultimatum had been issued, but as
always, these savages ignored it. War, always of vital importance, would soon be
declared, if not already. The honor of Canusa must be
upheld.
“I’m done,” she called out
from behind a solitary cactus plant.
Catching a glimpse of her
slim form, Lucas inhaled deeply while counting to ten, a method taught in
warrior training to soothe inner turmoil. Since he was a nobleman, he had to be
well versed in all affairs concerning Columont, not just those pertaining to the
art of war. Indeed, his quick grasp of all the disciplines gave him the edge
over the other heirs of Canusa, and gossip had been rife within the Council that
Lucas Jefferson held the inside track to becoming heir to Canusa himself--the main ruler over all ten
provinces.
Thundering Jupiter, the fact
that he had been sent away rankled him, again. Before he left, his father had
lost his health to the extent that he now governed the province from bed. Why
had Lord Jefferson allowed his son and heir to leave Columont at this critical
time? And for what, to corral females? While procuring
women was a necessary task for the province’s survival, Lord Jefferson’s heir should not have been sent away, just in
case the worst occurred.
As Lucas approached the
woman, he kept his gaze averted and his anger hidden. Raw tempers, business, and
beautiful women did not mix well together. And there could be no doubt about it;
this woman’s “package” was far too tempting by half.
He reached the cactus and
held out his arm. “Give me your left hand.”
“Why?” asked the voice
hiding behind the spindly growth.
“I shall hold your hand
while you dress, then I will handcuff you when you are
done.”
She snorted, and he could
not help laughing. In all his years, he had never before heard a woman snort.
“Sooner or later, you’re going to have to trust me, Lucas. Might as well start now.”
“Step out from the cactus
and tell me that to my face.” He waited, knowing full well she would
not.
Instead, she held out her
hand.
He grinned. “Why are you
refusing to step out?”
“Because I don’t trust you,”
she retorted.
“Exactly.” Gripping her wrist, he then
handed over the robe.
When she was done, he
clicked the bracelet in place. “Now that we solved that problem, we will head
north using the path up these cliffs.”
The sun, brilliant and
unforgiving, blazed long and hard upon the landscape. In response, a trickle of
sweat darted down his temple, getting lost in the maze of the new growth of
unshaved bristles.
Obviously refreshed from her
wash and subdued from her humiliation, the woman fell into step beside him. “Are
you sure this is the way you came here? This trail is too steep for
horses.”
As he glanced down at her,
he wondered why a strange emotion filled his breast at the sight of her frail
form. Althea
“I am sure,” he replied. Of
course he was sure. The compass had indicated this
direction.
“Well, I hope you’re right
for both our sakes.”
Maneuvering the rocky path
took concentration, but he still had something he had to say. “I have not
thanked you for tending to my wounds, Glyneth.” He liked her name. It was
unique, like she was. “Other than a certain stiffness,
my arm feels fine.”
“And your
head?”
Was there a smile lurking behind those luminous brown
eyes?
“My head is fine,
too.”
“Darn.” She gave a tinkle of
a laugh. “Mine still hurts.”
Laughing with her was
another pleasant sensation. A sensation as unique as her
name. Although women--especially fertile women--were revered in Columont, no man
sought female companionship except for matters of the
flesh.
Lucas held out his hand to
help her gain access to a particularly slippery ledge. Although at first
regretting his sudden decision to return the other woman and steal Glyneth
instead, he now mentally patted himself on the back. Selecting her was a stroke
of good luck indeed. The Columont gene pool would gain a valuable breeder, while
her future mate would obtain a gifted companion.
~ *
~
There were two things Will
Flagg hated above all else. The first was to be called “short.” The second was
to be a disappointment to someone he thought highly of. Unfortunately, the
latter was just about to happen.
Galloping his raven horse back into camp, he glanced over at the wagon now housing fourteen of the village women. The shock of being abducted must’ve worn off for they were all now quiet, a jumble of brown, blue, and green watchful eyes. Next to the cage stood Hawke, his patience sorely tested. He paced the length of the wagon with scarcely concealed fury. His huge hands flexed into even more massive fists, his great teeth bared into a fierce grimace, and his biceps bulged, straining through his shirt. Hawke was a formidable warrior. More than anything in the world, Will wanted to give him good news.
But he couldn’t. He’d have
to take his medicine, and hope the man didn’t kill the
messenger.
But blast his bad luck, that
bastard
“Captain Hawke,” Will called
out as he pulled his horse to a halt. “I... I’ve failed.” Dismounting, he then
took position in front of Hawke, squarely facing him and ignoring
The older man blazed fire
from his hazel eyes. “You should not have allowed Major Jefferson out of your
sight.”
With hands on hips,
Which was
true.
Plus, when Luke was bent on a course of action, there was no stopping him. But
Will accepted the blame. He bowed his head.
“So Lucas is gone, eh? My
sister, Althea, will be so disappointed. But perhaps that is the will of
Canusa.” A spark of satisfaction darkly gleamed out of
“I didn’t say that.” Will’d
had a belly full of that dirt bag. Superior officer or not, Will couldn’t help
tightening his fists just looking at the man. “Lost isn’t the same as
gone.”
Hawke clapped his hand on
Will’s shoulder. The force of the blow sent a shudder clear down to his toes,
knocking some sense into him. He unfisted his hands.
“I am responsible for the disappearance,
not you, Lieutenant.” Hawke nodded approval at Will’s non-aggressive stance. “As
project officer for this mission, I am tasked to look after Canusa’s
heir.”
“Heirs,”
“Only the good die young,”
Will spit back. “Ya gonna live a long time!”
“And you are always going to
be pint-sized, Shorty.”
By all the stars in the
universe, this man just begged to be torn apart--slowly--inch by inch. Will took
a step to accomplish the deed but stopped when he spotted Hawke’s warning
glance.
Relief now softened the
warrior’s face. He strode over to the team of horses grazing on the hillside
grass, and singled out his burgundy animal. “You ride on with the others,
Lieutenant. I shall track Major Jefferson down.”
“No. I’ll come with ya.”
Will crossed his fingers, hoping Hawke would see things his way. “We can double
our odds of findin’ the Major.”
Surprise heightened
Will
couldn’t
resist. “Yer mamma?”
Lightning quick, Hawke
raised his brawny arms out to the sides to provide a buffer between that bastard
and Will.
Before Hawke had a chance to
give Will his answer, a melodious voice rang out from the cattle-car of females.
“I know the woman you’re talking about. Her name is Glyneth.” Other women in the
wagon pulled on the talkative one’s arm, but she refused to be silenced. “Take
me with you! I can help.”
With a look that would’ve
quelled an ordinary man, let alone a mere woman, Hawke moved over to the cage
and glared at the redheaded wench. “Explain.”
She curled her fingers
around the iron bars and knelt closer to him, causing her sweet bosom to press
against the bars as well.
Will wiped sweat from his
upper lip. Hell, she was a tasty one, all right.
“Glyneth is smarter than
most of us,” the woman confided in a throaty manner. “She’ll do all in her power
to return to the village. I understand her ways. Let me
help.”
Hawke lifted his thick lips
in a sneer. “What do you expect to earn from your assistance, woman? Your freedom?”
“No.” Her response came
quickly, honestly. “I want to go to
your fabled land.”
As one, the captive women
all gasped. Will couldn’t help grinning at their
disapproval.
“Then why?” Hawke
persisted.
Bravely, the adventuress met
his potent gaze, her bulging eyes seemed to bulge even
further. “If your friend is lost, then so is Glyneth. She’s my sister--my adopted
sister.”
Without commenting, Hawke
mounted his horse. “Lieutenant,” he barked. “Release this one. We take her with
us. She rides with you.” Then he urged the animal over to the other warriors,
most likely to issue instructions.
Will didn’t know whether to
be pleased or annoyed at this unexpected turn of events. Cat green eyes,
well-rounded hips, a narrow waist made for squeezing--delights to be sure. But women were
women. Nothing but problems.
His new companion stepped
out of the cage, and the other females hung back as if she had the
plague.
He locked the cage, then remounted his horse. Holding out his hand to her, he
muttered, “Ya better be worth the trouble.”
Her long hair waving in the
breeze, she eased up onto his horse. “I am. I can promise you that. My name is
Sylvie Paddock.
“Will Flagg here.” As she
intimately settled against him, he felt the rise of a different kind of warrior.
“Aw, hell now, no funny
business.”
Sylvie turned around,
inadvertently--or not--rubbing her breast against his arm. “Certainly not.” She batted sandy eyelashes. “Nothing funny about this business.”
“Hell,” he repeated. By the
comets, Hawke’d had a sample of this redheaded vixen’s flirtatious ways when
he’d chosen her from the villagers. No wonder he declined riding with the woman
again.
Will stiffened his stance
and nudged his horse in Hawke’s direction. For Will’s peace of mind, his only
hope was to find Luke... and soon.
~ *
~
Walking up the uneven
incline, Glyneth pulled her bodice away from her skin to try to cool off.
Unrelenting heat baked her, as it did the surrounding cracked landscape. Volumes
of sweat poured down her back in a never-ending stream of wetness. And the
abrasive burlap material of her robe sent a thousand scratches itching all over
her skin.
A shaded stone jutting out
from the cliff beckoned to her, and she took advantage by flopping her weary body on the ledge. “It’s
hot.”
“You state the obvious.”
Lucas frowned at the interruption of their progress, but then also sat down next
to her. Since they were still handcuffed, he didn’t have much
choice.
A slight breeze weaved its
way under her clothes, and she gratefully accepted its coolness. Stretched out
on the rock in an inelegant manner, she closed her eyes to the sun. “I feel
broiled alive.”
The hackles on her neck
rose, giving her a message. He was looking at her, studying her. She opened her
eyes to find that her impression was correct. His intense blue gaze left not one
nook or cranny untouched by his regard.
She couldn’t help flushing.
No man had ever scrutinized her in such an intimate
fashion.
His expression unreadable,
he reached over and peeled off the fake scar from her forehead. “This must be
so, for here is a piece of cooked flesh.” Inspecting it, he then raised his
eyebrow. “Do you have any more counterfeit parts?”
“No.” She struggled to hide
her smile. How absurd her disguise must be to him. “Do
you?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed,
probably swallowing his amusement. He had such a manly, muscular neck. “Not that
I am aware of. In truth, I would have been exterminated as a babe if I had.
Radiation mistakes must be eliminated.”
Sweet Christmas, what would
he say if he knew she had mutant abilities? Or rather, what would he do, kill
her?
Again, he leaned over her,
this time lifting her white lock of hair. “What about this? Do you change its
color to make you appear older?”
Biting her lip, she turned
away so he wouldn’t see the pain suddenly rising within her. “On the last raid,
my mother was taken from me.” Without looking at him, she pushed away his hand.
“My hair has been like this ever since.”
Silence encircled them as
completely as nighttime engulfed the day. Straining her ears, she only heard the
measured rhythm of his breathing. The Earth itself didn’t speak, and that
frightened her. She didn’t like this place, this place deep in the throes of the
Great Beyond. She didn’t like it at all.
His deep voice dipped in
volume. “I regret that you have suffered, Glyneth. But you will like living in
Columont. You will be treated as a queen, and dressed in the finest of silks.”
He fingered her roughened sleeve, then rested his hand
on her handcuffed wrist. “No more coarse materials such as this--”
“Don’t touch me! I’m not
your flaxen doll, to do with as you please.” As hot as she was, she couldn’t
control the flame of anger from igniting her even further. Standing, she resumed
the climb, this time urging him forward. “And I will never approve of Columont.
A concubine is still a concubine, no matter what she is called or how she is
dressed.”
Although he was quiet, she
could feel disapproval radiating from him. He took the lead on the path, and as
the climb grew steeper, he helped her maintain her balance on the slope. “You
will not be a concubine, but a beloved wife, and as such, mother to many children, God willing.”
“Unless I choose the man, I
would be nothing more than a mail order bride... or a
slave.”
Again, the expression of
surprise widened his eyes. “Thundering Jupiter. You are
a difficult woman! I do not know which puzzles me more, your provoking attitude
or your awareness of Golden Era ways.”
A
flush heated her already heated cheeks. That Lucas was impressed with her
knowledge pleased her more than she ever would have thought. All these years,
since Mamma had been taken away, she remained silent with her information
gleaned from
A tingle of excitement
pulsed down her backbone. Did he wish to wed her for
himself?
No man back at the village
had ever appealed to her as a mate, even though she was required to marry by age
twenty.
Glyneth shook back her
tresses in denial. Why did that hateful thought thrill her
so?
But the opposite question
then plagued her. If she wasn’t for him, was he then only concerned with
transporting her to his province? Was that all he was interested in? Pondering
this question, she felt her shoulders slump.
At last, the summit was in
sight. Hand over fist over hand, Lucas scrabbled to the top, heaving himself,
then pulling her next to him with his powerful, corded
arm. Side by side, they lay under blistering skies, panting out their
exhaustion.
With his unfettered hand, he
gently turned her face toward his. “You are a spirited one, though. I will give
you that.”
As she moved her head away,
he returned his arm to his side. “No touching. I
remember.”
The burn of tears threatened
to reveal her vulnerability. Despite being an Outsider, this man had a kind
heart. Plus, he unsettled her in so many unfamiliar ways. Disturbed at the
confusing emotions hammering within her body, she sat up and looked out at the
bleak terrain on top of the cliff. Nearby, a great ring, as far as the eye could
see, impacted the land. Dear, holy mother, it was a giant crater, laced with
yellow, red, and white soil! Black and grey boulders were lodged within the area
closest to her. It appeared unnatural, other worldly. She listened again with
her inner ears. Nothing spoke to her. This place was dead.
And yet
not entirely dead. Strange willowy growths of
cottony white flowers dotted the crater’s rim. Beautiful, yet they filled her
with unease. They seemed to move as one, defiantly contrary to the
wind.
“What happened here, Lucas?
It looks so... peculiar.”
He lifted her to her feet,
then brushed sand and grit from his no-longer-white uniform. “So, you remain
ignorant of the Great Destruction? That which devastated mankind’s Golden
Era?”
She swept her gaze over the
crater and its burnt, dry soil. Devastated. That was an
accurate word to describe what she was seeing. “Legend tells of something
falling from the sky. A rock or maybe a powerful bomb?”
Taking a step to approach the eerie flowers, she then stopped. The clinking of
chains still bound them. “Whatever it was, it changed
everything.”
A fiendish chill invaded her
comfort zone, and she rubbed her arms to ward it off. “At our village, we call
everything to the north of us, the Great Beyond. We never venture here. It’s
taboo. Tales of the devil and fear of radiation keep us in our place. I used to
think it was all superstition and nonsense, but now I understand
why.”
Would that
the other villages felt the same way. Then there’d be no need for
border-battles.
Lucas removed his compass
and checked the direction again. “Although the ancient ones had many faults,
they were not responsible for the destruction. In our records, we find
references to a mighty comet, colliding not with Earth, but with Venus, the
second planet revolving around the sun.” He repocketed the compass. “Do you know
about planets? About the solar
system?”
“Yes.” What she was about to
say was confidential, told only from mother to daughter in Glyneth’s lineage.
But there was no need for secrecy with Lucas, for he wasn’t one of those
intolerant villagers. “Buried far below the soil, my family has kept ancient
texts, and one of them is on the subject of star-gazing.”
Incredible sadness welled up
inside her. An image of a glowing white mass slamming into cloudy Venus vividly
assaulted her. Venus, a word entwined with the power of
love.
“Chunks of Venus were then
ejected by this explosive impact,” he continued. “These fragments, or
meteorites, hurtled down into our atmosphere. The devastation occurred on a
planetary level.” His lips grimly set, he ran his hand
over his hair. “At least, we think so. Communication through radio transmission
and such is no longer possible. The air has become magnetized--”
Suddenly, his tan face took
on an unholy pallor. “Hell and damnation!”
His anxiety was contagious.
“Lucas, what is it?”
“I must be seven shades of a
fool.” He pulled out his small compass again. “What I have here is a magnetic compass. The readings must be
adjusted for the presence of other magnetic substances, like the metal iron.”
His sigh came from deep within him. “Iron, which is so common
to meteorites. And this is the site of impact for one such
meteorite.”
His distress was so heavy,
she could feel it, taste it. And naturally, she wanted to alleviate his pain.
But this time, she couldn’t. “That means we’ve been going in the wrong
direction?”
“True enough.” The words
were difficult for him to say. “Glyneth, you were right in what you said this
morning. Your luck has been pretty
dreadful--to be abducted by a fool
and stranded out here on the edge of nowhere.”
Instinctively she knew his admission tore at his very soul.
She started to speak, but he
placed his finger against her lips. “No. Do not try to placate me. Damn. Believe
me, I do not use the word ‘fool’ lightly. By Jupiter!
It could not get much worse than this.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved the
handcuff key. “Listen, I have no right to chain you to me. I have failed in the
most egregious way.”
Removing the bracelet from
her wrist and his, he then threw the cuffs away. “Fresh
start.” He shielded his eyes, and stared at the sun, now at its zenith in
the sky. “Perhaps we are not too far astray.”
Her intuition told her that
he hoped for too much, but she didn’t want to make him feel worse than he did
already. Instead, she pointed at the unusual plants. “Before we leave, Lucas, do
you mind if I take a look at those blossoms? I’ve never seen anything like them
before.”
At his nod, she gingerly
walked over to the edge of the crater.
His voice carried the
distance separating them. “We call them Venusian flowers--puffy and milky white, like the
planet. I have not seen them this far south. As far as we know, they first
appeared after the atmosphere settled down from the impact’s dust and debris.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “For some strange reason, all women love
them.”
Not this woman. Glyneth
contemplated the flowers from all angles. They were beautiful, in a cold,
calculating way, but something felt wrong about them. The Earth did not speak to
her through these plants. Why was that? And why would Columont’s women love
these alien growths?
She reached down and plucked
one. Its willowy stalk stood tall--about a foot high--and hard, almost like bamboo.
Completely covering the stalk was a type of white “fur,” warm to the touch.
Inside the gauzy white flower petals, she saw a clear oval, jelly-like mass,
with tiny bubbles suspended within it. As she watched, bubble by bubble floated
up to the top to be released into the air.
Exquisite, but again,
something niggled her about it. Without warning, the
ground beneath her shifted. Dropping the flower, she took a step, but her foot
slipped into a deep crevice.
“Lucas!” Before she finished
calling his name, the rocks moved, opening a larger fissure. She struggled to
keep her balance...but it was no use.
Even as he reached for her,
she no longer stood on the surface. Falling, sliding, tumbling, she lost sight
of the sky and of Lucas. Then she lost sight of everything as she hit her head
against stone.
~ *
~
::Outrage hummed around the crater. The collection of Elatus
Albus venusium--or as these lifeforms called them: “puffy white Venusian
flowers”--vibrated with the intensity of their grief. To be maliciously plucked
from the ground meant instantaneous death. Together, as a group, the newly
transplanted colony mindlessly mourned the loss of one of their
members.
In self-defense, the
remaining growths shifted their root systems which then allowed a fault line in
the soil to open. Retaliation was swift, for such a heinous act could not go
unpunished. These ungainly, resident animals could not be allowed to exterminate
the existence of any superior members of the pod sent from beloved Mother
Venus.
With the male creature’s distress now
hovering in the airwaves, the Colony settled down to do what they did best. Tiny
bubbles of carbon dioxide resumed emission into the thin Earth atmosphere.::
Five
No time to wait. Without
rope, horse, or anything else that would be helpful, Lucas eased down into the
newly formed crevice. Thundering Jupiter, it had all happened so fast. So fast, and now...
He lost his footing on a
rock. Pay attention to what you are
doing. Adjusting his grip, he then descended another level. By all the
planets above, he had to reach her.
She had to be all
right.
About to slip below the
surface, he heard the rumble of horses approaching. Lucas lifted himself back
up. In God’s green earth there was no more welcomed sight than that of Russell
Hawke and Will Flagg riding towards him. But damn, to be truthful, an even more
welcomed sight would have been to have the woman, safe and unharmed, above
ground.
“Captain, Lieutenant, over
here! Get me your rope, quickly. The woman has fallen below.” Lucas eyed the
hemp rope attached to Hawke’s saddle, and prayed it would be long
enough.
Warriors, bless them, wasted
no time with unnecessary questions. And so it was with Hawke and Will, as they
moved in unison to the site of the fissure. Lucas gave a passing glance to the
third person approaching. Young and female, she obviously was one of the raid’s
booty. By rights, she should have been housed with the other women. Hawke would
have never permitted her to join them... unless there was an urgent
reason.
Grabbing the rope, Lucas
tied it around his waist. Another peculiar thing was that the girl rode his
white stallion. By all the planets above, Hawke and Will must have found the
animal. Good. Perhaps Lucas’ luck was turning for the better now. “Hold onto the
rope while I go--”
“No, sir,” Hawke
interrupted. He shot his sturdy arm out to grasp the rope. “It is too dangerous.
Allow me.”
“Just do it, Captain.” Lucas
would not be swayed in this, and because of his superior position as an heir to
Canusa, he expected to be obeyed.
Hawke’s dark eyebrows
dangerously descended, giving him such a fierce scowl even Will took a step back
from the man. “Hell, Hawke! Ya look like thunder!”
Narrowing his gaze, Hawke
grunted, but complied, as Lucas knew he would.
No more time to waste. Lucas
traveled down into the pit and concentrated on every movement. Now that Will and
Hawke remained above, Lucas had no worries about getting back up. But Glyneth’s
condition greatly troubled him. After each ledge he passed, he peered down
deeper into the hole... with no success. Then suddenly, fortune smiled: he
spotted her white forelock of hair.
She was wedged in between
the narrow crevice walls. Carefully curving his arm around her inert form, he
lifted her up, then plastered her tightly against him.
By Jupiter, she fitted against him as if custom made. Her breathing, faint but
regular, issued softly against his chest. He tightened his grip; he would not
lose this precious cargo again.
“I have her!” he shouted up
the pathway. “Help me out of here.”
An eternity later, he let
Hawke pull her out into the sultry air. A gasp of surprise escaped the warrior’s
lips. No doubt he wondered why Lucas had chosen this female over the
others.
The next moment, Lucas also
rested on terra firma. At least he hoped this was terra firma. The last thing
they needed was for the ground to open up again.
“Hey,
Luke!”
Will slapped him on the back. “I’m glad to see ya! We’ve had a belly full of
trouble with ya takin’ off like that.”
Lucas brushed by Will to
kneel beside the prone Glyneth. “How is she?” he asked of the redheaded girl who
gently washed Glyneth’s bruised face.
“In truth, I think she will
be fine,” the girl replied.
Glyneth must have recognized
the female, for she smiled at her, then murmured
through split, dry lips. “Fine? I’ll never be... fine
again.” Fluttering her lashes, she shifted her gaze up at him. “Thank you,
Lucas.” She then sighed, and closed her eyes at that great
effort.
He smoothed her hair back
from her forehead. “She will do.” Thanking the girl for looking after Glyneth,
he signaled to the two warriors to step away from the women. After a deep
inhalation, he confessed, “You both have every right to be angry with
me.”
“Angry?” Will swatted his
arms around in the heavy, torpid atmosphere. “Naw.
Fumin’, enraged, wound up mad are more like it.”
Hawke spoke more moderately,
but with the same depth of feeling. “You should not have left our formation,
sir. Your father will be most displeased.”
“And for
what?
Why’d ya change your mind ‘n take this female?” Will
threw a glance over his scrawny shoulder and wrinkled his monkey face even
further. “Though I’ll say she looks a damn sight better
without that scarf around her face.”
These men wouldn’t
understand. Indeed, Lucas himself did not understand the insane urge that had
driven him to throw caution to the wind and endanger the mission as he had.
Instead of explaining, he walked over to his horse and stroked the great beast’s
massive neck. “Heir’s
prerogative.”
As predictable as a
soldier’s salute to his superior, Will’s leathery face wrinkled up even further.
“Hell’s bells, Hawke! Here he is, not five minutes after savin’ his butt, ‘n
he’s pullin’ the lord and master routine again.”
“Lieutenant, you forget
yourself,” Hawke reprimanded. He joined Lucas by the horses and narrowed his
gaze as he looked at Glyneth. “Shall I carry the thin one on my horse, sir? The
Lieutenant will ride with the plump one.”
“No. I will take the
woman.”
Lucas’ insistence must have
been the reason Hawke’s hazel eyes darkened, but the Captain kept his thoughts
to himself.
Arms akimbo, the redheaded
girl stomped over to Hawke with fury emblazoned on her “plump” face. “My name’s
Sylvie, if you please. Glyneth is my sister. And I’ll have you know I’m not--”
She froze position with her
mouth agape. “Great Heavenly
day!”
Lucas turned to follow her
gaze. All she looked at were the three horses. “What distresses you,
woman?”
“It just dawned on me. The
scriptures! They say three will come riding on a white
horse, red horse, and black horse.” She then glanced back at Glyneth and made
the sign of the cross. “‘He that
overcometh shall be clothed in white raiment and shall take away a woman that
calls herself a prophetess, clothed in sackcloth.’”
He scratched his head. Scriptures, again. Sure, he and his men wore white, plus
their animals were the colors stated. But that did not mean a fulfillment of
some type of primitive fortune-telling.
Lifting his eyebrow in
amusement, he walked over to Glyneth and helped her to her feet. “Are you a
prophetess, then?”
“Hardly.” She must have been weakened
from her ordeal for she trembled under his touch. “But some villagers call me a
witch.”
“Ho! You females, quit yer
jabberin’! Witches ‘n prophesies! I’ve had a belly
full.” Will waved the other woman, Sylvie, over to the
horse. “Let’s get a move on here.”
Lucas expected a protest
from the outgoing redhead, but other than a “I am not
plump” retort back to Hawke, she meekly took her place as Will helped her mount,
then got on behind her.
Hawke also mounted his
horse, scanning the sunbaked skies. “Lieutenant Flagg is correct. We need to
press on, sir.”
“Right. Columont awaits.” Lucas led Glyneth over to his saddle and, despite
her preference not to be touched, gripped her around the waist to ease her over
the great beast’s back. His left foot in the stirrup, he then pushed himself up
and into the saddle--next to Glyneth.
Leaning over he inhaled her
hair that was rich with a soft, floral fragrance. The scent seduced more than
his nostrils. He coiled his arm around her waist, as he had the day before, but
this time, he was more acutely aware of every feminine curve of her slender
form.
“Your grip is too tight,”
she scolded from her position in front.
To tease her, he brushed his
lips against her ear. “I feel protective toward you. You have a tendency to slip
from my grasp, whether on a horse or in a crevice.”
“Hmmn,” was all she would
say, although he noticed she no longer sat stiffly, but relaxed against
him.
Hawke’s sharp eyes missed
nothing, but again, he did not comment. “This way,
sir.” Leading the group, he guided his horse over rocky
terrain.
As his own horse swayed with the rhythm of the climb, so did Glyneth sway gently against him. He briefly shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation. Perhaps they would not reach Columont quite as soon as he had previously hoped. This trip was beginning to have certain merits.
~ *
~
“We camp here,” the large,
black man proclaimed at the edge of a forest as the beginnings of twilight
fell.
At last! Unaccustomed to riding for
any length of time, Glyneth gladly slid off the horse’s back. Her legs wobbly
from being jogged and jolted, she stumbled into plentiful fern growths lining
the dense evergreen forest. This area was beautiful, but colder than she was
used to. With the sun now only a distant memory and the air more rarified due to
the high elevation, she briskly rubbed her upper arms to erase the chill
invading her body.
A shiver also disturbed
Sylvie’s lively demeanor. “Heavens! I’ve not been this
cold since Mother locked me out of the house. And that was in the middle of
winter!”
“I remember.” Glyneth
nodded. “For sneaking out with the
Sylvie hugged her arms
against her chest, which caused her bountiful bosom to bulge out even further.
“‘Boy’ is certainly the right term. There’s a huge difference between a boy and
a man.” At that, she hungrily eyed the men as they silently set up camp.
Efficient and stealthy, they had a place cleared and a fire started in no
time.
Glyneth also watched the
men, but her interest had to do with getting warm, not relieving sexual desire.
She smiled her gratitude at all three and stationed herself in front of the
fire. “Every inch of me is appreciative for this life-saving blaze. When I
dressed yesterday, little did I know I would end up high in the mountains today.”
Along with the heat of the
fire, sadness seeped into her. Ever since her mother had been abducted, Glyneth
feared the exact same fate. And now it had happened.
But perhaps this abduction
was a good thing. All her life she vowed revenge against the man who had
violated her mother. The vile wretch was an Outsider. Here was her chance for
retribution.
She smiled grimly. Yes, fate
worked in mysterious ways.
Sitting on a large gray rock
close to the fire, she extended her hands to warm them even as her heart now
burned with heated passion. The dancing, crackling flames sent glowing cinders
up into the stream of hot air. In a way, it was mesmerizing, and she allowed her
thoughts to drift along with the fire sparks.
She didn’t hear Lucas’
approach. “Here is a jacket to put on, Glyneth.” He arranged a woolen coat
around her shoulders. “You need not worry about cold weather in Columont. Once
we get down off the mountain, the temperature will be more
comfortable.”
The breeze rustling through
the trees spoke to her, as it usually did when she was in a contemplative mood.
“The coolness doesn’t bother me, Lucas. In fact, this area rejoices in the brisk
evening weather. But, still, I don’t wish to go to your home.” Even as she said
this, she knew she lied. She was destined to go to Columont. To go there and find that villainous
beast.
Lucas sat on a tree stump
beside her. “You will not go to my home, precisely. All women are housed at the
Altar of Canusa until mates are selected.”
She stuck her arms through
the jacket’s sleeves and pulled it tightly closed against her. The material was
fine, finer than her best Sunday dress. “An enviable fate,” she
muttered.
He rubbed his jaw, now thick
with unshaved bristles. His cool blue eyes seemed to cut right through her. “I
do not understand your reluctance. Columont has technological wonders you in
your backward village have never seen. Electric cars, automatic lighting, silken
fabrics--”
Perhaps he noticed the
tightening of her lips for he quickly added, “And libraries bursting with Golden
Era knowledge.”
Libraries and books! Her
heartbeat quickened. However it wouldn’t do for him to see he had succeeded
peaking her interest, so she turned
away.
“What I mean to say,
Glyneth, is that we have every modern convenience.”
“Every
modern convenience except freedom.”
“You are obstinate, woman.”
Standing, he glared down at her. “I regret choosing you.”
Those were hurtful words.
Meeting his penetrating gaze, she also rose to her feet. “I regret it, too.”
Some other man should have been the one to capture her. Someone wicked. Someone despicable. Someone for her to
hate.
They came to an impasse.
What more was there to say?
In a huff, Lucas left to
join the other men as they prepared food. Sylvie tiptoed over, then led Glyneth away from the fire so they could talk in
private. “Phew! I overheard that exchange. You were being rather difficult, you
know.”
A cacophony of woodland
noises rhythmically pulsed high, low, high, low around
them. It was beautiful out here, surrounded by various shades of Earth green.
And thankfully, there was no evidence of those Venusian flowers anywhere in
sight.
Glyneth sighed. “I know,
Sylvie. But I must be honest. Why should I embrace both of us being dragged from
home--against our wills--to become some hated man’s concubine,
expected to bear his children?” While revenge was an acceptable reason for going
to Columont, nesting and procreating certainly wasn’t.
Sylvie also wore a borrowed
woolen jacket, and her small arms flapped loudly in the overlarge sleeves.
“Embrace? That’s a lovely word, isn’t it? And, I wasn’t dragged away--I want to be here. It’s our destiny to
marry, whether a villager or an Outsider, and Outsiders are so much more
fascinating than villagers.” She glanced over at the men now stationed around
the campfire, and by the glow in her green eyes it was obvious she was
moonstruck by one or all three of them. “Have you ever thought that maybe you
might not find the man you marry hateful?”
All men were
hateful,
Glyneth wanted to shout. All men were responsible for her mother’s abduction.
All men should take the blame for her father’s truancy and contemptible act. She
loathed every single one of them. And
yet...
On one knee by the fire,
Lucas gestured for her to join him. He had several sticks skewered with animal
flesh to place into the flames. “Come help me cook.”
Her stomach rumbling, she
gladly obeyed, as did Sylvie.
Lucas placed a stick in each
of their hands. “Do not burn these. Just roast until the meat is golden
brown.”
Glyneth glanced at his firm
arm and the hard muscles of his biceps. She could admit--to herself--that certain men did have their
attractions. “I had no idea a son of an heir to Canusa was so knowledgeable in
the art of cooking a meal,” she said softly.
He gave her a lopsided grin.
“Before today, you had not heard of Canusa.”
She laughed. “True, but the
name does sound familiar.”
“Heavens!” Sylvie grabbed another
stick to place in the fire. “Here you are, talking away, while I’m close to
starving!” She inspected the roasted meat, then called
over to the other men. “Will, Russell, time to eat.”
Lucas’ light brown eyebrows
drew together. “Captain Hawke prefers to be called by his last
name.”
“Does he?” Sylvie gave a
tinkle of a laugh as her eyes flashed in the big warrior’s direction. “I’ll keep
that in mind.”
His broad face impassive,
Russell Hawke joined them at the campfire. Although his hazel eyes glittered in
the crackling firelight, no outward clue of what he thought was revealed by his
expression or his behavior. A shiver zigzagged its way down Glyneth’s spine just
from looking at him. Everything about him seemed to inspire fear--from his unnaturally erect posture, to
the tension in his thick neck, as if he were poised to strike at any second.
Even the slash cutting his dark cheek from cheekbone to jaw made her gulp down
any thoughts of escape.
While compassion and humor
often softened Lucas’ demeanor as she noticed during the short time in his
company, she knew Russell Hawke wouldn’t have those traits. He was the epitome
of a soldier, and soldiers did not concern themselves with anything other than
battle and survival.
Something must have
displeased him for he jutted out his massive jaw and flared his nostrils. At the
sight, not only did Glyneth blanche, but Sylvie as
well.
“Lieutenant, we eat
now.”
It was an order, plain and
simple. And also a rebuke, as if Will Flagg, the shorter man now hovering by the
edge of the clearing, was remiss in his duty by not
eating.
“Hold yer water, Captain.
Hold yer water.” Will Flagg, wizened well beyond his years, flapped his arms up
and down, then came stomping over to snatch a stick of meat. “Thought I heard somethin’, out there in the forest.” Baring
his teeth, he then tore off a large fragment of flesh.
Glyneth exchanged glances
with Sylvie. Obviously table manners weren’t emphasized at warrior
school.
“Nothin’ but animal noises,”
he spit between mouthfuls of meat. “Crickets, cicadas, owls,
maybe a bear, or two.”
Russell Hawke moved so
quickly that an eyeblink later found him standing and checking the sharp-edged
knife lodged in his waistband. “I will investigate.”
Will Flagg started to
protest, but Lucas stopped him by handing over a rack of meat. “The Captain will
do what he feels he must. There is no stopping him.”
For such a compact man, Will
Flagg certainly could eat. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before taking
another bite. But he was always twitching this way and that. He probably needed
a lot of food to fuel his constant movements. “Bull-headed, the two of ya are,
Luke. I’ve said that before, ‘n I’ll say it again.”
By the time Russell Hawke
returned, they were almost finished eating. Sylvie roasted another piece, then hurried to hand it to him. “Here. This is for you. Did
you see any bears?”
“No.” Shaking his grizzled
black head, he accepted the meat without thanking her. To Lucas, he said firmly,
“I stand guard tonight, sir.”
Lucas unwound his legs and
walked over to the warrior. “You saw something then?”
“No, sir,” the man repeated.
“But I feel there is something...”
Glyneth closed her eyes to
listen to the sound of the breeze and the rustle of the forest all around her.
Perhaps the Earth would speak to her and give a name to whatever Russell Hawke
sensed. Inhaling slowly, she felt something. Anger reached her. Anger plus a faint whiff of smoke. But that was
all.
She blinked her eyes open to
stare at the fire. She was surrounded by flames and smoke, plus of course,
consumed with her own anger. Had she received a special message or were these
sensations just coming from her own frame of reference?
“There could be someone on
our trail. We shall take turns.” Lucas rubbed at his head wound. “I will be on
second watch.”
Bounding over to him with
more pent-up energy than a person usually had starting the day, Will Flagg then
stood with arms akimbo in front of the other two men. “Now ya wait one hairy
minute, Major. In these here matters, I’m the second, ‘n don’t ya forget
it.”
As Glyneth watched, Lucas
pressed his lips together. Was that an annoyed reaction? Or amused? A faint
twinkle in his eyes gave her the clue she needed. “Fine. I will take the early morning
vigil.”
Russell Hawke folded his
arms across his colossal chest. “Time to
sleep.”
Whether they were tired
didn’t enter into the man’s sentiments. It was time to sleep, so sleep they
would.
Glyneth yawned. He was
probably right. What else was there to do while camping out under a dark, starry
sky?
Sylvie stretched, then smoothed her hands down her sides, over her hips. No
doubt she could think of something else to do! Her parents, Vonda and Ike,
always had their hands full with Sylvie.
Lucas strode to the horses
and unpacked some rolled-up blankets. “Sleeping bags,” he proclaimed, throwing
one to each of them except Russell Hawke, first on guard
duty.
After cleaning up, Glyneth
snuggled into the flannel lining of the bag with Sylvie on her right and Will
Flagg on her left. Sylvie said her good-nights to the entire group, while
Glyneth just grunted. Although exhausted from the excitement of the day, she
still could feel her mind zooming as it dredged up bits of conversation to mull
over in quiet darkness. There was no way she could sleep.
Yawning again, she glanced
over to see Lucas’ prone form lying by Sylvie. That was odd. Why didn’t he sleep
next to her?
Glyneth couldn’t help
frowning. Maybe he had meant what he said. Maybe he regretted choosing
her.
Dear holy mother! That
thought plagued her deep into the night.
~ *
~
Waiting until Will and the
two women were safely ensconced in slumber, Lucas
carefully slid back his sleeping bag and got to his feet. He looked down at the
three figures comfortably resting on the forest floor. The redhead, Sylvie, did
not interest him as a person, but as a future mother to Columont’s children. She
would do well in that department for her loose-fitting robe couldn’t hide her
shapely hips and generous bosom. She had said she was Glyneth’s sister, but in
no way, shape, or form, did she resemble his reluctant
captive.
On the other end was Will,
sprawled every which way. A grunt and a snort later, he changed position, only
to switch back to where he started. A fitful sleeper, he most likely would rest
in this pattern until called to guard duty.
Glyneth, on the other hand,
slept like an angel. Her hands lying under her cheek, her dark and white hair
splayed out in soft curls, she was a picture of feminine loveliness. It was on
her behalf that he gave up his quota of sleep to speak with
Hawke.
“You do not rest, sir,” came
the Captain’s voice, rising above the dying embers of the campfire. He sat
cross-legged by the edge of the clearing, scanning the perimeter with the
precision eyes of his namesake.
Lucas joined the watchful
warrior. “I had a few questions best spoken in private.” As night breezes
rustled a ghostly tune, the chilled air raised goose-bumps on his arms and legs.
“Have you heard or seen anything unusual?”
Hawke pondered a moment
before replying. “No, sir.”
His response was as terse as
could be, however there were more words just hovering below the surface, if only
Hawke could release the flood. But, as a seasoned warrior, he was not trained to
communicate. As long as forever lasted for him, he was trapped into only stating
the facts, never the feelings.
Lucas darted his gaze around
the towering trees--lush, rainforest greenery--and velvet darkness of the sky.
“It feels as if we are being watched.”
Hawke nodded assent. That
was all he could do.
Setting another log into the
fire, Lucas waited to speak until the wood had burst into flames. “Hawke, you
rode on the previous expedition to this village ten years ago. There was a
certain woman taken that I wish to learn more about.” If he could learn the fate
of Glyneth’s mother, then perhaps that stubborn woman would start to welcome her
new life in Columont. After all, a reunion with her mother would be a blessed
thing.
As if words were painful,
Hawke slowly uttered, “Fifteen females were transported,
sir.”
“True,” Lucas agreed. “The same as the expedition before that, as well.” One had to
cultivate patience when conversing with a soldier.
“No,
sir.”
“No?” Lucas scratched his
head. “Do you mean fifteen warriors weren’t assigned to bring back women to
Columont?”
Hawke stood, then circled the perimeter of the camp area, listening to
every nuance in the air. When he was done, he returned to his seat. “The mission
did number fifteen men, sir.”
To keep warm, Lucas rubbed
his hands together. Hawke’s sentence told him two things. Not only was the
number of captives not fifteen, as Lucas had assumed, but men who were not full
warriors had also participated in the raid. Just as he and Brice did not belong
to the true warrior class. In truth, they were leaders rather than
warriors.
Although that expedition had
taken place twenty years ago, Lucas instinctively knew that what happened at
that time was extremely important. “Hawke, tell me the names of the non-warrior
men.”
“Only one,
sir.”
Hawke had developed his brevity into an art.
Annoyed at pulling teeth, so
to speak, Lucas prodded, “And his name?”
Hawke stared down at his
hands as if they belonged to someone else. Finally, he spoke. “Canusa..., sir.”
“Canusa!” Lucas’ outburst caused Will
to change position in his sleep and Glyneth to murmur softly. Only Sylvie
remained solidly undisturbed.
Thundering Jupiter! This was
important news, indeed. “So, you are saying twenty years ago Canusa joined the
expedition and brought back a future bride for Columont?”
Hawke’s jaw muscles pulsed
tightly. Clearly he was uncomfortable with the
conversation.
“I have it wrong? You are
saying then that Canusa did not bring back a bride.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Enough
twenty questions. “What happened, Hawke? You
need to tell me.”
Hawke rubbed his fingers
along his scarred cheek. “Canusa chose a woman, then he
refused to ride on with the others. He... dishonored her.” The warrior’s
wide-set eyes glistened in the faint starlight. “My duty was to protect Canusa,
and I did so. The woman aimed for his face, but instead scratched
mine.”
By God’s green earth! The
most holy of holies had... raped a woman? Canusa, the revered
leader of all the known territories?
An ashen taste rose in
Lucas’ mouth. His lifelong wish had been to emulate the current Canusa, and
perhaps one day be chosen to rule in his stead. But now... by thunder! Canusa
was nothing more than a common criminal.
Lucas turned his attention
back to Hawke. The man obviously fought to control powerful emotions. “What
happened to the woman?”
“She escaped, sir. And I did
not have the heart to find her.”
Taking a deep breath, Lucas
shook his head in disbelief. “The woman got away then?”
“Until the
next mission. She was taken
again.”
Hell and damnation. The
shiver racking his body had nothing to do with the cool night air. He pieced the
puzzle together and did not like the outcome. He did not like it at
all.
“This woman...” Lucas
paused. “This woman--”
“Bears a strong resemblance
to the thin female you have chosen, sir.”
Lucas sat without moving for
a long time. He shifted his gaze to Glyneth as she slept. Now he understood the
venom in her voice when he had asked about her ancestors. “As for my father’s, I have no idea,” she
had said. Twenty years ago, her mother had been violated by Canusa. Was Glyneth
the product of that encounter?
Was she aware of this? And what about the redheaded sister?
He shook his head. No, he
did not think Glyneth knew about her father. Should he tell her? No, again. That
would only open old wounds, plus ensure that she would never care for her new
home.
There was still a piece of
the puzzle remaining. “What happened to the woman, Hawke? Who is now her
mate?”
Hawke turned a pain-filled
gaze upon him. “She is no more, sir. Soon after she arrived at the Altar of
Canusa, she died. By her own hand, I am
told.”
Lucas took a steadying
breath. The sins of the most holy of holies had destroyed an innocent life.
Indeed, Canusa’s sins had also created an innocent life, as well. Damn. If only
Lucas had not yielded to his strange impulse and chosen Glyneth to abduct. But
fate had played an extraordinary hand in these events. He had been meant to
carry her away. There could be no doubt about that.
“So in between abductions,
the woman first gave birth to Glyneth, then later, the sister, Sylvie--”
“No,
sir. The
thin one must have been adopted into the fiery one’s
group.”
That explained the lack of
family resemblance. But before Lucas could comment, something flew passed his
ear, whizzing by at an incredible speed. “Hawke, what is--”
Another whiz, then an arrow grazed his left arm, the one that had been previously hurt. A slash of pain stabbed him, and he grit his teeth to contain it. “Captain, we are under attack.”
The warrior was already up
on his feet. He shook Will, gestured to Lucas, then
sprinted into the forest.
“I am all right,
Lieutenant.” Flinching, Lucas glanced down at his arm and saw that the wound had
reopened. Damn, him being a blasted pincushion was
getting old. “You follow Hawke. He needs help.”
Will jumped on one foot then
the other, obviously uncertain as to what to do. “But if I leave
ya...”
From the darkness, Glyneth
came over and peered closely at the wound. “I’ll take care of Lucas. You’re free
to go.”
Relieved, Will shot out
after Hawke. Lucas removed his knife from its sheath and trained his gaze on the
area where the two warriors had vanished. “Can you bandage me
quickly?”
She staunched the flow of
red, working even as he tried to stand. “You must stop moving. Else you’ll feel
weak from the loss of blood.”
The woman had a point.
Already, his head buzzed with dizziness.
Applying pressure, she used
her sleeping bag to soak up the errant fluid. “You should’ve remained in
Columont, Lucas. This has been a painful trip for you.”
In more ways than
one, he
silently agreed. Although the throbbing in his arm distracted him, the tragic
circumstances of Glyneth’s birth disturbed him even more.
“Who would do this?” As
gently as she could, she tightly wrapped the wound.
The answer had to have been
his previous attacker. The man was a cowardly fighter to use darkness as cover.
“Most likely it was a suitor of yours from the village, seeking to secure your
return.”
She lifted the arrow close
to her eyes and ran her fingertips over the point. “No. This arrow contains
foreign markings. It wasn’t made by my people.”
Hawke and Will returned with
empty hands. The younger warrior spat out his disgust. “We chased somethin’ but,
hell, whoever it was, he got
away.”
Hawke stationed himself in
front of Lucas. “Your arm, sir?”
Lucas smiled in spite of the
pain. “Glyneth has become very adept at patching me up.”
The warrior pursed his thick
lips, glancing at Glyneth, then Lucas. But he did not comment on whatever he was
thinking. “You.” He flicked his finger at her. “You
wake up the other female. We move our position next to these
rocks.”
Will bobbed his head in
agreement. Anger tightened his forehead. “That’s right. The stones’ll protect
the rear while Hawke ‘n I guard the front.”
“I will, also.” Lucas then
yawned, feeling particularly drained from his experience.
“No,” Hawke disagreed. “You
sleep with the females, sir.”
A raucous laugh escaped
Will’s lips. “Tough duty, Major!”
Perhaps Hawke was right.
Lucas could use the rest. Settling into his sleeping bag before Glyneth or
Sylvie could join him on the ground, he closed his eyes. This was one time he
felt grateful that he was more than just a warrior. All too soon, the sun would
rise. He needed to conserve his strength for the coming day and whatever
challenges it would bring.
~ *
~
Brice Adams failed--miserably and completely. Damn the
stars above! The luck of Canusa certainly wasn’t with him. Of course, the luck
of Canusa obviously didn’t favor Lucas, either, since he would be returning to
Columont in worse shape than when he left.
After all this work, too bad Lucas only sustained a flesh wound to the arm--hated scum that he was. Of all the ten sons and their heirs, Lucas was the only one who seriously threatened Brice’s chances of becoming the next Canusa. But this time, the best man would win the prize. And the best man for the job was Brice!
Hiking over endless hills, thorny shrubs, and enough rocks to fill a blasted ocean, Brice hauled butt. With both Hawke and Flagg on his tail, extreme urgency fueled Brice’s flight, despite the gloom of night.
Slowing down, he listened to
the cool winds for any sounds of human activity outside of his own heavy
breathing. None disturbed the darkness. By now, chances were good that he’d
outdistanced the two Columont warriors. So he had that going for him. Plus his anonymity as the attacker. But instead of killing
his despised co-heir, Brice had only hurt him. If only that stupid arrow had
plunged into Lucas’ head.
Brice grinned, picturing the sight of blood gushing from the scum’s forehead. Reality seldom lived up to fantasy, however. He’d have to find another way to get rid of Lord Jefferson’s son.
He’d learned something
interesting, though, as Lucas had talked with Hawke. Evidently, the present
Canusa was just as lecherous as Brice. But because Canusa was Canusa, he had
been able to carry through on his lust, while Brice had been reprimanded for
just inspecting that village wench! Where was the harm in sampling the goods? In
making certain the female had what it took to please a red-blooded male? And if Canusa could do it, then why not
Brice?
His cigar burned hotly in
the night. But there had been more, as well. The possibility that the stick of a
female Lucas had inexplicably taken was, in fact, Canusa’s daughter. Which raised a whole slew of scenarios. Maybe Lucas intended
to ditch Althea for the scarecrow woman in order to increase his chances of
becoming the next Canusa. Canusa had no children, male or female. If the woman
truly was his daughter, then marriage to her would be a savvy political step. Or
perhaps Lucas planned to blackmail Canusa into favoring him by threatening to
expose that long-ago crime.
Either way, Lucas wouldn’t
succeed. Brice would make certain of that. If need be, to become the next
Canusa, he’d wed that broomstick himself.
Brice picked up speed again
as he headed toward the warrior camp. He’d had the foresight to set up his tent
outside the camp area to make sure he could slip away easily. In all
probability, no warrior had checked up on him in his absence. He had, in effect,
a perfect alibi.
So maybe the luck of Canusa
was with him. After all, Brice could
blackmail Canusa the same as Lucas. And even be more effective at it; Brice’d
had practice.
Pushing a low-lying tree
branch out of his path, he spat out a wad of bile, then
puffed on the cigar. Once he returned to Columont, he’d figure out another way
to pull the plug on his adversary. And this time, he’d aim for the
heart.
Six
Columont’s beauty couldn’t
be denied. As she walked down the evergreen mountainside beside Lucas’ white
horse, Glyneth stopped to drink in the sights, sounds, and fragrances of nature.
This area was abundant with riches--from the turquoise inlet with frothy waves
lapping sandy shores, to the rugged mountain range off in the distance. Huddled
in between huge Douglas fir trees were miniature wooden houses and pencil-thin
grey roads weaving in and out of the dense forest. Even further out were tall,
spiral structures--fantastic shapes so strange to her eyes. Once she and the
others reached ground level, all the buildings promised to loom over them, and
the paved roads probably would be two arm spans wide.
“No time to stop now,
Glyneth.” Lucas’ voice came from the other side of the horse. “We are almost
home. Once we hit the bay, we can stable the horses and ride into the center of
town in style.”
“Using
electric cars.” She repeated the words he’d
used when trying to convince her that his “home” was a desirable
place.
Well, she’d never be
convinced, electric cars or not. Following behind Russell Hawke, then Will Flagg
and Sylvie, Glyneth took each step down the steep path with growing trepidation.
Although she was glad Lucas would finally have the chance to rest so that his
wounds could heal, unease from another source filtered into her consciousness.
Something was wrong here in beautiful Columont--terribly wrong. The closer she came to
this unfamiliar center of Outsider civilization, the more her inner alarm bells
rang. A sensation of being held hostage vibrated through her, raising the downy
hairs on her neck and arms. Of course, she was a hostage, but the feeling came from
outside of her--from the trees, from the water, from the very
air.
She shivered. What in the
world was going on here?
“We leave this coolness
behind soon.” Lucas misinterpreted her shudder. “You will find it quite
temperate by the shoreline. Indeed, that is one of the reasons we no longer use
the organic decomposition of ancient living matter to fuel our transportation,
as did those in the Golden Era. Concerns about global warming--due to carbon dioxide emissions and
the greenhouse effect caused by the Great Destruction, have forced us to make
wiser choices pertaining to our environment.”
Maybe Lucas’ people thought
they were making wiser choices, but who could condone the practice of stealing
women? And why was that necessary in the first place?
As promised, once they
reached the bottom of the mountain, the gleam of slick, metal cars waited to
transport weary travelers. But before they could stable the horses, an army of
men stood at attention. “Sir!” A large, bearded warrior
saluted, then loudly addressed Lucas. “Major Jefferson,
you are requested by my lord Canusa to attend the War Council,
sir.”
Lucas returned the salute
and narrowed his gaze. “Surely that honor belongs to my father, Sergeant
Eisenberg.”
“Lord Jefferson is dead,
sir.”
Glyneth swallowed her gasp
of surprise. Blunt and cold, the sergeant’s voice contained not a drop of
sympathy. She quickly looked at Lucas to see how he took the news. Other than a
flickering in his blue eyes, no change was visible in his demeanor. In fact, his
blue eyes seemed cold and as frigid as white-tipped mountains in the middle of
February.
“When did this happen?” he
demanded.
“He took sick and died last
night, sir.” The beefy man’s inflection left no doubt as to his
thoughts--sickness was only for weaklings.
Not one minute in this
legendary
Although the temperature
soared just as Lucas had foretold, a shiver rocked her
through and through. A healer had a well of compassion stashed inside her. In
contrast, this military society had no use for those who couldn’t serve. It was
a chilling concept.
Handing the horse’s reins to
Sergeant Eisenberg, Lucas exchanged a few quiet words with him. Then he took
Will Flagg aside and confided, “Lieutenant, take these two females to the
Jefferson Compound. Our steward, Trinio, will look after
them.”
Glyneth strained her ears to hear. Did the passing of Lucas’ father mean nothing to him? Or was his impassive exterior only because warriors weren’t permitted the luxury of emotion?
But what about her? Would staying at the
She shrugged. Why fight what
fate had planned? The path of least resistance would yield the greatest
results.
“But why,
Luke?”
Will Flagg stood in Lucas’ face, with his arms firmly folded against his chest
and his right toe tapping out frustration. “By all the stars in the universe,
here’s yer chance to be rid of these troublesome females!”
“Just do it, Lieutenant.”
Lucas signaled for Russell Hawke to accompany him, then
strode over to Glyneth and Sylvie. He flicked a disinterested glance over them.
“You women will both be housed at the Jefferson Compound until other
arrangements can be made.”
Glyneth placed her hand on
his arm. “I’m sorry about your father, Lucas.”
Sylvie also murmured her
condolences.
But Lucas had no use for
sympathy, and the atmosphere sizzled with his annoyance. Duty called and he was
being delayed. He roughly brushed her hand from his arm. “Understand this.
Dissent, of any sort, will not be tolerated. While I have delineated some
benefits of this province, for those who do not cooperate with our edicts, life
can be extremely disagreeable. Not all females enter the hallowed state of
matrimony.” With a savage expression, he regarded Glyneth from head to toe. “The
choice is yours.”
Sylvie gulped down
nervousness, but Glyneth held the man’s gaze. He didn’t intimidate
her!
Russell Hawke interrupted.
“Sir, we must leave for the War Council.”
“True.” Lucas nodded at Will Flagg, then promptly got into one of those metal boxes, or rather, electric cars. Without a backward glance, the vehicle sped off, down the winding, narrow road.
“Aw, hell,” Will Flagg spat.
“Left to babysit again!”
Glyneth was in no mood to
soothe the warrior’s troubled spirits. She had her own demons to control. Lucas
could only have been talking about women becoming courtesans. Women whose job was to give pleasure to male
customers.
A shudder rocked through her
frame. Crossing her fingers, she prayed for revenge against her father before
she had to worry about her fate in this unforgiving land.
With pent-up fury fueling
his every step, Will Flagg herded her and Sylvie into a waiting electric car,
barked the destination to the driver, then sat with his
mouth firmly ground shut. No further conversation would be had from that
warrior.
Which was
all right with Glyneth. Nameless emotions churned
deep within her soul. Not the least of which was what lay ahead for her at the
Jefferson Compound.
Still subdued, Sylvie kept
her gaze glued to the window. Glyneth preferred to study the uneven growth of
her fingernails. Strange how they both had gotten what they wanted, only right
at this moment, they weren’t happy with the outcome. Uncertainty could do that
to a person.
Traveling
as if by magic, the car proceeded on its way.
~ *
~
Seated at the great oak
conference table, Canusa pulled on his coarse, thick mustache as he glanced
around at his warlords. Ostensibly, he listened to a report from one soldier
just back from the hinterlands, but in reality he skewered Major Lucas Jefferson
in his thoughts. If wishes were done deeds, the young man should have been dead,
his body providing a feast for low-flying vultures. But no, here he sat, huddled
together with the other nine “sons,” grimly participating at the War Council.
Too bad his father, Lord Jefferson, had passed on. But then he had been ill for
quite some time.
Canusa glared at the object
of his aversion, then took a gulp of whiskey enhanced
coffee. How his heart had leapt when first learning of
Wretched,
wretched news. His contentment had burst
into a million pieces. The fact that
Grinding his teeth, he
darted his gaze around the room. Also sitting in on this assembly, as always,
was the astrologer, Gaea. On deciding major courses of action, it was best to
consult the stars. Perhaps he should quit pussyfooting around and get more
specific with his requests for information. Perhaps he should ask her point
blank the best way to rid himself of the
Lord Monroe, a powerful man,
mighty in the breadth of shoulders, but deficient in aptitude of the mind, now
concluded his speech. “And so, most noble Canusa, despite repeated warnings to
the backward savages, they continue to raid our lands and pilfer our God-given
livestock. These villages must be destroyed!”
Something sparked the icy
blue of Lucas Jefferson’s eyes and he shifted uneasily in his chair. For some
reason, did those words strike too close to home?
Canusa leaned forward in his
seat and regarded his vassals. “I agree with Lord Monroe. It is time to expand
our borders. War is a means to this end. Of late, our warriors have grown fat
and complacent.”
Now
Of all the ten sons, only
“Blasphemy!” Lord Taft, a well-fed
warrior, hooted.
“Unthinkable!” was Lord
Monroe’s cry.
Lord Adams,
From underneath his walrus
mustache, Canusa smiled. Advising warriors to exhibit pacifist tendencies was
akin to political suicide. “Ah, Major Jefferson. Or
perhaps you should now be called Lord
Jefferson? Our condolences on your great loss.”
Canusa’s smile widened. “About your suggestion on animal husbandry--you have a kind, but impractical
heart.”
The man’s complexion steamed
red. Clearly
Canusa rose from his chair
and circled the table to make his point. “In this council chamber, we talk about
survival of the State... or ruin if we fail. Nothing else matters but that the
lands and people of Canusa flourish and grow.”
He walked over to the far
end of the war room where Gaea sat, dressed in her death shroud. “Our astrologer
has completed a number of charts to provide us with guidance on this very
matter.” Canusa spoke with complete confidence. Rubbing the younger man’s face
in his incompetence was delightful beyond words. “Gaea, tell Lord Jefferson what the stars
say.”
It was obvious from
As she was ordered, Gaea
consulted her notes. But how she could see through that blasted translucent veil
was a mystery. “Great Canusa, the stars reveal a time of turbulence soon will be
upon us. Upheaval, rebellion,... yes, and even death
hangs heavy over the lands of Canusa. Following the proper course will ensure
success to those in power.”
Canusa raised his fist up to
the ceiling. “And the proper course is war. As always, war is a matter of vital
importance to the State. We will annihilate those primitive savages. They will
have no choice but to surrender!”
A cheer grew in volume from
the four corners of the war room. Pleased, he smiled his
approval.
But Lucas Jefferson was not
through distressing his superior. When silence reined again, he spoke. “It has
been written, noble Canusa, that the goal of war should be victory over the
enemy, not annihilation. Why must we destroy when we can incorporate these
villages intact?”
A
frenzy of voices blended together in one deafening maelstrom. Pros and cons
shuttled back and forth. Lord Monroe loudly decried this sentiment while Lord
Wilson wholeheartedly grasped it. Lords Trudeau and Adams stroked their chins,
obviously giving
“Gentlemen,
gentlemen! Let us settle down.” He
waited until cooler heads returned. “Lord Jefferson has proposed an unusual
solution to our problem of marauding neighbors. I shall, ah, take it under
advisement.” Of course, he meant to table it as soon as everyone left the room,
but for now he gave the appearance of giving the matter serious
thought.
Wiping sweat from his
forehead, Canusa adjourned the meeting. To his regret, the astrologer left
quickly, weaving her way through the mass of departing warriors. Blast! He
wanted to go over her prediction. He wanted to make sure he was doing the right
thing.
Upheaval, rebellion,.. .yes, and even death
hangs heavy over the lands of Canusa. Following the proper course will ensure
success to those in power.
He liked the sound of those
words, especially the prediction of death. One death had already occurred.
Hopefully, Lucas Jefferson’s would soon follow.
Biting on an uneven hangnail
as he chewed on this thought, he also exited the war room.
~ *
~
Although Glyneth hated to
admit it, the magnificence of the Jefferson Compound got her heart pumping. The
building was large, so large that her entire village would have easily fit
within its confines with plenty of room to spare. She counted one window atop
another, atop another. Five. It was five stories high!
The marble pillars lining the front of the main building, the crystal glass
sparkling in the afternoon sun--goodness, each and every feature of
the estate overwhelmed her. It was as if she’d found the land of milk and honey,
or had tumbled back to pre-destruction times.
“I’m going to be very happy
here,” Sylvie stated as she got out of the electric car. Placing her hands on
her hips, she stared up at the huge stone mansion.
Glyneth smiled at her
sister. Sylvie had a knack of making herself at home no matter where she went.
It was an enviable trait.
“Well, don’t go puttin’ down
roots.” Will Flagg shrugged his narrow shoulders at her, then led the way toward massive double doors. “Ya ain’t
stayin’ for good at this here place. It’s just temporary. Until ya get assigned as wife.”
Sylvie shot Glyneth a
mischievous look, then turned back to Will. “But maybe
I will stay. You never know, Luke
might decide to pick me.”
If he did, that would make
no difference to Glyneth, but strangely enough it took more effort for her to
move her limbs. A sudden paralysis had frozen them.
For a moment, Will’s eyes doubled in size and his dropped mouth formed a perfect “o.” The next second, he doubled over with laughter, vibrating amusement from the tips of his boots to the reddish fringes of his brown hair. “Hell on Earth! The Major, yet! If that ain’t the best laugh I’ve had in a month! You sure do think a lot of yerself, don’t ya, woman?”
Sylvie remained silent, for who could reply to that question?
“No way in hell, ‘n for yer
info, it’s Major Jefferson to ya.”
Will wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then hammered his
fist on the great door. “The truth of the matter is, the Major’s already matched
with one of our finest. Althea
That tidbit constricted
Glyneth’s heart. But instead of dwelling on it, for it really did not make any
difference to her at all if Lucas married into the family of that hateful Major
Adams, she fisted her hands to remind her of her purpose. Once she found the man
who dishonored her mother, she would take her revenge and be gone from this
strange, troubled land and its savage warriors.
Without a doubt, this land
was troubled. Every
tree, every plant, every blade of grass broadcasted anxiety about
something. But what? Perhaps after getting her
revenge she’d find out what the trouble really was.
The colossal door opened
slowly. A bullet-shaped man with tufts of white hair curved around a balding
pate stood on the other side. His spectacles, pinched firmly on his nose,
magnified grey, watery eyes.
“Yes?” this impressive
personage uttered, even though his tone spoke “no” instead. Then he spotted Will
Flagg and his lips cracked wide into a smile. “Well, it’s about time you decided
to show up, boy! Always bringing up the rear, you and Major Jefferson
are.”
The man’s expression sobered
as he ushered the three of them inside the
But, to a man’s way of
thinking, there could be nothing worse than for a man to be called a boy.
Accordingly, Will’s ears issued the appropriate steam. “Aw,
hell, Trinio. Don’t razz me none. Else I might decide to cut that chicken
throat o’yers.”
Instead of being taken aback
by his threat, the man clucked just like the aforementioned chicken. “Lieutenant
Flagg, you’re all bluster, and don’t I know it? Come on
in and take a load off.”
Warriors would never admit
to being exhausted. Even Glyneth was aware of that. With a swagger that belied
how he truly felt, Will strode around the utilitarian entryway as if he expected
an assassin to jump out from behind pedestals and potted
plants.
A twinkle lit the older
man’s eyes. He tapped the Lieutenant on the shoulder and pointed toward one of
the inner corridors. “The cook just finished baking a batch of lace brownies. If
I remember correctly, lace brownies are your favorite, Lieutenant. Go have some
while I take care of the guests.”
Lace brownies, whatever they
were, must have been a real treat because Will’s close-set eyes nearly crossed.
“Fine, I’ll make sure the brownies are fit for human consumption. Ya can go
ahead n’...” The next second, he was on his way, probably down to the
kitchen.
“All bark, no bite, but
plenty of dogged devotion. That’s what the Lieutenant is.” Trinio then narrowed
his liquid gaze as he regarded Glyneth and Sylvie. After a pause, he
straightened the points on his grey vest. “I’m Trinio de Jefferson, the steward
here at the Compound.”
“Sylvie is my name, sir.”
Dimpling a smile, Sylvie curtsied.
The steward nodded, then turned toward Glyneth. “And you are?” There was no
clucking in his manner now.
“I’m Glyneth.” Truth be
told, if Will Flagg would not admit to exhaustion, then she would. Yawning, she
covered her mouth with her hand.
Trinio took in the
not-so-subtle hint. “Rumor has it that the Major risked his life to return to
that backward village just to steal you, miss.”
“Rumor is wrong, then. Lucas
had second thoughts about separating a mother from her family. I just happened
to be standing next to the children when he came back.” Glyneth held out her
hands, palms up. “Bad luck for me.”
But it was good luck,
actually. Now here in Columont, she finally could exact her pound of flesh from
that beast who was her father.
The steward gave her a
quelling stare, raised a jagged eyebrow, then spun
around toward a polished staircase. “You are tired and in need of a
bath.”
As this was so, Glyneth
didn’t argue. Neither did Sylvie, so they both followed the man up the circular
stairs. Stepping over to a white, paneled door, Trinio opened it to reveal the
most luxurious room imaginable. “This is where you’ll stay during your visit at
the Jefferson Compound. Most women find it quite cozy.”
Taking stock of her
surroundings, Glyneth withheld her comments. “Cozy” couldn’t adequately describe
this wondrous vision of delight. A high, airy ceiling, shiny satin bedcovers,
elaborate furniture worthy of kings--this room was too good to be true. One
entire wall had been made into a closet, hiding a rainbow selection of wearing
apparel.
At the sight, she closed the
closet door. In truth, this place reminded her of a prison. Or one of those
gilded cages of yore. Only a concubine could find happiness here. With one’s
soul bought and paid for through sumptuous belongings, a person could only lead
a very empty life.
Glyneth opened another door
that led into a lavish washroom. Although tantalized by the golden bathtub and
ivory fixtures, she turned away from temptation. Sylvie, on the other hand,
jumped inside and started turning the faucets on and off. Running water! What a
marvelous invention!
“Trinio, I have a question.”
Glyneth walked over to the man as he produced fluffy towels for them to use.
“Why is your last name ‘de
Jefferson?’”
“That’s the custom. If a
male can’t bear arms, he must be useful to society in other ways. Just as if a
woman can’t bear children...” He cleared his throat. “For me, I excelled in
household organization. Workers take the last name of the house they are
assigned to. The ‘de’ denotes servant status.”
As the man spoke, he
refolded a bath towel, making sure the ends were in alignment. It was then that
she noticed he was missing two fingers on his left hand.
“An accident when I was a
child,” he explained.
“Oh, that is a horrible
custom!” Momentarily distracted from her new-found toys, Sylvie batted her eyes
with obvious sympathy at Trinio’s plight.
“It’s the will of Canusa.”
The steward shrugged his sloping shoulders. “This has been our way for the
longest time.”
Glyneth picked up a useless
bauble designed to enslave women--a sparkling necklace heavy with plundered
jewels taken from the Earth. “Maybe you can explain to us why it’s necessary for
your men to steal our women. Why is there such emphasis on childbearing? After
all, some women aren’t destined to be mothers. Even during the Golden Era, that
was so.”
The man sighed and his
spectacles fogged up with emotion. “It’s because, more often than not, our women
are barren. As far back as memory goes, females of our State have suffered so.
I, too, had wanted a family of my own but...” He waved his right hand
depreciatingly. “The
Trinio’s voice, so robust
before, trailed off like the dying day.
As a healer, Glyneth had to
address Columont’s blanket sterility. It was a crime against nature. She had to
figure out the cause.
But first
things first. “Trinio, do you know the
names of the men who raided my village the last time?” If the steward knew the
answer to that question, then there was a good possibility he’d know who took
part in the raid twenty years ago.
“What an odd question. You’d
have to ask a warrior. I’m not privy to that information.” The man removed his
spectacles, and wiped them with a white handkerchief. After he resettled the
glasses back on his nose, he studied Sylvie, then Glyneth. His expression grew
kinder. “You young things freshen up now. Dinner will be served at
When the man left the room,
Sylvie flicked back her red hair in a preening gesture. “Well, how fortunate for
us that Columont needs healthy women. Talk about being in demand! Now all we
have to do is make sure the men we want as mates demand us as
well.”
“There’s no man I want,”
Glyneth insisted. But while Sylvie’s thoughts focused on romantic notions,
Glyneth’s thinking took a more practical turn. The only warriors she knew were
Lucas, Will Flagg, and Russell Hawke. She did not dare ask Lucas, and Will was
rather young. Captain Hawke would be her best bet to
question.
Glancing around the bedroom
that would be her home for at least a short time, Glyneth spotted one of those
horrid white Venusian flowers flourishing next to the crystal window. An
immediate revulsion welled up inside her. There was no way she’d allow that
wretched thing anywhere near her, if she could help it. She unlatched the lock
and put the plant outside on the window sill--out of sight, out of mind. Even
touching the flowerpot gave her the willies. Relieved, Glyneth turned her back
on the flower and settled down to plan her strategy. Sweet,
sweet revenge.
~ *
~
::The drop in temperature was immediately felt by the single
bloom of Elatus Albus venusium. Not that a few pitiful degrees of coolness would
make a difference to a hardy growth whose pod ancestors were used to upwards of
900 degrees Fahrenheit, as these lifeforms measured. The plant was, after all,
covered with highly insulated hair to protect it from Earth’s frigid
climes.
However, what was alarming was the negative thoughts generated by this
inferior, mobile creature. Not only that, but the fact that this animal was a
female of the resident species created a vague disturbance within the plant’s
clear, oval interior. This planet’s females were always extremely cooperative
and susceptible to suggestion. No exception to the rule. What could be
amiss?
Communicating anxiety to the
other members of the Colony took only seconds and just as instantaneously,
knowledge was received that this particular Earth animal had been responsible
for the termination of a fellow member! Sudden fury simmered up from deep within
to generate a mass of steaming, life-giving bubbles. Strength of purpose grew.
This affront to the Colony would not be tolerated.
The lone Venusian plant
further straightened its stalk in response to unseen directives, as did all
members of the Colony. Strength in numbers--that was the answer to this
unthinkable situation. The battle lines were now drawn. This particular female
was too much of a risk. It would have to be destroyed.::
Seven
“Glyneth, it’s almost
Glyneth wrinkled her nose.
More warpaint. But this time it was used to attract,
rather than repel.
“Hurry! Put something on, for
heaven’s sake.” Sylvie dashed to the wall closet, then
pulled out an iridescent, purple over-gown with a solid slip underneath it.
“Here. This’ll do.”
Sylvie was right. Not
dressing up for a dinner party, would be extremely rude, so Glyneth reluctantly
gave in. As she had already availed herself of the washroom’s decadent bath
features, she dropped her robe and slid into the silky gown. She paused to revel
in the sensation. Never in her entire life had she felt such softness against
her skin... or felt as openly vulnerable with wearing next-to-nothing. She never
thought she would miss her concealing chador.
Glyneth flushed. Well, to be
truthful, there had been one other time--when Lucas had ordered her to take off
her robe. Which was not a pleasant memory, of course.
His words--You really are too skinny,
woman--still grated.
Sylvie paid no mind to
Glyneth’s inattention and focused on attaching the gown’s fasteners in the back.
“There. That’s done. Let me pull some of your hair into a bun. There’s no time
for a more elaborate hairdo.”
She swept Glyneth’s thick
hair up away from the face, yet some remained to tumble down on her nearly bare
shoulders. Glyneth gave a tentative peek in the mirror. Faith, she looked
pretty, almost regal, and the white lock of hair gave dignity to her thin
features. Hardly recognizing herself, she flushed again. What if Lucas believed
she dressed up to attract his attention?
“Now we are ready--”
A timid tapping at the door
stopped Sylvie’s words. Then the bold opening of the same door got Glyneth’s
attention. In walked two people. It was not difficult to determine which one had
burst in on their privacy. It was the man, of course. She recognized him, but
not the woman. In fact, this was the first woman she had observed since arriving
in Columont.
Although she had only seen the man but briefly, she’d never forget that arrogant face. Major Adams strode into the room, hands on hips, as if he owned the place. Which he did, in a way, as future brother to Lucas. His dark hair was combed back to reveal a high, square forehead which seemed to mimic the squareness of his jaw. His eyes, the same piercing color as Lucas’, were narrow and hidden by low-hanging eyebrows. If “evil” was something that could be smelled, this man would stink.
Major Adams stopped in front
of Glyneth and smiled. Or smirked, depending on one’s point of
view. “So, you are our latest acquisition.
Flashing a glance at Sylvie,
who also recognized him from the village assault, Glyneth then took a step to
the side. “We’re not acquisitions, Major. Nor do we agree with your method of
acquiring brides.”
She succeeded in provoking
him for he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Please, call me Brice. A handful,
aren’t you?” His hands also clenched and unclenched, reflecting his wish to use
them, most likely against her. “I understand your name is Glyneth, and this is
Sylvie.”
Sylvie gulped down in the
affirmative.
Inclining his head, he
nodded at the woman by his side. “This is my lovely sister,
Althea.”
Althea, Lucas’ intended. The
woman stood with one hand on hip, and a frown spoiling the perfection of her
strawberry lips. “I was wondering when you would get around to introducing me,
Brice.”
“Close your mouth and shake
hands, Althea,” he ordered. “That is what civilized people do when they
meet.”
She flushed unevenly at the
rebuke. “Then how would you know?”
Tossing back an errant curl of the most impossible color of lemons, Althea
extended her plump arm out to Glyneth. “How do you
do?”
Glyneth shook her hand. “Are
you both staying at the
The woman’s pale eyes
narrowed. “Only I am. I have a right to be here, you know. As
Lucas’ fiancée.” She brushed another lemon strand of hair out of her
eyes. “Now that he has returned, we can finally marry.”
Brice rubbed the curve of
her stomach which bulged a little under the tight transparent gauze of her gown.
His fingers strayed down past the point of modesty. “My sister grows impatient
for the joys of motherhood. As do all women.” With that, he wagged his dark
eyebrows at Glyneth, as if to imply she must be eager as
well.
Her brother’s actions did
not seem to trouble Althea, but Glyneth’s heart constricted. There could be no
doubt; the man was a certifiable beast.
He smiled, or smirked,
again, and held out both his arms for them to take. “It is my pleasure to escort
our guests to dinner.”
Glyneth pointedly refused to
take his arm, but Sylvie did what was expected of her. Giving Glyneth a
quizzical glance, Althea then took his other arm.
Out into the grand corridor,
carpeted in the most spectacular style, they walked in silence. Brice took the
initiative and stated, “You look a little familiar to me, Glyneth. Is it
possible I know your parents?”
Sylvie turned her head away
to cough. Of all people in the world, she knew just how touchy that subject was
to Glyneth.
“Highly doubtful,” returned
Glyneth. Although there was a possibility she might have a resemblance of sorts
to her brute of a father, she didn’t wish to discuss it with this
man.
Brice’s smile resembled a
satyr’s grin. “Of course. You must be right. Since both
your parents were from the village.”
She looked at him hard. Did
he know her mother had been abducted? Did he know who her father
was?
No. That was unlikely. His
maddening grin revealed only his superior opinion of himself, nothing
more.
“Never
mind that, what? I am sure everything will
work out for you here, Glyneth. And you too, Sylvie.” He squeezed Sylvie’s hand
hard, which caused her to yelp in surprise.
Sweet Christmas! Glyneth
nibbled on her fingernail in frustration. The sooner she escaped from this
insufferable place, the better.
~ *
~
The thought of impending war
did nothing to stimulate the appetite. Even tantalizing aromas emanating from
the cook’s prepared feast could not tempt Lucas’ stubborn palate. Then again,
the harsh reality of Lord Jefferson’s death was enough of a suppressant, for how
could he be hungry at a time like this?
Casting an uninterested eye
on the dining table’s covered dishes, Lucas then took a
drink of bitter ale to wash down the bile rising in his throat. Food could not
begin to fill the hollow he felt deep inside him. But, as the new head of the
“Quite a
spread, hey?” Will nudged him in the
ribs. “After livin’ on nothin’ but weeds this past week, I’m ready to sink my
teeth into some honest to goodness meat!”
Lucas had to smile at his
pint-size friend. How short his memory was. Just last night, they all roasted
the flesh of a rabbit. But Will’s hunger was such that a few days of
less-than-robust meals caused him to be as ravenous as a
tiger.
Instead of responding, Lucas
sighed. Thoughts of last night recalled visions of the campfire reflected in
Glyneth’s chestnut eyes. And remembrances of Glyneth gave rise to Canusa, and
the very real possibility that he was her father. The original color of his
hair, now heavy with grey, looked to be the same as Glyneth’s mahogany brown
locks. The eyes also contained a certain resemblance. But most
revealing of all was the slash of brilliant white dabbled at the man’s
temples. Both temples, not one like Glyneth had, but still, it was a
feature hard to ignore. Funny, this was the first time he had thought of
Canusa’s white streaks.
Thundering Jupiter, Lucas
was beginning to hate the man!
“Sir.” Hawke placed a hand on
Lucas’ shoulder. “Does something distress you?”
“No,” Lucas quickly
responded. A thought such as that one was blasphemy, indeed. “I am just
impatient to eat.”
Another
lie. How
easy it was to lose one’s virtue in dishonesty and
deception.
“Hell’s bells! Me too!” Will strode over to his assigned dining chair to
sniff the table’s offerings.
Hawke threw a disapproving
look at the young warrior. “You must exhibit restraint, Lieutenant. As guests at
the Jefferson Compound, we must act accordingly.”
“Aw, hell,” Will mumbled
unapologetically. “Who are we waitin’ on?”
Lucas’ grin at the
interaction soon turned into a frown. He set his unfinished drink on a side
table and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. Wearing uncomfortable
evening clothes did nothing to improve his mood. “You must forgive me,
gentlemen. I feel awkward wearing my father’s mantle, so to
speak.”
The two warriors were
silent. They felt as keenly as Lucas did at Lord Jefferson’s death. But the
world belonged to the living, so Lucas set aside his grim demeanor. “Major Adams
will dine with us, as will his sister, Althea. And our newest visitors--Sylvie and... Glyneth.”
Glyneth. He worried about Glyneth.
Her independent ways would not be tolerated here in Columont. How would the man
chosen to be her husband react to her unconventional manner? Would she be able
to conform and become a proper wife and mother? Would she be
happy?
He feared not. He had done
her a great disservice by removing her from her homeland.
The dining room door opened
and in stepped the four remaining diners. Brice strutted like a king with his
harem, his arms linked through Althea’s and Sylvie’s. Glyneth purposefully
remained apart, subtly showing her disapproval of the man. She had not forgiven
Brice for his behavior back at the village. That was obvious. The woman held a
grudge. Lucas smiled at his unexpected insight into her
character.
But even though her
expression was thunderous, she looked lovely--strikingly stunning in that slinky
gown of chiffon. He was well aware that his gaze devoured her--from the dark of
her eyes to her shapely, round bosom, and to the curve of her firm, long
thighs.
Althea, on the other hand,
didn’t compare as favorably. Her ruby lips were pursed in a pout, and though her
long hair was swept up in a beautiful chignon, its ripe banana color made him
wince. Obviously, her attempt to mimic the tint of his hair had
failed.
Before Lucas had a chance to
speak, Brice belted out a greeting. “Brother! Or almost
brother, at any rate. It is good to see you again, albeit somewhat later,
rather than sooner. You were delayed bringing back these beauties, I hear.” The
rapacious expression on his face as he ogled the newcomers caused Glyneth and
Sylvie to blush. “I declare, I would have been delayed as
well!”
“We experienced some
difficulties,” Lucas corrected. Nodding at the women, he then walked over to
Althea to assist her to her seat. “You are looking extremely well, my
dear.”
Her genuine smile relieved
the petulant expression so common to her face. “Thank you, Lucas. I have missed
you terribly. I am so glad you are safe.”
“Safe?” Brice’s voice boomed
out, and he sent a glare his sister’s way. “Why wouldn’t he be
safe?”
Althea pouted lips protruded
further. “Honestly, Brice. I was just making
conversation.”
Lucas placed his hand on her
shoulder in a comforting manner. “Never mind that. Let
us all sit and--”
The steward, Trinio, burst
into the dining room, somewhat out of breath. “Sir!” He
made a small bow. “A thousand pardons. The committee is here to oversee Lord
Jefferson’s funeral. They request your presence concerning the
arrangements.”
“Of
course.”
Lucas stepped away from the chair. The committee’s timing was perfect. Not only
had he lost his appetite for food, but being in Brice’s company had extinguished
any desire for conversation. “If you all will excuse me, I should not be too
long.”
A subtle shudder rippled
through Glyneth. It was so faint, it amazed him that he noticed the movement. So
he was not the only one wanting to escape the dining room. “Glyneth, Trinio
tells me my father expressed a wish to see you. That is what you said, correct,
Trinio?”
The steward’s agitated
nodding sent his eyeglasses slipping down his nose.
Lucas offered Glyneth his
arm. “Although that is now impossible, would you like to come upstairs with me
to see him, where he is... resting?”
Glyneth placed her hand on
his arm. “Yes, I’d like to see your father.”
Althea took exception. Fists
slamming on the table, she raised her voice. “But
Lucas! Why not take me with you? You only just arrived and we have so
much to talk about. The wedding--”
“You forget yourself,
Althea.” Sometimes, a willful woman needed to be put in her place. “My father’s
death has postponed any thought of marriage.”
She took the hint and meekly
bowed her head. “As you say,
Lucas.”
Brice stomped over and
gripped Glyneth’s other arm above the elbow. “Sure, let’s all go up and pay our
respects.”
Lucas eased her away from
the man. No idle observation, but steam seemed to slowly issue from his ears. Or
maybe it was an optical illusion. Waving his hand, Lucas urged everyone to be
seated. “No. The viewing will be in three days time. For now, enjoy the meal. We
will join you when we are finished.”
Will did not need to be
invited twice. “It’s about time!” he shouted as he grabbed his
chair.
Hawke sent Will a nonverbal reprimand, then held out the chair for
Sylvie to sit. She gazed up at him with a look of gratitude. Obviously she did
not care for Brice, either.
Brice remained still for a
moment, then trudged over to his designated place. The
dinner promised to be a strained affair.
Leaving the charged
atmosphere of the dining room, Lucas then thanked the steward and led Glyneth up
the staircase toward his father’s bedroom. “I hope you do not mind this
interruption.”
She deliberately took each
step in a slow, measured fashion. With the skirt of the gown swaying behind her,
she was a graceful sight. “On the contrary, and I must thank you. I don’t care
to be in the company of Major Adams.”
By rights, he should have
defended Brice. After all, the military was a fraternal order, and all that. But
instead, Lucas gave her a smile. “Neither do I.”
She returned his grin, which
caused a peculiar quivering inside his heart.
Breaking the connection, he
reached the top of the stairs first. He had a few seconds to compose himself
before she joined him. Since arriving back in Columont, he had not had time to
view his father. Death was the final battleground. And it had claimed the finest
warrior Lucas had ever known--well
before his father’s time. How difficult it would be to see his lifeless
form.
As if she had an inkling of
his thoughts, Glyneth slipped her hand in his. “Come,” she whispered. “We’ll see
him together.”
Together. He tightened his grip on
her warm hand. He liked the sound of that word.
~ *
~
Glyneth took one step into
Lord Jefferson’s bedroom and started to sweat. It was the heat, the unnatural
heat. The fireplace crackled with yellow-orange flames while a collection of
those repulsive Venusian plants stood guard around the
chamber.
Wiping perspiration from her
brow, she followed Lucas toward the group surrounding the bed. Six men comprised
the committee--men of varying
statures, ethnic groups, and ages. Despite their differences in appearance, they
all had to have been military men; the stiffness in their posture gave them
away.
The committee parted so that
Lucas could approach the bed. Glyneth tiptoed closer to get a better view of
Lord Jefferson. Lying under a shiny, red comforter, was
the body of a big man now awaiting his final journey. He hadn’t been old. His
hair still retained vivid coloring, and his face, though pallid, contained
surprisingly few lines. She yearned to know what the cause of death had
been.
“Lord Jefferson.” A
deep-timbered soldier with a majestically broad chest saluted. “We, on the
committee, offer our sincere condolences. The ring of the ten sons of Canusa is
now yours.” He handed Lucas a large silver ring. The other men nodded their
agreement, then gathered off to the side, conferring
amongst themselves.
After a brief hesitation,
Lucas looked away from his father’s form, returned the salute, then took the ring. He must’ve been taken aback by having his
father’s title applied to him. “My thanks, Lord
Trudeau. I appreciate the committee’s assistance.”
The man effortlessly eased
Glyneth and Lucas away from the bed to a large, closed window overlooking a
terrace. How beautiful the night landscape appeared and how she longed to walk
freely under the sky and escape the stuffy atmosphere inside this room. Even her
head throbbed from this confinement. But no one else seemed to be discomforted,
so she inhaled more of this stale air, and turned her attention to Lord
Trudeau.
His precision crew-cut
grizzled by time, he was an imposing presence. He swept his sharp-eyed gaze over
her. “You must be Glyneth. The one chosen by Luke, our new
Lord Jefferson.”
She glanced at Lucas at the
same time he looked at her. Lord Trudeau’s words seemed to imply a connection
between the two of them that didn’t exist.
Lucas cleared his throat.
“Sir, that is right. I escorted Glyneth here from her
village.”
She bit back her smile.
“Escorted” was a more polite way of saying “abducted.”
Lord Trudeau smiled, an action she believed he did very rarely. “Yes, you
will be good for the
She flinched. Was the
likeness to that hated father of hers so strong? Inhaling deeply to calm
herself, she stared at one of those hateful white flowers placed on the
bedstand. Even as she gazed at it, tiny bubbles moved up to the top of the
plant’s inner oval to be released out into the atmosphere. She rubbed her
temple. Suddenly, her headache increased to a rhythmic
pounding.
Lord Trudeau stroked his
clean-shaven chin. “Doesn’t she look familiar, Luke?”
Lucas voiced dissent. “No, sir. I do not see any resemblance to anyone we know.
None at all.” He stood at attention, shoulders square
and hands clasped behind his back. His evening clothes tightly hugged every
masculine muscle from his bulging biceps to the powerful quadriceps in his
thighs. Quite impressive and quite...
virile.
She raised her gaze to take
in his impassive face. Intuition told her he was lying.
“Is that so?” Lord Trudeau
shifted his gaze to Lucas. “You may be right. I have not been thinking clearly
as of late.” He coughed, then wiped a bead of sweat
from his large brow. “In any event, I am glad to see what the stir is
about.”
“Stir?” Lucas pulled a chair
over and offered it to the man. “Are you well, sir? Please, have a
seat.”
Lord Trudeau gratefully sank
down into the chair. He did appear a little pale. More perspiration moistened
his face.
Lucas removed a handkerchief
from his pocket, and handed it to Lord Trudeau.
How very thoughtful Lucas
was. Even a soldier could show concern for others.
Lord Trudeau wiped the
wetness from his forehead. “I can thank your steward, Trinio, for the latest
gossip. Now tell me, young man, about your unorthodox behavior. Going back to a hostile site... alone, as you were. I know
you were not taught that maneuver in warrior school.”
She felt, rather than saw,
Lucas’ embarrassment. He moved two chairs close to Lord Trudeau, waited for
Glyneth to sit, then joined her. “It was just something
I had to do, sir. Everything worked out fine in the end.” He shrugged those
massive shoulders.
Again she was reminded of
“the ends justifying the means.” Perhaps he was too, for he glanced over at her,
with something she could not define in his sparkling eyes.
“You are so familiar, young
woman.” Lord Trudeau smiled wanly again. “If I could just place the
resemblance...” He coughed again.
The man did not look well.
She glanced over at Lucas’ father, but his lifeless form told her nothing.
“Pardon me, Lord Trudeau, but in my village I’ve had some success as a healer.
Would you mind telling me what ails you? And what caused Lord Jefferson’s
death?”
Resting his head in one
hand, Lord Trudeau rubbed at his eyes with the other. He also wore a silver
ring. “She is a downy one, is she not, Luke? It is true I have some of the same
symptoms as Lord Jefferson--dizziness, headaches, shortness of
breath, and the like. My body is betraying me. This is not the kind of end a
warrior envisions.”
Without touching him, she
hovered her hands over his body to feel his energy flow
from head to toe. It only took a second. The rhythm of his life force was
tangled, chaotic, congested, blocked--a myriad of words to denote the
seriousness of his illness.
Lucas leaned over to whisper
in her ear. “What was that all about? Is this how you got the reputation as a
witch in your village?”
She bristled. “The term has
no meaning for me. In historic times before the Golden Era, I believe fear,
ignorance, and envy drove people to condemn what’s natural--their innate connection with the Earth
and all its beauty. I use an ancient healing method called ‘energy medicine.’
There’s nothing evil or devilish about it.”
Lord Trudeau rose to his
feet and walked over to the bed. “The girl’s got the better of you, Luke. As for
Lord Jefferson’s death, we are conducting an
investigation.”
The five other members of
the committee scribbled down notes as they examined the deceased
man.
“He also suffered bouts of
unconsciousness,” Lord Trudeau continued. “Last night, he was found lying here
on the floor. We were unable to revive him.”
Glyneth did a quick hand
scan of Lord Jefferson’s body but was not able to detect anything amiss. But an
inner voice screamed warnings in her ear. Whatever had killed Lord Jefferson was
now adversely affecting Lord Trudeau.
Dear, holy mother! How could
she prevent a double tragedy?
Lucas’ concern broke through
her introspection. “Are you feeling all right, Glyneth? Your complexion has
turned almost scarlet.”
As red as
the rosy comforter. Obviously, her stress was
causing the chameleon effect on her skin to come into play
again.
He rested his cool hand on
her forehead. “You are too warm.”
To her regret, he moved
away, over to a pitcher of water. He poured her a glass.
She gratefully took a drink.
“Thank you. It really is too hot in here. For Lord Trudeau, as
well. I think some fresh air would help.”
Lord Trudeau agreed. “Yes,
that is a capital idea.” He dabbed at his forehead. “Luke, would you please open
the windows?”
Lucas moved quickly, and
soon a semi-cool breeze entered the room, bringing scents from earthbound
flowers.
Which
brought to mind... Glyneth eyed those
abhorrent alien growths and crossed her fingers. “Could we remove these plants?
I find the bubbles, um, disturbing.”
Smiling, Lucas tossed the
flowerpots outside the window onto the terrace one by one. “You have lingering
hard feelings against our Venusian flowers, true?” Turning to Lord Trudeau, he
explained, “She holds them responsible for creating a mini-earthquake, complete
with fissures. She had the great misfortune to fall into one. I rescued her, of
course.”
“Of
course.
If I were your age, Luke, I would have rescued her, too.” Perhaps it was the
joking, or maybe it was the fresh air that caused a bit of healthy color to
creep back into Lord Trudeau’s cheeks. “I do not care for them, either, my
child. Trinio said some women at the Altar of Canusa have been sending them. I
suppose they thought the blooms would cheer Lord
Jefferson.”
“Women love these flowers,”
Lucas reminded.
“I don’t,” Glyneth said
primly.
Their gazes met, and she
felt her face flush again, only this time it was from sexual chemistry. When
Lord Trudeau cleared his throat, she broke the link.
“So, young woman, what is
the verdict? Do you think your energy medicine can help
me?”
A rush of nervousness
overcame her and she placed her hand to her mouth to nibble on her fingernail.
“Yes, I believe I can make you more comfortable, sir. But as for a cure--”
“By the
moons of Jupiter!” Staring at her, Lord
Trudeau stepped away from the bed. “Can it be possible? I know--”
“Glyneth.” Lucas pulled on her arm,
which sent the filmy material of her gown swishing back and forth. “I am certain
you must be very hungry.” He then leveled a determined gaze at Lord Trudeau.
“Sir, I will show Glyneth back to the dining room, then
I shall return to... assist you and the committee. Is that
acceptable?”
A fearsome scowl disfigured
Lord Trudeau’s face. “It is acceptable, Lord Jefferson.”
Lord Jefferson, not Luke.
The older man was obviously displeased. He’d been about to say something, only
Lucas interrupted. But what could it have been?
Whatever it was, Glyneth
would never know. Lucas firmly led her from the room and was deaf to her
entreaties for a quiet talk. Arriving at the doors of the dining room, he opened
the door and deposited her inside, and quickly left. Lucky for her, everyone but
Brice Adams still sat at the table.
Taking her place, Glyneth
puzzled on Lucas’ odd behavior. It was almost as if he didn’t want her to hear
what Lord Trudeau had to say.
~ *
~
Lucas returned to his
father’s bedchamber, then quietly closed the door. Lord
Trudeau was a quick-witted warrior, even in his weakened state. A fine man,
almost as fine as Lucas’ father. Indeed, he was almost like a second father to
Lucas. Lord Trudeau had no heirs for his position, and always looked upon Lucas
as the son he never had. Sitting next to Lord Trudeau, Lucas said in a low
voice, “I know what you are thinking, sir. Glyneth is Canusa’s
daughter.”
Lord Trudeau furrowed his
tired brow. “But how is that possible?”
Relaying the information
Hawke had given him, Lucas explained everything, concluding with, “Her mother was taken again on the last expedition. Evidently
she found incarceration intolerable for she shortly thereafter took her
life.”
There were only certain
times in a warrior’s life that suicide was condoned. Capture and torture by the
enemy was one for it was better to kill oneself than to
divulge state secrets. Perhaps, rightly or wrongly, Glyneth’s mother had
believed she was justified in terminating her existence.
“How strange this all is.”
Lord Trudeau leaned back in his chair. Obviously this news concerning Canusa was
as upsetting to him as it had been to Lucas. “Luke, although you did not
question it at the time, you probably wondered why the War Council assigned you
to the bride-quest.”
His interest peaked, Lucas leaned closer to the older man. Lord Trudeau
was in an unusually expansive mood. “Yes, of course, sir. Very
curious for me to leave my men on the eve of hazardous duty to be assigned to
this mission. And also,” Lucas coughed into his hand to downplay his next
words. “With my father’s health so precarious...” The ring, formerly belonging
to his father, felt heavy on his finger.
“True,” Lord Trudeau agreed.
“So let me tell you why. Canusa’s astrologer approached me in private, with a
matter of great importance, she said. She showed me an ancient book containing a
prophecy. Something about a savior, of sorts, who would unite the old ways with
the new. Evidently, this man would steal a woman with
mystical powers to help him fulfill his destiny.” He paused to level a steely
gaze. “Gaea indicated this savior might possibly be you,
Luke.”
Damnation! Prophecies,
scriptures... blasted fortune-telling! “I do not see how I could possibly be
anyone’s savior, sir. I am just a soldier, from a long line of soldiers.”
Another thought struck him. “Glyneth does not have mystical powers. She is
normal, sir, just like you and me.”
“No? You call that shade of
sun-burnt red she turned normal? And her hands. I do
not know how to explain it, but after she ran her hands through the air, I felt
slightly better. Still do.”
Lord Trudeau was right about
that, at any rate. Glyneth did have a magic touch. The wounds Lucas had recently
received had healed to a remarkable degree.
The older man took a sip of
water. “Listen, Luke, Gaea spoke to me without Canusa’s knowledge. This
situation is fraught with danger... for her as well as for you, especially in
light of what you just told me.”
Lucas rose to leave. “I must
check in at the barracks to see how my men fare. It is with regret that I must
relinquish my command, now that I am head of the
A look of distaste briefly
passed over Lord Trudeau’s face. “Your future brother-in-law does what he will.
I have no understanding of his motives.”
Indeed. Who could comprehend
the workings of evil?
“Unknown forces are at play
here,” Lord Trudeau continued. “I fear Canusa will try to destroy you. He was
not pleased by your suggestion during the War Council to incorporate the enemy,
instead of obliterating them. Be on your guard, Luke.”
Nodding, Lucas took his
leave of the committee and made his way outside into the corridor. It was
difficult to switch gears and change his opinion of Canusa--someone he had respected since
childhood. But on the other hand, might did not always mean right. Those
primitive villagers should not be
killed for pilfering. There were far better ways to handle adversaries than war
and annihilation. After all, Columont was guilty of pilfering, too--pilfering
women. And when it came right down to it, the taking of a woman by force was to
be despised.
But that was exactly what
Canusa had done. Apparently, honor played no role in his thoughts and in his
deeds. Plus, Lord Trudeau believed Canusa wished harm to come to Lucas. And so
he had, on the expedition, and the unknown assailant was still at large. Lucas
had assumed it was the man back at Glyneth’s village, the one who had protested
her abduction. But had Canusa somehow been responsible for the
attacks?
Glancing around the hallway,
Lucas fisted his hands, just in case. Always be prepared was a warrior’s
motto.
Eight
Glyneth waited. In the
corridor outside Lucas’ bedroom was a bench, so she sat with hands folded and
foot tapping. She had hoped for a chance to speak with him when he returned to
the dining room but he never showed up. Trinio had said the new Lord Jefferson
went out, but that was hours ago and Lucas still was not home. And that was why
she sat as sentinel outside his room, so as not to miss
him.
Lord Trudeau’s condition was
approaching critical. And whatever had cut into Lord Jefferson’s life-force now
cut into Lord Trudeau. The sooner she told this to Lucas, the better. Time was a luxury they couldn’t afford nor
waste.
She smoothed out a wrinkle
marring the perfection of the iridescent, purple gown. Although Sylvie had
retired to bed, Glyneth still wore her dinner clothes, not wanting to end the
magic of the evening--the magic of
the evening in Lucas’ company. She was woman enough to feel flattered that he
couldn’t hide the admiration in his eyes at her transformation from village
dowdy to, well, she did have to admit she looked rather
nice in the gown.
What an immodest thought!
She flushed and glanced down the empty corridor. Oh, when would he
come?
If only she had her journal
to write in so she could pass the time. But wait. A noise filtered down from the
opposite direction. Straightening up, she craned her neck, hoping to see Lucas
turn the corner.
Tush, it was Russell Hawke.
Even as her posture drooped on seeing him, his dark brows descended over his
sharp nose. He marched over to her and stood squarely in front of the bench.
“You should be in your bed, woman.”
Such an accusing tone! She
inhaled deeply. “Yes, I know, but I have to speak with Lucas--”
Hawke’s hazel eyes blazed
thunder at her informality.
Quickly, she amended, “With
Major, um, Lord Jefferson about a matter concerning his
father.”
“Tell
me.”
She quickly licked her lips.
Gracious, was every sentence out of the man’s mouth an order? “No, this is
private.”
Sweet Christmas, Hawke
looked as if he were about to hit the ceiling... or snap her skinny self in two.
If she wanted to live to see tomorrow, she’d better come up with a diversion and
fast. Which brought to mind... “Captain Hawke, I was
wondering if you know the names of the warriors who went on the last raid to my
village?”
That question stopped him
cold. Pursing his thick lips, he eased down on the bench beside her. From a
scant distance of only twelve inches, he glared at her. “I know
them.”
But evidently, he didn’t
care to reveal them. She took another steadying breath for courage. “Well, I’m
not really interested in them, but the group before that--the men who came to my village twenty
years ago.”
Scents of sandalwood and rum
drifted over to her. She raised her gaze to meet his. This time, no animosity
reflected back at her. In fact, his eyes contained a
certain softness.
As if embarrassed, he
glanced away. “The names have no meaning for you.”
“But they might.” She placed
her hand on his shoulder, and grew amazed at just how rock-hard it
was.
“No.” He stood suddenly,
maybe to move away from her touch. “You have no need for that
information.”
Before she could beg to
differ with him, he continued, “Lord Jefferson may not return tonight, so you
had best go back to your bed. He has gone to check in with his squadron. After
he is through, in all likelihood he will spend the night at the Altar of
Canusa.”
Maybe her puzzlement showed
on her face for he then explained, “Lord Jefferson is much in demand with...
unattached women.”
“Oh.” Hawke’s meaning was
quite plain. So, evidently, the Altar of Canusa was not only a matrimonial site
but also a house of prostitution. She dipped her head. Perhaps she should go back to her
bedroom.
Another sound echoed through
the silent corridor. Glyneth looked up to see Sylvie bouncing down the hallway
with bare feet, clad only in a silken nightgown and matching
robe.
“Heavens!” She flashed her green eyes
at Glyneth and Hawke. “Here you are, Glyneth. And,
Russell. How nice to see
you.”
The man actually growled.
“Woman, you are not dressed. Return to your chambers
immediately.”
Another order! But this
time, a mottled flush further darkened his cheeks.
Sylvie retied her robe,
which in the process, revealed more exposed flesh than Hawke evidently wished to
see. “Well, of course I will, Russell. First though, I need to find the kitchen
to get a little snack.” She fluttered her sandy lashes at him. “Do you think you
can escort me there so I don’t get lost?”
Hawke pointed at Glyneth.
“You go with her?”
Ah, here was progress. This
time he asked. But Glyneth shook her head, anyway. “No, I think I’ll wait a few
minutes more.”
Obviously displeased, his
nostrils flared, but in the end, he did as Sylvie requested. Maybe he figured
the best way to get rid of her was to personally make sure she entered her room.
“You females should be locked in your chamber,” he muttered under his
breath.
Sylvie turned around to wink
at Glyneth, then walked quickly to keep up with him.
“How romantic, Russell! Maybe you could do that tomorrow
night?”
Grinning, Glyneth watched
them as they respectively marched and fluttered down the hallway to disappear
out of sight. That Sylvie was always full of fun.
The smile faded. The night’s
magic had definitely ended. She stood, then headed for
her bedroom. Time enough tomorrow to tell Lucas about Lord
Trudeau’s condition. For how could she bear it if Lucas found her waiting
for him, and he exuded floral scents from some courtesan’s
body?
~ *
~
::Now was the time to set in motion actions that would lead to
the demise of the Despised One: that being who so ruthlessly terminated a Colony
member. Inside the confines of an Earth-type structure, the immense army of
Elatus Albus venusium stirred in unison. Each member transmitted instructions
through the airwaves to the inferior residents within, detailing what was
required of them. All would obey, no matter which
female was chosen by the feeble leader of these lifeforms. During the
incomprehensible ritual of body-mingling, the Earth female would impart to the
male the Colony’s sacred commands. Once the Despised One was safely entombed within this edifice, the creature’s
destruction was guaranteed.
Satisfaction permeated the
air now heavily saturated with carbon dioxide. Carbon dioxide, odorless and
colorless, was a heavier gas than oxygen. Without adequate ventilation, it
displaced oxygen, affecting these beings’ respiratory systems and causing
certain death. Soon the waiting would be over.::
~ *
~
As Canusa entered the Altar
bearing his name, he gnawed on his fingernail even as he gnawed on whom he would
pick as his consort for the evening.
A lively sprite greeted him,
her unrestrained breasts bouncing up and down underneath her tunic. “Most
hallowed Canusa! We are honored by your visit.”
Another Altar of Canusa
hostess stepped up from behind the first. “If it be your will, Master, I do hope
you’ll choose me.”
He surveyed the line now
forming in the corridor--all eager
females bent on obtaining a bit of magic that only he could give. So whom would
he favor?
His gaze settled on Nadira,
a slim, graceful woman with the darkest of eyes. She no longer had the first
blush of youth to commend her, however an experienced
twinkle revealed her to be a woman who not only knew her place, but also knew
how to please a man. And she had
pleased him well, many times before. All too often, the women housed at the
Altar did not live past a certain number of seasons. Which was
unfortunate. He preferred a mature woman. Nodding to her, he proceeded to
the mating beds.
A wail of disappointment
filled the entryway, just as he knew it would.
“Allah has blessed me, oh
great one.” Nadira fell to her knees in front of him, prostrating herself. Then
she began to pleasure him in a thousand and one delicious
ways.
When they
were finished, and he lay back on the bed in an exhausted heap, Nadira whispered
sweetly in his ear. “Great Canusa, rumor has it
that two women taken during the bride-quest are staying at the Jefferson
Compound instead of the Altar of Canusa. Why is this so?”
Canusa wiped a river of
wetness from his brow. For a man of his years, he had turned in an excellent
performance. Worked up quite a sweat, in fact. Then
again, it was as hot as blazes in the mating quarters.
She reclaimed his attention.
“Why, Great Canusa?”
“No specific reason. It must
be because...” By the galactic nebula! This deviation from protocol had to be
because of that
Canusa patted Nadira’s hand,
then promptly forgot about her. He hurried to dress. “I
will give orders for the women to be removed to the Altar, where they
belong.”
As Nadira gave thanks, he
rushed out of the room. Suddenly the four walls seemed to close in on him. It
was blisteringly hot in there, which clouded the mind as well as roasted the
body. Once outside the Altar gates, he took a breath of clean, fresh air, which
steadied his thoughts.
Yes, now he felt better. He
would head over to the command post right now and make the transfer of these
females the morning’s first item of business.
His smile lifted the edges
of his walrus mustache. Lucas Jefferson had to be taught a lesson. As long as
Canusa was Canusa, no man had the authority to defy his
decrees.
~ *
~
As Lucas strode down marble
hallways toward his chambers, a vague discontent stirred within him. His
restlessness had nothing to do with his father’s death
nor with the releasing of his squadron’s command. Indeed, the soon-to-be
new commander had nothing but praise for the troops. They had performed
flawlessly on their last mission, and now prepared without complaint for the
next military assignment--an
assignment Lucas could not support.
He could not agree with Canusa’s plan to
attack primitive villages just to extend Columont’s borders. That was immoral,
to say the least. And truly against a warrior’s code of honor. But the impending
assault was not the only reason frustration knotted his
insides.
Lucas sighed. Normally, he
would have exorcised his demons by visiting a hostess at the Altar of Canusa...
but women were part of the problem. Or rather, one woman: Glyneth, brave and
innocent. Glyneth, daughter of
Canusa.
And now Canusa demanded she
leave the Jefferson Compound to rejoin her remaining village “sisters” who awaited pairing with future mates.
Why that decree constricted
Lucas’ heart, he had no idea. The natural order of life was to pair off, mate,
and reproduce. He should have no interest in Glyneth; he already was under
contract, and who received Glyneth’s hand was no concern of
his.
But he was concerned. Once she left the
confines of the Altar of Canusa to marry, he would never see her again,
unless... unless she had the misfortune to be infertile, in which case she would
most likely be assigned back to the Altar as hostess.
Her words returned to him:
A concubine is still a concubine, no
matter what she is called or how she is dressed. If she could not give
birth, then her observation would be one hundred percent
correct.
With a heavy step, he
gnashed his teeth on such a disturbing contemplation. Given his druthers, he
would prefer to face enemy troops single-handedly than to wallow in the
irrational throes of love.
Love? The direction of his
thoughts stopped him cold. Thundering Jupiter! Love was for women and fools. He
was a soldier... a leader! He could not possibly be suffering the ridiculous
emotion of love.
He shook his head to
displace that inappropriate notion. Rounding a corner, he forged ahead blindly
only to have someone crash against him. “Hell and damn--!”
By God’s green earth, it was
Glyneth! For one brief second, he reveled in the sensation of her body pressed
against him. She felt so good. So soft and womanly.
Still dressed in her evening finery with her thick hair tumbling down her
shoulders, she gazed at him with slightly reddened eyes. Had she been
crying?
“Oh, ah,
Lucas!
I’m sorry.” Faster than an eyeblink, she stepped away. As if she was afraid to
look at him, she glanced at the floor, the low ceiling, even the intricate
tapestry covering the plaster walls.
He smiled and sandwiched her
small hand between his two large ones. “No, it is I who must apologize, Glyneth.
I did not look where I was going.” Although if he had, he
would have arranged to bump into her all the same.
Not understanding the
dynamics of emotions seething within him, he gently took her elbow to guide her
to his bedroom. “You were waiting for me, were you not? To
talk about something, right?”
She nodded slowly, as if
unsure of what to say next.
“Let’s get out of the
corridor so we can speak in private.” Leaning on the doorknob, he swung the door
open into his chambers. “I would not want to get interrupted. Althea’s room is
just down the hall.”
Glyneth walked inside, but
instead of sitting, she paced in front of the unused fireplace. “We must discuss
Lord Trudeau’s condition. I’m afraid I have suspicions--”
“Glyneth.” He’d had enough bad news
for one evening. For the moment, he had his fill of war and treachery, of
betrayal and hardship. A man had needs only a woman could satisfy, and he had
been without a woman for over a month. But this woman, this Glyneth, ignited
strange desires deep within his breast. Desires dealing with
love and lust and hunger. He did not understand it, and frankly, he did
not care to. Right now he wanted to possess her--body and soul.
He moved over to the liquor
cabinet and lifted a flask of anisette. “Glyneth, forgive me. I just came from
an unsettling meeting and I would like to wind down first before hearing another
blast of bad news.” He poured some of the clear, heavy liqueur into a cordial
glass. “Would you care for some anisette?”
She left the fireplace to
stand by his side. “Yes, please. I’ve never tried anisette, but I know the herb
anise helps the digestion.”
Lucas filled the cordial
glass to the top. Anisette might aid digestion, but with a thirty percent
alcohol level, it also did a damn good job of releasing inhibitions. Handing it
to her, he inhaled her intoxicating fragrance. “A
toast. To your success in
Columont.”
Glyneth also raised her
drink. “Thank you. I hope to be very successful here.”
As the liqueur burned a path
down his throat, he pondered her strange comment. Somehow he got the feeling
that they were not talking about the same thing.
The taste of the anisette
must have taken her by surprise because she started coughing. “G--Goodness! This is liquid
fire!”
“So it is,” he agreed as he
eyed the translucent purple over-gown slide off her velvet shoulder. “Take
another sip to steady yourself.”
She sampled more. “Mmm, it’s
rather soothing. And I like the strong, licorice flavor.”
“Let’s sit, Glyneth.” He
pointed to the bed.
Her hair tumbled sensuously
over the bare shoulder as she shook her head. “No, I...” She wrinkled her brow
and stared at her empty glass. “Faith! The drink goes
down fast.”
“Indeed it does.” He quickly
refilled it, then eased down on the mattress. His
conscience troubled him, but he overruled it. A warrior always stayed focused on
what he wanted. And he wanted Glyneth any way he could have
her.
She followed suit, as he
hoped she would. “Lucas,” she murmured, as her breathing rate increased the rise
and fall of her breasts. “Lucas, I feel so strange.” She turned her puzzled gaze
on him and her dark eyes grew even darker.
But now,
becoming mesmerized by the glory of her eyes, his conscience returned with a
vengeance. What kind of man seduced a
chaste female? Not an honorable man, that much was certain. He allowed himself
one brief touch of her wonderfully glossy hair, then fisted his hands and
started to get up.
She placed her hand on his
shoulder, delaying him. Then she leaned close to him and, oddly enough, sniffed
his neck.
He backed away. “Glyneth?”
A rosy blush graced her
cheeks. “I, um, wanted to know if you smelled like a
woman.”
“What?” He had not meant to
raise his voice, but what, on God’s green earth, did she
mean?
Glyneth sighed, then snuggled next to him. “Good. No flowers, or anything like that. Captain Hawke had said you
might, um, you know, visit the Altar of Canusa.”
“Did he?” Lucas curved his
arm around her waist, succumbing to the magic of her own personal fragrance.
“How unlike the Captain to volunteer information.” By
thunder, he was losing the battle. Sliding his hand up to her shoulder, he
caressed her smooth skin, slowly, tenderly until he felt the tension ease from
her. “Just so you know,” he whispered into the shell of her ear, “I did not go
there.”
“Mmm, I’m glad.” Glyneth
nuzzled his neck, softly breathing against his skin. “I don’t understand why,
but I am.” She stayed in that position for a delicious infinity. “Lucas, I have
to tell you something import... important, about Lord
Trudeau.”
As if her bones had abruptly
dissolved, she slithered down on the bed and looked up at him in an alcoholic
haze.
He truly was lost. Her hair
splayed out on the mattress, her bosom heaving with unknown desire, her pink
lips parted in anticipation... Rising to the occasion, he lightly kissed her
temples, her closed eyes, then traced a path down to her chin, to move up to her
delectable lips. A brief kiss quickly turned into stronger and deeper passion.
He crushed her to him, delighting in the wild pounding of her
heart.
“Oh, Lucas,” she gasped as
she stared at him as if seeing him for the first time. “Gracious, is this what
you do with Althea Adams?”
Those words worked faster
than being drenched with icy water. He pulled away only to be overwhelmed by the
innocent desire brimming in her eyes. “Glyneth, I...” He ran his hand over his
hair, pausing to find a way to explain how he could be kissing her while under
contract to another woman. “Glyneth, in truth, I never kissed Althea
yet.”
“But you’re to marry!”
Glyneth shook her head, setting her silken hair to dancing. “Lieutenant Flagg
mentioned wedding and bedding. Surely you love her.”
“Love is not an emotion for
warriors.” How could he explain the facts of life to her? Lucas stood and poured
himself another drink. “Marriage is a duty, the purpose of which is to
procreate. Althea and I will produce superior offspring. She has been thoroughly
inspected by the Fertility Laboratory.”
“Inspected? Like a side of
beef?” A note of hysteria sounded in Glyneth’s voice. With some difficulty, she
got to her feet. “I give thanks that will not be my fate.”
His heart sank, and he could
hardly bear to turn and look at her. “But I am afraid it will be, sooner than
you expect. Both you and your sister will be escorted to the Altar of Canusa in
the morning.”
She stiffened, suddenly
sober.
“Glyneth, I am sorry. It is
the will of Canusa.”
“Canusa? I’m beginning to hate the
man.” Her words were issued slowly, as a hiss.
A chill reverberated up
Lucas’ backbone. Little did she know that she had every reason to hate Canusa.
She shrugged, her open ardor
now replaced by a mask of indifference. “Don’t be concerned that I don’t know my
place, Lucas. Perhaps I’ll find that which I seek at the
Altar.”
He reached out and grabbed
her upper arms. She was soft and pliant, warm and womanly. Certainly no match for his innate strength. “What is it you
are looking for?”
Gazing up at him through
hooded eyes, she curved a frozen smile. “Faith, I don’t seek a man engaged to
another.”
Lucas flinched as if she had
struck him. She was right, so right. He behaved abominably to her and to Althea.
As a warrior, he had failed miserably. As a man, he deserved ostracism. He
released her, immediately regretting the loss of her yielding touch under his
fingers. “I have wronged you, Glyneth. You are but an innocent--”
“Never mind me! It’s Lord
Trudeau you should be concerned about.” Her eyes blazed with incredible
intensity. “Listen to me, Lucas. He’s slowly dying.”
Hell and damnation. What was
she talking about? He glared at her.
“Yes, I know. It sounds
incredible, however, when I examined him, I found his
heart beating at an extremely accelerated rate. The irregular tempo is putting
an incredible strain on the heart muscle. That would explain his symptoms of
dizziness and shortness of breath.”
“So he is in danger of
having a heart attack?” Lucas gazed up at Glyneth to find her sympathetic eyes
shining with moisture. “I will demand that Lord Trudeau take a well-deserved
retreat. No excitement, no anxieties. As I am one of the heirs to Canusa, he
will listen, but more important, as a second father to me, he will defer to my
wishes.”
She knelt by Lucas’ side and
placed a soothing hand on his arm. “Make sure he gets plenty of fresh air, too.
I can’t explain this feeling I have, but I fear Lord Trudeau will suffer the
same fate as your father.”
Lucas grabbed her hand and
clasped it against his breast, over his heart. Once again, love’s terrifying
grip enfolded him. Powerless to act upon its passion, he gently skimmed the
contour of her face with his other hand, then twirled
her white lock of hair around his finger. “I will do as you suggest.” He paused.
“Glyneth, I regret that you must now go to the Altar of Canusa, a place
abhorrent to you. I... I would do anything to undo the damage I have caused
you.”
She smiled bravely, as a
warrior might, on the eve of battle. “I believe everything happens for a reason,
Lucas.” Her grin deepened mischievously. “Or, as you Outsiders like to say, ‘it
is the will of Canusa.’”
Thundering Jupiter! How
those words twisted in his heart.
Getting to her feet, Glyneth
smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. “I’ll go to bed now. Perhaps in the
morning, I’ll be allowed time to visit Lord Trudeau so I can perform a healing
ritual on him.”
Reluctant to see her leave,
Lucas bowed to the inevitable. He moved quickly to open the
door.
“Goodbye,
Lucas.”
Saying goodbye was so final,
so desolate. Reaching up to touch her hair one last time, he whispered,
“Good-night, Glyneth. Shall I... escort you to your room?”
“There’s no need.” With a
tremulous sigh, she exited and walked down the corridor.
He watched until she turned
the corner. As serious as the news concerning Lord Trudeau was, Lucas could not
banish the sight of Glyneth’s retreating figure from his mind. Just as he could
not ease the pain of his aching heart. Love was what
afflicted him. Love for beautiful, unattainable Glyneth. He could never have
her, though, for his duty lay with Althea Adams.
But, by thunder and all the
planets above, Glyneth was alone, and someone to be taken care of. Someone to
love, hold, and cherish. Those were not warrior
sentiments, but nevertheless they were just as compelling--concerning Glyneth,
at any rate.
Closing the door, he walked
past his bed, the imprint of her sweet form still visible upon the bedcovers. He
would sleep here tonight, but tomorrow he would bunk in the field barracks, away
from any reminders of his forbidden love.
Nine
I am torn. Oh, sweet
Christmas, how I’m torn! Even as I write this, I’m eager to leave for the Altar
of Canusa and yet I’m sorely reluctant to go. The answers to my questions will
be found at the Altar, I’m certain of it. But I also know that once I leave the
As a quiver of emotion
lanced through Glyneth’s heart, she stopped writing in her journal. Yes, Lucas
had become extremely dear to her. Last night she trembled with desires and
passions she had only dreamed of. Locked in his embrace, savoring the feel of
his body against hers, the taste of his mouth--faith, she had been awash in delirium.
He cared for her. Truly cared for her. If only he were
free.
Unable to write more, she
slammed her journal closed, shutting out her thoughts on that topic as well.
Everything was happening for the best. For the best! She savagely paced out her
frustrations in the spacious bedchamber. At the Altar, she’d learn the name of
her hated father, and if he still lived... well, somehow she’d make him pay for
his infamy. She couldn’t afford to have feelings for Lucas, or to have ties to
Columont. Once she took her revenge, she would leave this miserable
place.
A thousand inner voices
reproached her. What about Sylvie?
they asked. What would Vonda and Ike say if Glyneth
returned to the village without their daughter? What about your promise? the voices egged on. Somehow the Earth was under siege here,
and she’d pledged to make things right. Then there was her vow to figure out why
Columont’s women were sterile. And what about Lord
Trudeau? This morning’s healing session with him had helped ease some of
his symptoms. In good conscience, could she flee here knowing she might be able
to cure him?
How her head did
ache!
Her time of solitude was at
an end. As Sylvie came bustling through the door, Glyneth slipped her journal
into the pocket of her new, brightly colored gown. She had no choice but to
avail herself of the selection of clothes in the bedroom. To her annoyance, her
burlap dress had been destroyed without her permission.
“Glyneth! Come! It’s time for us to
leave. Will and Russell are escorting us.” Her round face beaming, Sylvie almost
yanked Glyneth’s arm from the socket. “Oh, sorry.” she apologized. Sylvie then
grew serious. “Glyneth, I... I need to ask you a
question.”
“Go ahead, goose. What’s
troubling you?”
Out in the corridor, Sylvie
dashed over to a window and gazed out into the courtyard. “I’m interested in a
certain someone. But he’s indifferent to me.” Her lower lip pouted in an
attractive manner. “Nothing I’ve tried to gain his attention has worked. What
shall I do?”
Being ignored by the
opposite sex was a unique experience for Sylvie. And if Glyneth’s hunch was
correct, the warrior her sister set her sights on was immune to the female sex.
Or seemed to be immune. She joined Sylvie by the
window.
Standing by the trunk of a
stately ponderosa pine tree, Russell Hawke folded his arms across his massive
chest and frowned. The next second, he glanced up at the window as if he could
feel their gazes upon him. “You are late!” his voice thundered out, shaking the
long, dark green needles of the evergreen tree with its force. “We leave for the
Altar of Canusa now.”
“Heavens, he has a temper,
doesn’t he?” Sylvie sighed, then leaned out the window
to call sweetly, “We’ll be right down, Russell.” Once back inside, she dropped
her smile and turned tortured eyes toward Glyneth. “What shall I do?” she
repeated.
Although Sylvie’s imagined
romance with Captain Hawke was probably doomed, Glyneth gave the matter serious
thought--for her sister’s sake.
“Let’s consider this from another angle. What would a warrior want in a woman?”
She ticked off traits on her fingers. “Bravery, loyalty, strength--”
A displeased shout from
outside reminded them that Captain Hawke still waited.
“And punctuality!” Glyneth
and Sylvie both laughed.
Sylvie’s bright eyes took on
an inspired glow. “I’ve been going about this in the wrong way. You’re right.”
She quickly kissed Glyneth’s cheek, then yanked on her
arm to speed up their progress. “I’ll be a model female
warrior.”
Glyneth withheld her
chuckle. As the saying went: you can’t
teach an old dog new tricks. Sylvie-as-warrior took
quite a stretch of the imagination. But then again, when the desire was strong
enough, entire mountains could be moved. And that was a motivating thought for
both of them.
~ *
~
Usually revitalized after a
visit with an Altar hostess, Canusa suffered an odd feeling of dismay instead.
Perhaps the unnatural heat steaming the mating room last night had somehow
seared him, leaving him with a depression that refused to be
lifted.
Seated in the war room, he
signaled his staff to contact Gaea and have her join him. Of late, he always
sent for his astrologer. For all his power and prestige, he needed her--desperately. She was the only one who
was able to soothe him, reassure him.
Gaea entered the silent
council chamber and inclined her draped head. “Great Canusa, how may I serve
you?”
Before he answered, he
paused to take in her slender, black-garbed figure. The silken material clung to
her womanly curves, exciting him on a deep, urgent level. In response, his
breathing quickened.
He blinked back his
surprise. By the great galactic nebula, he never entertained such thoughts of
his astrologer. It was almost like sacrilege, so revered a place she held in his
esteem as his trusted advisor.
Looking away, he willed his
body to settle down. “Gaea, please sit. I called for you because I, er, I want
to hear more about this upcoming rebellion facing the lands of
Canusa.”
She took her place across
from him at the table. “I understand, great Canusa. Let me--”
A commotion outside the war
room caught both of their attentions. Without prior clearance or approval, Brice
Adams burst through the massive oak doors, dragging two lackeys behind
him.
“Hallowed Canusa,” babbled
the guards. “We beg your pardon but Major Adams--”
“I can speak for myself!”
Young Adams shook off the restraining arms of the lackeys, then insolently stared into Canusa’s eyes. “Noble Canusa, I
would consult with you on an urgent matter.”
To say that the man was
agitated would have been an understatement. His dark hair hanging sloppily over
his forehead; his uniform shirt half in, half out of his trousers; and his
hooded eyes slashed into even narrower slits--Major Adams’ appearance was a disgrace
to the army, to the Adams clan, and to himself.
Interesting, to say the very
least. As Canusa pulled on the ends of his mustache, he dismissed the guards.
“What is this urgent matter, Major?”
The man waited until the
lackeys left, then rudely pointed at Gaea. “She goes,
too.”
Gaea made a move to rise,
but Canusa held out his hand. “No. My astrologer stays. Major, you may speak
with me in her presence.”
“Indeed?” Canusa forced
himself not to overreact. After all, this news was coming from a questionable
source. He flipped up the end of his moustache. “What plan is
this?”
Evidently, his nonchalance
angered
“My
daughter!” By the great galactic
nebula, what was this fool blathering about? Even placid-mannered Gaea stirred
in her chair, stunned by the outrageousness of
Words tumbled out of the
knave’s mouth. “Think back, Canusa. Back about twenty years. I have information
that you participated in a bride-quest. Isn’t that so?”
An image of a slender woman
resurfaced in Canusa’s memory. For a second, he lingered on her pleasing image--wide dark eyes, generous bosom, and
tiny waist. “Perhaps,” was all he would admit.
“It is so! There was one village woman you
desired without benefit of marriage.” The man’s blue eyes flickered toward Gaea.
“I would have mentioned this in private, but you insisted, Canusa. This woman
you had your way with, gave birth to a child. Your
daughter. And she is here, now, in Columont.
Without asking permission,
“This is preposterous!”
Canusa bellowed, no longer able to restrain himself. He stood and paced the
length of the great table. Of course, he was aware that Brice Adams’ claims were
not all that preposterous. It was possible he had impregnated that young woman
he ravaged so long ago, though not likely. After all, he had planted his seed in
countless women... but not one of those couplings had yielded
offspring.
He sighed. That woman had
been an appealing little thing. Sweet curves, flashing eyes, combined with the
temper of a hellcat. Plowing her virgin field had been pleasurable for him, but
not for her. In the throes of her despair, she had mauled Captain Hawke’s
battered face instead of his own.
Canusa ran his fingers over
the smooth plane of his cheek, thankfully untouched by the woman’s violence. The
hellion had proved resourceful by escaping from both Canusa and Hawke. It was a
known fact that those village females had the blessing of great fertility. What
if... what if the seed he planted had taken root? What if the woman had given
birth to a child? His child.
His
daughter? Canusa turned toward Gaea.
“Can this be so? Do I have a daughter?”
The astrologer flipped
through charts in her binder, stopping on one he recognized--his natal chart.
She studied it for a second. “It’s possible, Great Canusa. Indeed, it seems very
likely. Your Venus is in the fifth house of children. Venus could represent a
daughter. Your Mars and Pluto are conjunct in the twelfth house of secrets.
Secrets, in this case, of a sexual matter. Powerful
sexual drives, uncontrollable actions without thought of consequences are all
part of this aspect.” Gaea closed the binder. “If you do have a daughter, she’s
likely to be a beauty.”
“She is.”
“Hmmn.” Canusa returned to his
chair. Unbidden, the ancient oracle’s prophecy sprang to mind. His downfall
would come from within--from his own house and the
“Her name is Glyneth, noble
Canusa. And Trinio, the
Gaea delicately cleared her
throat. “Great Canusa, if I may make a suggestion?”
“Yes, please do. But first,
Major Adams, you may stand at attention.”
Backing away with a snarl,
the man did as he was told.
“Good.” Canusa turned his
gaze to the astrologer. “Gaea, please continue.”
She inclined her head.
“Before considering Major Adams’ accusation against Lucas Jefferson, this young
woman’s heritage must be determined. Am I correct in assuming she knows nothing
about Canusa being her father, if, in fact, this is the
case?”
“Oh, it’s the case, all
right.”
Gaea reached over to lay her
hand on Canusa’s arm. “A daughter would be an enormous asset, great
Canusa.”
Never in their entire
association had the astrologer ever touched him. Or vice
versa. The warmth of her slim fingers permeated the cotton of his shirt.
For some peculiar reason, he felt almost giddy. “I shall go to the Altar--”
The war room door swung
open. “A thousand apologies, hallowed Canusa,” the lackey trilled. “Lord
Jefferson is most insistent on speaking with you.”
In the anteroom, Lucas
Jefferson stood, and even at this distance, he looked more determined than Brice
Adams.
“You must arrest Jefferson
now, Canusa,”
There was only one thing
Canusa detested more than Lucas Jefferson--being told what to do. “Quiet! I
shall deal with this matter in my own good time.” Standing, Canusa gestured
toward the lackey. “Major Adams is leaving. Please escort him out and tell Lord
Jefferson he may enter.”
His face contorted with the
violence of his emotions, the Major stormed out of the war
room.
“Damn drama queen.” Just as
Canusa was about to chew on his fingernail, he caught himself. And though he
could not be certain, he thought his comment elicited a smile from under Gaea’s
veil.
“Would you like me to leave,
great Canusa?” she asked.
“No.” By the vast nebula
above, somehow she energized him. Revitalized him with sensations he had not
experienced in years. “No,” he repeated. “I have concerns about Lucas Jefferson.
Watch him, then let me know what you
think.”
She bowed her head. “As you wish, great Canusa.”
He smiled at her
subservience. She knew exactly how to please him. Perhaps this propensity could
also extend to the mating rooms?
~ *
~
The sight of Brice Adams
plying his poisoned tongue with Canusa did nothing but irritate Lucas. The man
was up to no good. Whenever he thought of the untrustworthy
Lucas coolly nodded as Brice
was escorted from Canusa’s council chamber. Even the prize of Althea as bride
could not detract from the penalty of having Brice as brother-in-law. But the
upcoming nuptials no longer were a source of anticipation. Not since he had met
Glyneth.
Entering the room, he
saluted Canusa, then greeted the astrologer, Gaea.
While Canusa made a pretense at shuffling papers to appear busy, Lucas furtively
studied the woman. According to Lord Trudeau, she believed Lucas played a role
in some age-old, mystical prophecy. And she had approached Lord Trudeau about
this without Canusa’s knowledge. Was she somehow conspiring against the most
holy of all holies? What was her agenda?
Since Lucas was not
instructed to sit, he stood at attention and tried to pierce the gauze of her
veil with his gaze. It was no use; her features remained
hidden.
Canusa finished his paper
stacking, then regarded Lucas with a frown almost
obscured by his bushy mustache. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, Lord
Jefferson? I have an important war council meeting in a few
minutes.”
“It is twofold, noble
Canusa. First, I wish to let you know the change of command ceremony for my
squadron is to be held in two days time. After which, we will honor my father at
his funeral.”
“He was a good man.” Canusa
drummed his fingers on the great oak conference table. “I shall miss your
father.”
Lucas accepted the comment.
“The other matter is rather delicate. I have concerns about the woman I
kidnapped on the bride-quest. She is supremely unhappy here in Columont, and I
fear she might end her life... as her mother did on the last raid ten years
ago.”
Canusa abruptly stood. “What is this?”
The worry of suicide was a
falsehood, true, but Lucas was anxious about Glyneth. If he could return her to
her home, she then would lead a normal life. But then again,
maybe not. That village coward who had attacked Lucas might claim her as
wife.
“This woman you selected,
Lord Jefferson, what is her name?”
“Glyneth,
sir.”
Canusa’s brown eyes, so like
his daughter’s, darkened further. “Glyneth,” he repeated, glancing over at Gaea.
“This woman’s mother was taken during the last bride-quest? I was unaware of
this.”
The pertinent question here
was, why would Canusa be aware of that
fact?
“She is dead?” Canusa chewed
on a fingernail.
“Yes,
sir.”
Lucas narrowed his gaze. Surely this was a surprising
reaction.
“I do not understand your
distress for this Glyneth,” Canusa growled. “What plans do you have for
her?”
Lucas straightened his
shoulders. He had a myriad of plans concerning Glyneth, but realistically, there
was only one he could carry out. “Return her to her village, sir. That is where
she belongs.”
A small movement caught his
attention. Gaea’s veil stirred slightly. She shook her head to indicate
disagreement.
Canusa saw the movement as
well. “That would be a galactic waste of our resources. I will go to see this
Glyneth and decide what to do with her.”
Thundering Jupiter, Lucas
had not expected Canusa to trouble himself over an unknown bride-to-be. While
the resemblance between father and daughter was not so obvious, still, Glyneth
might figure out the connection. He sweated in his boots. “Noble Canusa, do you
think that is wise? She is just an insignificant female--”
“I agree you should go as
soon as possible, great Canusa.” Gaea placed her hand on Canusa’s arm. “Perhaps
if she sees you taking an interest in her welfare, she might change her mind
about her new home.”
Grinding his teeth, Lucas
swore under his breath. Damnation. The astrologer was determined to throw
obstacles in his way. Just whose side was she on?
“It is decided then.” Canusa
signaled his assistant through an electronic device to procure a traveling car
and cancel the war council meeting. “I shall leave now.”
“I will go with you.” Lucas
fell in step beside the man. Under no circumstances could he allow Canusa to
meet with Glyneth by herself. He inwardly blasted himself with every foul name
in the book. By bringing her to Canusa’s attention, he had inadvertently sealed
her fate. If only he had left things alone.
His voice dripping with
disdain, Canusa sneered, “I did not realize I invited you. But no matter, you
may accompany me.” He turned to the woman. “Gaea, would you like to see this
Glyneth?”
“I thank you, but no, great
Canusa.” The astrologer bowed her veiled head. “This meeting should be limited
to the three of you.”
Lucas heard those words with
regret for he was well aware of Gaea’s pacifying effect on Canusa. As both men
stormed out of the chamber, it was a toss up as to which one was more
infuriated.
~ *
~
It came as no surprise to
Glyneth that the shape of Canusa’s Altar rivaled that of a Greek temple from
ages long since past. Beautiful, sleek, and coldly impersonal, the white marble
columns glistened in the sunlight. On chiseled steps a contingent of Canusa’s
handmaidens waited silently as she, Sylvie, Russell Hawke, and Will Flagg
approached on two horses.
An arm’s throw from the
temple, Glyneth dismounted, then Will jumped down from
the horse. Although Captain Hawke had indicated for her to be his riding
partner, she insisted Sylvie ride with him. That was the least she could do for
her infatuated sister. That and suggest they travel by horse so the trip would
not end so quickly.
Sylvie broke the quiet
first. “I--I have a bad feeling about
this.” Her smile, ever present, had turned into a frightened pout. “Russell, I’m
trying to be brave, honest I am, but those women have an
emptiness about them. See their faces? Blank. It’s as if they don’t have
a soul.”
Glyneth also studied the
assembled women. An even dozen were stationed on the steps, their alabaster
gowns swaying in the gentle breeze. Sylvie was right. These women did appear
restrained, almost sedated. It was as if the Altar building had stolen the gleam
from their eyes, leaving only an outside husk, while the temple itself sparkled
with borrowed liveliness. Adding to the eeriness were innumerable, thick growths
of those hateful Venusian plants, obviously thriving in gardens all around the
building.
Will hitched his animal to a
post. “By all the stars in the universe! What are you
prattling about now, woman? I’ve had a belly full--” His attention now on Canusa’s
handmaidens, he wrinkled his face and exclaimed, “Hell’s bells! It’s true! Hawke, just look at ‘em. One female moves and the rest follow
suit. Jeez, it’s like one brain having twelve bodies! I’d sooner tackle a legion
of barbarians than deal with those ghouls.”
Captain Hawke got down from
his horse, and helped Sylvie alight. He briefly glanced at the women, then fastened his great steed to the same hitching post.
“Lower your voice, Lieutenant. We do not know what secret rituals are conducted
within the Altar’s walls. Nor are those rituals our concern.” He held out his
massive arm to Sylvie. “Come. It is your duty to go to the
Altar.”
Sylvie stomped her foot.
“But I’m frightened. Truly, Russell, I’m not lying.” Red hair flowing down her
shoulders, she was a sight lovely to behold, even with her green eyes shining
with wetness. No man, at least not those back at the village, would have been
able to resist her.
But Captain Hawke did. “I
repeat, it is your duty.”
Mulishly, Glyneth wanted to
retort, “Why? We’re not citizens of Columont,” however, that wouldn’t serve her
purpose. The fastest way to gain the answers to her questions was at the Altar.
She crossed her fingers, hoping that would be the case.
Glyneth threaded her arm
through her sister’s. “While I don’t agree it is our duty, I insist that
Canusa’s women see to our comfort by allowing us to stay together. Would that
make you feel better, Sylvie?”
“Yes,” she murmured, not too
convincingly.
Of the four of them, only
Captain Hawke walked toward the Altar without hesitation. One attractive woman
with eyes as black as the night stepped forward to greet
them.
“I am Nadira,” she said with
a voice devoid of emotion. “You must be the remaining villagers from the
bride-quest.”
Not only were the iris’ of the woman’s eyes black, but the pupils were dilated
so severely that even on close inspection, Glyneth could not tell where the
pupil ended and the iris began. Surely it was painful for her to be out in the
bright sunlight without protection for her eyes.
Evidently
not, for Nadira didn’t appear the least bit uncomfortable. Nor did she even
blink.
Glyneth met the woman’s
empty gaze. “My name is Glyneth, and this is my sister,
Sylvie.”
“Glyneth.” Nadira slowly repeated both
syllables. Her fellow handmaidens also mouthed the name, but Sylvie’s name was
ignored.
Not that Sylvie minded.
Casting an anxious glance Captain Hawke’s way, she inched closer to
Glyneth.
The woman swept her slim arm
in the temple’s direction and intoned, “Glyneth and... Sylvie, the Altar of
Canusa awaits you.”
Perhaps Captain Hawke
rethought his view on duty, for he positioned himself next to Nadira and halted
her progress forward. “I come from Lord Jefferson, ma’am. My lord is most
insistent these sisters are to be housed together.”
The woman turned her
unblinking eyes on him. “You are Captain...?” Somehow, she silently challenged
him.
“Hawke.” This man was no stranger to
challenge. He flicked his gaze over her and waited.
Will bulked up his upper arm
muscles, and with a heavy stride, strode next to his friend. “And I’m Lieutenant
Flagg, woman, in service to the noble Canusa.” Both warriors made no attempt to
hide their distrust of Nadira. But then again, they were soldiers, not
diplomats.
Nadira bowed her head,
revealing a few silver strands of hair that shimmered in the morning light. “As
we all are, Lieutenant.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “And as those are Lord
Jefferson’s wishes, then it shall be done.”
At those words, Sylvie
slightly relaxed her rigid stance. Glyneth, however, continued to doubt the
woman. Evil rose from the surrounding land and the Altar itself. Nadira and
these women were somehow under a terrible spell. And as impossible as it
sounded, those heinous Venusian flowers were at the bottom of it. The Earth
itself inaudibly screamed with anguish. Sweet Christmas, the shrieking was so
loud, it was a wonder no one else could hear it.
Whether Lucas had indeed
requested that she be roomed with Sylvie was unimportant. Glyneth nodded in
appreciation at Captain Hawke’s words.
He nodded back. To Nadira,
he said, “I shall inform Lord Jefferson. He will wish to thank you
himself.”
Which
meant Lucas coming to the Altar and checking it out. Now Glyneth was as relieved
as Sylvie.
The two men stepped back and
allowed Sylvie and Glyneth to follow Nadira up the Altar’s stairs. As they drew
closer, the scent of evil assaulted them, entwining its foul breath through
their hair, their clothes, their minds. Nadira and the
other eleven women huddled around them, closing off their option to escape.
“Welcome to the Altar of Canusa,” chanted all twelve. “Welcome, and become as
one.”
Taking one last look
outside, Glyneth then entered the Tomb of Canusa, which was a more apt
description than Altar. The air, murky and heavy, seemed to hang like poisonous
swamp gas known to rise from decomposing matter in dense fields. Dear, holy
mother, how could these poor women live here? It was as if the sweet smell of
nature had never touched the inside of these walls.
Nadira stopped the
procession, then padded on her bare feet over to
Glyneth. “Canusa is extremely desirous of seeing you. If you will but follow me,
I will take you to his chamber. In your absence, Sylvie will be shown your new
compartments.”
This news was not well
received by Sylvie. She wailed, “No, please, don’t leave
me.”
Torn, Glyneth bit her lip.
Actually, speaking with Canusa might be just the break she needed. After all,
when looking for answers, why not go directly to the top? But dear Sylvie was so
distressed. “Tush, don’t be a goose! I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. Then
we’ll be together. Perhaps we then can meet with the other women from the
village. Is that acceptable, Nadira?”
The woman’s smile was as
haunting as it was fleeting. “Certainly. That can be
arranged. Come now.”
Glyneth gave Sylvie a quick
hug, then trailed behind Nadira as she walked softly down the marble corridor.
Deep into the bowels of the temple, they finally stopped by a huge, imposing
door. Nadira opened it and gestured inside the chamber. “Canusa will be with you
shortly.”
“Fine.” Glyneth entered the room,
then immediately regretted her action. Glaring white blooms filled her view. All
around her, to the left, right, and straight ahead were puffy, cottony flowers
not native to this planet. With hardly any floor space showing, the plants
dominated the area. Some growths were even as tall as she, and she shivered,
imagining hostile thoughts directed her way.
Or maybe she wasn’t
imagining the antagonism. Gracious, holy Lord! Her forehead beaded with sweat.
She whirled around only to find the door closed behind her. Locked. No tugging, pushing, or yanking would budge the door
from its frame. She was trapped. Trapped with these gaseous
growths so abhorrent to the Earth.
More perspiration, plus her
heart pounded an urgent beat to escape. She scanned the room, but saw no windows
or other doors. The low ceiling seemed to close in on her, then the plants did as well. Breathing heavily, she felt so
dizzy... so shaky.
Glyneth fell to her knees,
and started coughing. What was going on here? What...?
If plants could smile,
surely these specimens were grinning ear to ear. Tiny bubbles of some type of
gas traveled up the jelly-like, inner ovals of each plant, then inaudibly burst into the atmosphere. Even as she
watched, the production of the bubbles increased.
Now drenched with sweat, she
sank to the icy-cold floor. Sleep suddenly beckoned and she closed her eyes. It
looked like she wasn’t destined to meet Canusa after all.
Ten
It was true that Will had
eight years to go before his apprenticeship was finished, but he considered
himself as sharp as any soldier under the flag of Canusa. His instincts were as
finely honed as the most seasoned warrior of his acquaintance. And right now,
those instincts were yelling up one side of his body and down the other that
those two innocent females had just walked into a trap.
From outside the Altar, he
stared back at its marbled columns. “Hawke, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one
bit. Hell’s bells, those women weren’t natural. Just looking’
at ‘em caused my belly to rise.”
Hawke reached into his
pocket and offered a carrot to his gleaming ruby horse. “Yes. I admit to some
concern...” He gave the temple a speculative gaze, then
mounted his steed. “Come. We are under surveillance.”
Will reluctantly followed
until, from the cover of the nearby forest, Hawke stopped. “Now they believe we
have gone.” He leaned forward to rest his massive forearms against the pommel of
the saddle. “You take position here and watch for anything unusual. I shall
inform Lord Jefferson of our concerns, then return with
instructions.”
“Lord Jefferson!” Will grunted. “Jeez,
Luke can’t help but have a big head now.”
“That is not important,
Lieutenant,” Hawke reprimanded. “We have carried out our duty, however, as insubordinate as it sounds, I believe these
orders were in error. Those two women require our protection. They are
defenseless and vulnerable. And the redhead...” Frowning at some private
thought, Hawke saluted Will, then galloped off deeper
into the forest.
“Hell on Earth!” Will
slapped both hands on his thighs. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Hawke
was interested in that flame-haired beauty. Old, staid Hawke
and exuberant teenaged Sylvie? By all the stars--
Thrashing sounds indicated
an intruder heading Will’s way. He dismounted, then
concealed himself and the horse behind the thick trunk of a
tree.
The man neared. With a large
knife, he cut a swatch in the foliage, clearing his way. Will studied him, then readied his own blade. An archer’s bow slung over the
man’s shoulder proclaimed him to be a villager. So what was he doing way up here
in enemy territory?
A knife to the throat would
provide the answer. The man gasped out his surprise.
“Well, you’re a good ways
from home, ain’t ya, traveler? What’s yer name and what brings ya to these here
parts?”
The man attempted to speak,
but all he could make was guttural noises.
“Ho! Am I holdin’ yer neck
too tight? My apologies.” Will loosened his grip a tad. “There. How’s that? Speak up
now!”
The man, an ugly specimen if
Will ever saw one, cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded raspy. “I’m--I’m Devon Dikeman, and I’m here to
rescue my bride. A few days ago, she and her redheaded sister were forcibly
taken from her home by scurvy blackguards.”
Will had to smile. “Scurvy
blackguards? How... sad.” Actually, he rather liked the
term. When Luke acted uppity again, Will would call him
a scurvy blackguard.
“Yes!” Dikeman bobbed his
scraggly head in agreement. “I followed horses to that temple in the clearing,
then decided to wait until nighttime to free
her.”
“Yer bride,” Will clarified. “Ya married, then?”
“Soon.” Dikeman’s meager chest
puffed out. “Glyneth is promised to me.”
“What about the sister? Ya
sayin’ ya don’t want to rescue her, too?”
“She is not my main
concern.” Then the man’s thin lips stretched into a disgusting smile. “But, I
have an idea. The sister, Sylvie, is a pretty wench. Big balloons, if you know
what I mean, eh? Let me go, and I’ll get both women, then hand Sylvie over to you. She’ll give you a devil of a
ride, I promise.”
The man had no idea how
lucky he was, for if he had made that offer to Hawke, it was a certainty the
older warrior would’ve hammered the scabbard into the dirt--head first. Instead, Will pounded his
fist against Dikeman’s glass jaw. The man’s eyelids fluttered as he lost
consciousness.
“No. I don’t think so.” Will
busied himself with removing the archer’s bow and arrows, then tightly bound Dikeman’s hands behind his back. If this
man was a sample of village men, it was no wonder Sylvie had been eager to
leave. As for being Glyneth’s intended, again Will
shook his head. There was something special about that woman, certainly way
above this man’s touch.
After tying Dikeman to the
broad tree, Will stared out at the Altar of Canusa from his vantage point. While
he didn’t like the fact that both women were housed there, it was Glyneth he
worried about the most. Especially because of the way those vapid females had
intoned her name. Jeez, it had been so... zombie-like.
Shaking aside his
apprehension, Will sank to his haunches and waited for Hawke’s
return.
~ *
~
The electric car vibrated
with a monotonous drone. Inside its glass and steel interior, Lucas watched the
passing scenery with disinterest. It was the man seated next to him who
commanded his attention, but outright staring at Canusa would have been
unacceptable behavior. Using peripheral vision, Lucas studied the once-revered--at least in his eyes--leader of all the ten
provinces.
Canusa gnawed on his
fingernails with abandon. Shoulders slumped, grey and white streaked hair wildly
askew, he sat unmoving even as the car sped down the roadway. What private
thoughts raced through his mind? Why did he insist on meeting Glyneth? When he
saw her, would he notice the resemblance?
“What are you looking at?”
Canusa growled.
Lucas flushed. “Noble
Canusa, I only wondered why you chose to visit an unimportant future bride
rather than attend to your schedule. Surely the war council meeting is more
worthy of your attention?”
The older man leaned back
against the seat cushions and stroked his luxuriant mustache. “You think me a
fool, Lord Jefferson, that I do not detect duplicity in your actions? You, who
so vehemently protested my plan to attack the villages?
You believe you can gull me into believing that your own schedule is not
overflowing with appointments, so that you have excess time to concern yourself
with some insignificant female, as you call her? Now you question my judgment?
And insist on accompanying me to the Altar as well?”
Damnation. Lucas exhaled
slowly. Had he been that transparent? “I owe you an apology,
sir.”
“You owe me an
explanation.”
“True.” He could not dispute
it. Turning toward the window, he ran his hand over his hair. How could he find
the words to diffuse this situation? How could he protect Glyneth? “The woman
has suffered much by our hands. The loss of her mother at such a young age has
caused her considerable damage. She should be returned to her
home.”
Canusa’s voice brooked no
opposition. “It is a woman’s duty to submit to men. We here in the lands of
Canusa are superior to those puny males found in villages. She will accept her
fate and marry. I will choose her husband.”
Thundering Jupiter! Lucas
needed to keep his mouth shut. Everything he said made matters
worse!
“You grow pale, Lord
Jefferson. Can it be you wish to wed the woman yourself?”
Lucas fisted his hands to
drive away his inner pain. “As you know, sir, I am under contract. Althea
“A prize
among women. You are
fortunate.”
No, Lucas silently disagreed.
Fortunate would be the man wed to
Glyneth.
Coming towards them from the
direction of the Altar was a warrior on horseback: Hawke. Noting the intense
expression on the man’s face, Lucas braced himself. Something was terribly
wrong.
Canusa directed the car’s
driver to stop, then opened the window. “Captain Hawke,
what is your news?”
Hawke reigned in on his
massive beast, causing the horse to tremble from its exertions. “Sir, noble
Canusa.” He bowed his head. “Lieutenant Flagg and I have deposited the two
females at the Altar of Canusa as ordered. However...”
Hawke’s pause was
uncharacteristic. Leaning out the window, Lucas waited for the man to
continue.
“Your handmaidens acted
strangely, noble Canusa. Almost as if they were drugged. They seemed extremely
eager for both women to enter the Altar’s doors.” Hawke slid his hazel gaze from
Canusa to Lucas. “Especially the thin
one.”
“Is that the one called
Glyneth?” Canusa raised his voice.
Instead of Hawke, Lucas
answered tersely. “Yes.” Then he overstepped his authority by ordering, “Join us
there, Captain.” Compounding his offense, he then commanded the driver to speed
ahead to the Altar.
Canusa did not reprimand
him. Strangely enough, he appeared almost as concerned as Lucas, although no
further words were exchanged. As soon as the car reached its destination, Lucas
rushed out, climbed up the marble stairs, and pounded on the Altar doors.
Canusa, breathing hard, was a step behind him.
The door opened to reveal a
lithe, young woman blocking their entrance. “The Altar of Canusa is
closed.”
By thunder, a mechanical
speaking device held more emotion!
She continued, “Please
return tomorrow--” The sight of
Canusa himself caused her to stop.
He shoved the girl aside.
“The Altar is never closed to Canusa, woman. Take me to your newest member. I
wish to see Glyneth.”
“Glyneth!” Her gaze wild and
unfocused, the girl violently shuddered, then collapsed to the
ground.
“Hell.” Stepping over her,
Lucas raced down the hallway until he found another handmaiden. Her response,
however, was the same.
“No time to lose,” he called
back to Canusa. “Let’s try all the rooms.”
Each door opened but
Glyneth’s sweet form was nowhere in sight. Open, scan, open, scan--Lucas checked twenty doors without
success. Now deep within the inner recesses of the Altar, Lucas came across one
that was locked. “Canusa! Here. Help me,” he yelled
down the musty hallways. This had to be it. Glyneth had to be behind this
door.
From out of nowhere, temple
women gathered by his side, pulling at him, determined to sway him from his
purpose. He was never more thankful than when he heard Will Flagg exclaim
“Hell’s bells!” as he joined the mêlée. Hawke was here too, and he succeeded in
tossing aside women, allowing Canusa, Will, and Lucas to ram the locked
door.
On the count of three, they
charged at the door. The wood splintered. Snaking his hand inside, Lucas turned
the knob to open the door. All at once, everyone quieted down. The women shrank
back, not entering the room.
Inside, a heavy scent--something like death--hung low within the walls. It was
dark; nothing visible but those white Venusian plants. And by God’s green earth,
it was difficult to breathe.
“She has to be here.”
Without benefit of light, he walked slowly ahead, only stopping when his foot
touched something. He bent down to touch skin. Clammy, human
skin.
“Glyneth!” Lucas scooped up her
lifeless form. Urgency fueled his actions. He had to get her out of there, out
into the cool fresh air. Something about this room was deadly, something to do
with those plants.
Moving quickly, he made his
way past the women. The eerie silence of the crowd raised the hackles on the
back of his neck. Hawke was right. These females seemed to be under some type of
influence; maybe they were drugged. But that was not important right now. Not
stopping until he reached the outside, he gently lay Glyneth down on soft,
yielding grass.
She was not breathing. Oh,
thundering Jupiter, she was not breathing. In truth, she was the color of those
damnable Venusian flowers.
Never in his life had he
focused all his attention into the here and now, into this very moment.
Everything that mattered in the world was lying helplessly in front of him.
Without thought, he began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. One, two, three, four,
five: he forced air down her throat. Again, then again,
he repeated the routine. As he waited for her to breathe on her own--prayed for her to breathe on her own--he devoured the sight of her face,
ashen and bloodless.
“Glyneth,” he whispered so
only she and the wind could hear. “Glyneth, come back to
me.”
A blasted tear stung his
eyes. Gritting his teeth, he then exhaled once more into her mouth. “Please, do
not go. I will find a way to take you back home. I vow
it.”
He sensed Canusa, Will, and
Hawke standing around him, even as he kneeled beside Glyneth. No one
spoke.
She suddenly gasped, then
coughed. Surely this was the most wonderful sound in the world. With her vibrant
brown eyes, she gazed up at him and smiled. Thank the planets she was all
right!
Canusa yanked on Lucas’ arm.
“Move aside.” He haltingly got to his knees, then
reached over to hold her hand. “How do you feel, my
child?”
Lucas slid a worried look at
Hawke. The warrior also appeared thoughtful, touching the scar marring his
cheek. Hopefully, Canusa only used the term “my child” as a form of
address.
Glyneth sat up, leaning on
her elbows. She removed her hand from Canusa’s and closed her eyes to inhale
deeply. “Faith! I never realized breathing could feel
so good.” A rosy glow now returned to her pale cheeks and she transferred her
gaze from each of the men until finally resting on Lucas. “Thank you. The air
grew so close in there. I didn’t think I would get out...
alive.”
She shuddered. “Those plants
are evil. They--They tried to kill me
by releasing a type of poisonous gas. We must get rid of them. All of them. There isn’t one minute to
lose.”
“Easy. Easy, child.” A new side of Canusa emerged, one that Lucas
had never been priviliged to see. The man gentled his voice, trying to calm
Glyneth. “You are safe now. You had a terrifying experience.” His eyes, the same
deep color as hers, narrowed in the temple’s direction. “I shall make certain
all those flowers are removed from the Altar.”
Glyneth primly straightened
the material of her skirt to cover her exposed knees. “And you
are?”
The thick edges of his
mustache trembled from the impact of his words. “I am
Canusa.”
A mischievous grin lit her
face, causing shoots of desire to stab Lucas. If only he could hold her in his
arms.
She continued, unaware of the exquisite torment he suffered. “So
you are the most holy of holies?” As she regarded Canusa from head to toe, Lucas
held his breath. Thankfully, no jolt of recognition changed her placid
expression.
“Indeed I am, child. Let me
help you up.”
As Canusa slid his arm under
hers to assist her, Will whispered to Hawke, “Hell on Earth! What’s goin’ on
here?”
As far as Lucas knew, Will
was not aware of Canusa’s relationship to Glyneth. He was just, understandably,
confused about his leader’s unusual behavior.
Hawke glanced at Lucas,
then nodded. Evidently, they were on the same
wavelength, for he addressed the very issue Lucas had been thinking of. “Not to
worry, sir. Lieutenant Flagg and I will check on the other
female.”
Now standing, Glyneth moved
away from Canusa. “Sweet Christmas! Sylvie is still in
that awful place? Oh, please, hurry!”
“But, Hawke, Luke, I didn’t
have a chance to tell ya both.” Will fidgeted in his pint-size way. “I’ve got a
village nitwit tied to a tree back there.” He jerked his thumb in the direction
of the forest and smirked. “Out of his element, he is, here in Columont. The man
calls us scurvy blackguards, don’t ya know.”
Hawke positively thundered.
“You forget yourself, Lieutenant.”
Lucas could not help but be
amused at his friend’s antics. And how good that felt after
such a tense time. By thunder, Glyneth had almost died! He cast a quick
glance her way to reassure himself that she was indeed okay, stored her image in
his memory, then returned his attention to his
comrades.
Canusa ignored the byplay,
focusing only on Glyneth and her white lock of hair.
Will was not done annoying
Hawke for he continued his informal manner of speaking. “But, hey, the term
scurvy blackguard really applies to you, Luke.”
Lifting an eyebrow, Lucas
inquired, “How so?”
“The man said ya stole his
woman.”
Glyneth gasped. “You mean,
Devon Dikeman?
Lucas folded his arms across
his chest. He recognized the words “scurvy blackguard,” all right. “This Dikeman
is nothing but a coward. On our journey here, he attacked me, using the darkness
of night to hide his spinelessness.” His voice hardened. “Is it true you are his
woman?”
Her color fully restored
from the whiteness of death, she now blushed like a crimson rose. “No, Lucas. He
wants me to be his wife, but I... I’ve no wish to
marry.”
“Ho!” Will wrinkled his
face. “Sounds like he’s the scurvy blackguard. He
even offered me Sylvie if I let him have ya, Glyneth.”
Hawke made a sound that
rivaled the snort of a bull readying to charge its target. “I shall secure your
sister, ma’am.” He saluted Canusa, and gestured to Will. “Lieutenant Flagg,
accompany me. We will attend to that villager later.” They both departed for the
Altar.
Not that Lucas cared a whit
about the fellow, but Dikeman would soon regret his decision to enter enemy
territory. Hawke would have no mercy on the man.
“Your sister, you say?”
Canusa questioned as he took Glyneth’s arm to lead her to the electric
car.
She deftly eluded his grasp,
and quickly walked toward Lucas. “My adopted sister,
sir. Sylvie’s parents took me in after the last raid to the
village.”
Her rapid movement caused
something to thump upon the ground. She did not hear it fall, but Canusa and
Lucas did. Being closer, Canusa swiftly picked up the object. It was Glyneth’s
journal. About to alert her, Lucas received a glare from the older man. Canusa
silently ordered him to remain quiet.
Damnation. Lucas jammed his
hands into his own pockets. If he didn’t speak up, then Canusa would soon be
privy to his daughter’s innermost secrets. But maybe that would be a good thing.
Maybe he would understand why she hated her father and why she needed to return
to her village.
After he tucked away the
journal, Canusa asked, “What happened to your parents, my
child?”
“My mother is dead.” Glyneth
lifted her long neck proudly. Her mane of hair flowed richly in the afternoon
sunlight. “I don’t have a father.”
Canusa flinched. Somehow the
man had found out. He knew she was
his daughter. Lucas was certain of it.
“I see,” was all Canusa
would comment. “Well, you will come to my palace to rest from your ordeal--”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I
would like to wait here until Sylvie is safe, then if I could return to the
Jefferson Compound? Is that all right with you, Lucas?”
By all the planets above, it
was more than all right with him. But how would Canusa react to her
request?
His dark-eyed gaze shuttered
and his expression was unreadable. “As you wish, my
child. Lord Jefferson, is this agreeable for you?”
Lucas struggled to contain
his relief. “Yes, noble Canusa. Glyneth and her sister are more than
welcome.”
“Good.” Canusa opened the
car door. “But first, if I may, child, you are looking rather peaked. I shall
escort you to the Jefferson Compound while Lord Jefferson personally looks after
your sister’s safety.”
Canusa’s firm tone brooked
no argument. Perhaps Glyneth realized that also, for she nodded as she got into
the electric vehicle. “Yes, I am rather tired.”
A gleam of triumph lit
Canusa’s dark eyes. But instead of speaking, he just slid next to
Glyneth.
Unaccustomed apprehension
radiated through Lucas’ midsection. “Do not worry, Glyneth. I will bring Sylvie
to you, as soon as possible.” Lucas raised his voice as the sleek vehicle pulled
away. Damnation! The older man’s inexplicable behavior was vexing. Did the
knowledge that he had a daughter somehow mellow him? Or was he instead hatching
a devious scheme?
~ *
~
As soon as the electric car
arrived at the Jefferson Compound, Glyneth released the door’s latch, then turned to Canusa. “Thank you for the ride, sir.” She
slid to the end of the seat and opened the door, hoping to escape without a
fuss. For some reason, the man disturbed her. She couldn’t put her finger on
what it was, precisely, but the short hairs on her neck and arms stood on end,
as if readying to take flight.
When he followed her
outside, her heart sank. “I will see you safely situated at the Compound, my
child.”
Why does he keep calling me
“my child? I am not that young, and he is nothing to me. Glyneth tossed back her
mane of hair, almost defiantly. I vow
I’ll not bow to anyone who calls himself the most holy of
holies!
But she was just being
contrary. After all, the man had helped to free her from the poisoned tomb.
Perhaps now he felt responsible for her.
She inhaled deeply--something she had been unable to do
inside the death room at the Altar. “I thank you again. Gracious, it seems I’m
to be forever in your debt.”
“Nonsense,
my child.”
She rolled her eyes. There
he went again.
He took her arm and led her
up the stone pathway to the main double doors. “It is I who should be in your
debt. A fine welcome Columont has shown you.” He released her, then raised a strong fist into the air. “Those responsible
for this outrage will be punished. That I promise you.”
There could be no mistaking
the sincerity of his anger. His thick mustache vibrated while his dark eyes
narrowed to mere slits.
Trinio opened the door. On
seeing her, surprise slackened his heavy jaw. But when he noticed Canusa, he
swallowed hard, causing his Adam’s apple to bob up and down. “H--Hallowed
Canusa! We are... we are honored by your visit.” The poor man’s
spectacles fogged up. The sharp scent of his fear stabbed at
her.
Canusa waved a negligent
hand. “Take us to a salon. And prepare some refreshments for the lady. She has
suffered greatly and is in need of sustenance.”
Glyneth tamped down her
refusal. The most holy of holies was a determined man. Obviously, he had taken
it into his head to speak with her, and no matter what she said, he wouldn’t be
denied. But perhaps she should take advantage of this for if anyone could find
out the names of those who had participated in the raids on her village, surely,
it was Canusa.
“Yes,
Trinio.”
She nodded to the steward. “Would you please bring us some tea and cookies?”
Taking pity on the man and his anxiety, she entered the rose salon, then turned to address him. “As it happens, you’re not rid of
Sylvie and me. Not yet, anyway. The accommodations at the Altar didn’t suit us,
so Lord Jefferson thoughtfully extended his hospitality once
again.”
Trinio silently worked his
mouth as if trying to form a question. One glance at Canusa though, and the
steward gave it up, bowed, then left the room to procure the
refreshments.
Canusa took a seat on the
leather couch next to an unused fireplace. He patted the cushion beside him.
“Come, sit by me, my child.”
At this, she gave a little
smile and sat on the boxy chair across from him. He had his way by holding
conference with her here in the salon. But that didn’t mean she had to sit right
next to the man. Faith, five feet away was certainly close
enough.
His own smile lifted the
edges of his mustache. “Shy, I see. Very proper. Very proper, indeed.” His expression sobered. “So tell me, my
child, how did you come to be locked in that room? It is far from the main
activities of the Altar. In truth, I thought it was used only for
storage.”
“Storing those hideous
plants, I guess.” She shivered. “It was Nadira, sir. She said you wanted to see
me so she led me to your chamber.”
“Nadira.” The man almost hissed the
name--low and drawn out, full of
venom.
Concern for the woman pulsed
through Glyneth with a savage beat. Canusa planned to kill Nadira. She didn’t
know how she knew that; she just did.
“You must listen, sir.”
Glyneth left her chair to sit beside the man. “It’s those flowers. They are
foul... wicked. Somehow, they can control the women at your Altar. I am certain
of it.” She placed her hand upon his arm. “All those plants must be
destroyed.”
A quick glance around the
salon confirmed that there were no Venusian growths polluting the room.
Relieved, she took another deep breath. But had she convinced him? Did he
believe her?
No telling. Canusa clasped
his hand over hers, maybe as a symbol of comfort, but his face remained
unreadable. “I shall look into the matter. I promise.”
She would have to be content
with that, for now, at least. “Canusa, if I may, I would like to ask you about--”
The doors opened, and in
came Trinio laboring with an immense silver tray. Cookies of every color
imaginable plus a teapot, coffee urn, and a pitcher rested atop the platter,
along with thick, ceramic cups and plates. After the steward placed it down on a
coffee table in front of them, he turned away to wipe perspiration from his
brow.
Unfortunately for Trinio,
Canusa noticed the action and his gaze lingered on the man’s missing two
fingers. He frowned. “That will be all.”
The steward left the salon,
and Canusa forgot his scowl. He smiled at her. “Would you serve, my child? I
take two sugars, no milk in my tea.”
The incongruity of the scene
struck her. Here she was, playing hostess to the ruler of this warrior land,
while just a short time ago, she had been gasping out her last breath. Faith!
What a strange thing fate was.
As he stirred his drink, he
steadily regarded her, causing her to flush. “You must forgive me if I am blunt,
my child, but I am an old soldier and I do not like to waste time beating around
the bush. You mentioned you do not want to marry. Is this
true?”
Tea caught in her throat.
She coughed to clear the liquid. “Um, yes.” True,
unless her groom were to be Lucas, of course.
“But how can this be? Why do
you not desire the wedded state? You are young and beautiful. You must make a
powerful alliance.”
“No, I don’t--”
His eyes contained a fierce
gleam. “And healthy, too. Perfect. You will produce
fine children.” The gleam turned into a glow. “Yes! The stars predicted this.
You will ensure the line of Canusa!”
Sweet Christmas! Glyneth
quickly stood, and almost dropped her tea cup as it clattered against its
saucer. Canusa wanted to m--marry
her? “No! No, I can’t!”
He also stood. Although his
midsection had thickened and his hairline receded, he was still an impressive
looking man, but dear, holy mother, he was old enough to be her father--maybe even her grandfather. “You dare
to defy me?” he growled.
Her head pounded with the
fury of a tornado--sudden, swift, and
deadly. “Yes, I do defy you.” Her voice ebbed away to a whisper. She was in no
mood for a confrontation.
“It is because of Lucas
Jefferson.” Canusa glared at her. “You wish to join with him, don’t you? Your
union was foretold to me. You and Jefferson--my downfall will come through you
both.”
The man was positively
frothing at the mouth. He’d come unhinged! What in the world was he talking
about? What downfall? What prediction?
Her heart constricted. How
did he know about her feelings for Lucas? Wasn’t Canusa aware that Lucas already
had a bride-to-be?
Glyneth took a step to leave
the room, but Canusa gripped her upper arm, stopping her. “You are mine,
Glyneth. And you will do as I say.”
She stomped her foot. “I
will not and I shall not!” Marry Canusa? Never, never,
never. “May the holy Lord help me, but if I have to thwart you by using
my mother’s method of escape from this terrible place, then that’s what I’ll
do!”
Pulling away, she ran from
the salon, then fled up the stairs. Tears streamed
hotly down her cheeks. She flung herself onto the bed in her former bedchamber,
and allowed more tears to flow. By all the mysteries on Earth, was she crying
because of Canusa’s proposal? Or was it something more basic? Was she sobbing
her eyes out because she knew Lucas could never be her
husband?
~ *
~
Strange. Very
strange. All the countless hours Lucas spent here at the Altar, enjoying
the pleasures of the flesh, not once had he noticed how oppressive and confining
the air was. And just how listless the women who resided
within these walls really were.
Well, hell and damnation, he
was aware of it now. Groups of courtesans aimlessly wandered the corridors,
devoid of passions, devoid of life. They blinked their eyes at Hawke, Will, and
him. That was the sum total of their response to the men’s invasion of their
premises. Nothing more, nothing
less.
Shaking one woman he had
plowed on his last visit, he demanded, “Where is Sylvie?”
Vacant eyes met his gaze.
“Sylvie?”
By thunder, a boulder had
more animation than this female.
Hawke, always a man of
action, shot out his great arm and grabbed the woman around her neck. “Speak! We
seek the last arrival from the bride-quest--Sylvie. Plump, red hair, foolish...
where is she?”
“A--Ask Nadira. She’s in the th--throne room,” the courtesan gasped.
When Hawke released her, she slid to her knees, breathing
heavily.
Lucas was never a proponent
of violence against females, however at times he agreed with Niccolò
Machiavelli’s philosophy. Ignoring the fallen woman, the three men hastened
their steps to the Altar’s throne room and did not stop until they burst through
its sturdy plastic polymer doors.
The room was a study in
damnable Venusian flowers. Although not as concentrated as the
chamber Glyneth had been locked in, the white puffy plants still dominated the
area.
“Hell on Earth!” Will
wrinkled his face. “Looks like a cotton plantation in here! Hotter ‘n hell, too.” He wiped his forehead on his uniform
sleeve.
The heat urged them on.
Seeing Nadira prone on a divan, Lucas and Hawke rushed over to the woman. With
her eyes closed, she appeared frail, sickly. She gave no sign of having heard
them enter.
Hawke spoke first. “This is
Captain Hawke. I come for the woman I entrusted to your care. Where is
she?”
As she looked up at them, a
tremble enveloped her slim form. “I’m dying.” She sighed, as gently as a breeze
rustles leaves in a tree.
There was no reason not to
believe her. Lucas knelt, then picked up her hand.
“Nadira, are you certain? I will send for medical help. Let me--”
“No.” She propped herself up
on her elbow. “Allah says it is my time. I... I cannot complain--I have lived
longer than most, here at the Altar.”
Hawke’s nostrils flared. His
voice blasted through the eerie quiet of the room. “Enough of
this! Where is the redheaded villager?”
Lucas regarded his
second-in-command, and more important, his friend. Was it possible Russell Hawke
had developed some affection for free-spirited Sylvie?
Nadira moaned. She threaded
her fingers through her hair, rocking back and forth and holding the top of her
head as if to prevent it from exploding. “The voices!
They come. They come. They never stop.” She raised tortured eyes to Lucas,
pleading, “Make them stop!”
Her entreaty had no effect
on Hawke. He was merciless. “Where is Sylvie?”
Nadira slumped back. “Behind the throne... a secret door. Take her... away from
here. Far away... far...” Her eyes, so full of pain, closed for the last
time.
Lucas felt her pulse. “She
is gone.”
And so was Hawke--gone to investigate the throne and the
secret door. As Lucas and Will left to join the Captain, Will nudged Lucas in
the ribs. “He’s sweet on her, I tell ya. Hard to believe, but he’s got it
bad!”
Lucas withheld his comment.
He knew the feeling, what with Glyneth so recently out of danger. Hawke stormed
ahead, breaking down the door. A moment later, he reemerged, carrying a coughing
Sylvie in his arms.
“H--Heavens! I could hardly breathe in
there.” She fluttered sandy lashes up at Hawke. “Thank you, Russell. You saved
me.”
With his dark skin, it was
difficult to see a mottled blush rise on his cheeks, but Lucas spotted it,
nonetheless. Instead of replying, the man just grunted. He did not, however,
release his precious bundle.
Lucas barked his orders.
“Captain, you go on ahead and bring Sylvie to her sister. Lieutenant, you come
with me. We are evacuating the Altar. The Jefferson Compound will house all
these women until we can get rid of every last one of these damnable
plants.”
Will vigorously nodded his
head. “Yeah, I’ve had a belly full of ‘em, that’s for sure. But, hell, why the
Compound, Luke? We’ll be awash in females!”
As Lucas yanked a flower out
of its pot, he arched his eyebrow. “And that is a bad
thing?”
Muttering, Will darted a
long suffering look at the departing Hawke. “Women!
Nothin’ but trouble.”
Lucas laughed, swatted his
friend on the head, then continued pulling the “weeds”
out of the Altar’s garden.
~ *
~
::Armageddon! Without rhyme nor
reason, Armageddon was happening now! The forces of good and evil unexpectedly
clashed in a brutal, deadly confrontation. Casualties lay gasping,
dying--everywhere.
Evil was winning. This
apocalypse overrode everything good, noble, and true. Screams too high to be
audible to these inferior lifeforms reverberated out into the stratosphere.
“Help us, Mother Venus! Help us!”
But there could be no
outside help. The Colony was isolated, here on this inhospitable planet. One by
one, each member in the enclosed area fell victim to
monstrous acts. Violently separating soil from stems, heartlessly tearing life
support from roots--these creatures did not stop. Death inevitably followed. The
slaughter, the mass destruction defied description.
The usual defenses against
such an attack proved ineffective. These attackers were male. No matter how high
the concentration of thought patterns, the beings were not susceptible to the
Colony’s commands. The lifeforms raged on and on---uncontrollable! The Elatus
Albus venusium members were doomed.
In addition, the volume of
the annihilation grew so intense, it paralyzed fellow
Venusian growths stationed outside this brick and mortar structure so no fault
lines deep within the planet could be opened to disrupt this atrocity.
Powerless! How could the children of Mother Venus be so
powerless?
But this was only one
battle. The numbers remaining in the Colony still rang high. They would regroup,
strategize, then destroy!
And weep. As one, the puffy,
white plants bowed their heads, immersed in grief.::
Eleven
Of all the twists and turns
that life could dish out, this was one Glyneth never dreamed of--Canusa wanted
to marry her. Oh, sweet Christmas!
Opening the chamber doors to
the terrace, she stepped outside, sat on a small bench, and sank her face into
her hands. She was through crying, but an overwhelming despair swept through
her. And why not? Recent events were overwhelming. Staring out at
Columont’s picture-perfect beauty, she struggled to find a way out of her
predicament.
Wait! Perfect--that was it! Canusa thought her
perfect. That she would produce perfect children. He had no idea she was a
mutant.
Yes, tainted by radiation!
Surely he wouldn’t wish his heirs to risk being defective. She reached down to
the hem of her skirt to remove her journal to record this new idea. Writing in
her little book was almost as good as confiding in a trusted friend. But a voice
called up through the ornamental leaves of a nearby elm tree, interrupting
her.
“Glyneth? Is that
you?”
Glyneth leaned over the
terrace’s solid railing to see Major Brice Adams’ dark head. At the unwelcome
sight, she sighed. “Yes, Major
As he pointed his long cigar
at her, a plume of smoke drifted up from its lit end. “Shouldn’t you be at the
Altar?”
Interrogation never agreed
with her. “A change in plans. Shouldn’t you be with
your military unit?”
“Still feisty, I see.” His
lips widened into a smirk. “Truth is, I am visiting
Althea. She is lonely. Seems the new Lord Jefferson does not
have time for her.” He winced, then rubbed his
neck. “I am getting a crick looking up at you. Why don’t you come down and we
will talk.”
About to say no, Glyneth
changed her mind. She could lay the groundwork here, showing just how different
she was. If
The elm tree provided shade
from the glare of the late afternoon sun. She joined
“It’s so lovely out,” she
said as she hugged her knees. Mother Nature agreed with her. Instead of alarm
bells relaying disharmony and danger, a soothing peace blanketed the garden,
almost as if trusting all would soon be well.
Glyneth widened the distance
separating them. “Your sister should be here, enjoying the scenery with
us.”
His laugh had a cruel sound
to it. “Prickly, aren’t you, my buttercup?” He laid his hand on her arm to
prevent her from rising. “No, do not go. I will behave. Althea is more of an
indoor girl. Does not care much for
shrubs.”
His clammy touch evoked
unpleasant feelings, which was what she wanted so she didn’t remove his hand.
Soon her special talent would turn her face as crisp as his pungent
cigar.
“Listen, Glyneth.” He slid
his smooth fingers up and down her arm. “I, er, spoke to Canusa about you. I
know we have only known each other a short while, but you and I, well, we would
be good for each other.” As he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, the smell of
his tobacco encircled her.
She jumped back. “You talked
to Canusa about me? What did he say?”
The man’s narrow eyes grew
even narrower. “He is concerned about you making an eligible alliance. And, er,
he agrees I am the best suitor you could pick. As an
Alberdak. She nibbled on her
fingernail. Such an odd word. It recalled land masses
from the Golden Era. Something to do with...”
“What?”
“
Gracious, holy Lord.
Canusa! No wonder that word
had sounded familiar. The great lands of
“What is wrong, Glyneth? You
look as white as the moon.”
“I just realized something.”
She positively tingled with excitement. Columont combined the Canadian British
Columbia with the American Montana. Of course! These two countries united to
preserve some knowledge from the Golden Era.
She bobbed her head, causing
her hair to dance around her face.
“And you are pleased?” He
whistled long and low. “Well, who would have thought that? But, then again, it
just shows how sensible you are, Glyneth. Will you marry--”
“Sensible? What do you
mean?”
He grinned again and licked
his lips. “Only that whatever ill feelings you had about your father, you
obviously set them aside. As Canusa’s daughter, all doors are open to
you.”
Strangely enough, at his
news, Glyneth felt coolly detached. It was almost as if she was separated from
her body, watching herself open her eyes wide, seeing her hand fly to her mouth,
and experiencing numbness spreading from her toes up her legs. “Canusa is my
father,” this automaton of Glyneth murmured.
“That is right,”
“Um.” Words failed her. “Um, I
need to take a rest now. If you’ll excuse me.” Walking
quickly, Glyneth fled the garden to return upstairs to her bedchamber. Still in
shock, she moved like a spinning top might, just as it ran out of
power.
She fell back onto the bed,
too stunned for tears to flow. Canusa was her father? Her
despicable, depraved father? Responsible for raping her
mother? And in the end, guilty for her mother’s
death?
How foolish she’d been for
thinking he wanted to wed her himself. Goose! After all, he kept calling her “my
child.” He’d been concerned about her making a good marriage, and through that
marriage, ensuring the line of Canusa.
She hated him. Hated him! What she needed to do right
now was to enumerate the ways she hated him. Reaching down, she touched the edge
of her skirt to locate her journal. Writing always helped her keep calm. She
tried again, more purposefully, but she couldn’t feel the small
book.
Another paralyzing freeze
descended over her. Dear, holy mother. Her journal was
gone!
~ *
~
“After all this time... it
is true then, I have a daughter.” Alone in the council chamber, Canusa tore off
a ragged hangnail, then stared at the weather-beaten
journal lying on his lap. “A beautiful daughter who not only
defies me, but hates me.”
He flipped through the
yellowed pages to stop on one particularly damning
section.
I shall exact a pound of
flesh from the beast who is my father.
Chilling
words.
Horrifying words. Canusa leaned back in his chair and
massaged the bridge of his nose. What was he to do? How could he right the
unspeakable wrong he had done her?
What was the last thing
she’d said to him? “If I have to thwart
you by using my mother’s method of escape from this terrible place, then that’s
what I’ll do!”
By the great galactic
nebula, no! No! He could not risk that. Obviously Glyneth was as headstrong as
her mother had been.
Her
mother.
A sad smile played upon his lips. Glyneth had the look of her mother, as well.
Tiny, little thing--a warrior in spirit if not in
body. Too bad the woman had escaped from him, that day twenty years ago.
He might have made her his consort. Then he would have known his
daughter.
Which
brought him back to Glyneth. Glyneth, who candidly wrote
in her journal that Lucas Jefferson had become so dear to her.
Glyneth
and Jefferson. A shudder passed through
Canusa’s great frame. As foretold by the ancient oracle, his downfall would come
through them. Perhaps he should ask for some astrological
advice.
Little time passed before
Gaea made her way into the war room. “You called for me, great
Canusa?”
He nodded. “I have a
dilemma.”
“You’ve seen your daughter?
Doesn’t she please you?”
“It is not that.” Canusa
slipped the journal into his pocket and sighed. Suddenly his sins were too heavy
to bear. “She is strong willed, as her mother was. And she has taken a fancy to
Lucas Jefferson.”
The astrologer tilted her
veiled head. “The
“Not to me!” Canusa lashed
out and rose to his feet, causing Gaea to step back, out of harm’s way. But
hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do, so he sat back down. “I have
never mentioned this to anyone. Many years ago, it was foretold to me that my
downfall will come from my own house and the house of
Surprise sounded in her
voice. “I apologize, great Canusa. I never knew about this prophecy. Of course I
was aware of your distrust of young Lucas, but...” She pulled out his natal
chart, something she always had handy. “Allow me to consult the
stars.”
He granted this
request.
She pulled over a chair from
the large table to sit beside him. “I believe I see where the misunderstanding
is. A person’s downfall could be represented by the twelfth house. We’ve already
discussed the twelfth house and Venus, representing your daughter. But I
interpret things differently. Instead of a union between Glyneth and Lord
Jefferson signaling your downfall, I see a successful legacy, as shown by Venus;
in a favorable position to Jupiter or success; in the eighth house of
legacy.”
Canusa fingered his
mustache. “Can this be? After all this time, my worries have been for
naught?”
Gaea spread out her hands.
“You needn’t be anxious about Lord Jefferson.”
“Hmmn.” Canusa would make up his
own mind on that score. “Well, that does not concern me at the moment. It is
Glyneth. I am privy to some of her writings. She... loathes me, or rather her
father.”
Gaea murmured her
sympathies.
His voice dropped. “That is
not all. For some reason, Glyneth thinks she is a mutant.”
“How
so?”
Not able to keep still, he
jumped up and paced the large room. “Nothing visible, I assure you. She writes
about hearing the Earth speak, having a healing power, and her complexion
changing like a chameleon--strange
things like that.”
“The dear
child.”
Gaea’s sigh came deep from within her. “It’s so challenging when one feels she’s
different. Those traits don’t make a mutant. Indeed, I have them as
well.”
“You do?” Canusa stared at
the woman. Although he had known the astrologer for many years, in truth he
hardly knew her at all. She did seem
to have a soothing, healing presence. But how could he spot her skin changing
color if she always wore a veil? And as for the Earth
speaking...
By the vast nebula above, he
shuddered just thinking about it.
“Great
Canusa.”
Gaea also stood and lifted her arm to rest her hand upon his shoulder. “As the
stars revealed during the last War Council, we’re in a time of turbulence. We
must expect rebellion and upheaval, but in the end, if a proper course is
followed, success is a certainty. Not only do these words apply to the larger
picture, but also to one’s private life. If you’re guided by this
recommendation, you’ll have success with your daughter.”
As soothing as the
astrologer’s hand was on his shoulder, he wished to be alone. Signaling for her
to depart, he then sat back down to rethink her words. This time however, her
advice failed to comfort him--for the
question was, what the devil was the proper course?
~ *
~
Just as Will predicted, by
nightfall the Jefferson Compound now was teeming with fainting females. As he
delivered the last kewpie doll over to Trinio, Will snorted. Done! Finally! He’d
had a belly full of wobbly women. Hell’s bells, he’d had enough of women,
period.
Gazing over his spectacles
at Will, Trinio asked, “Are you certain this is the last one,
boy?”
“Boy?” Will saw red. Ho, he saw scarlet and crimson, too. He was in
no mood for Trinio’s silly banter. “Listen, ya sorry excuse for a steward. I
still might cut yer chicken throat.”
Trinio sniffed. “As if you could.” He then took the hapless Altar girl’s arm
to lead her to her new quarters.
With all these women around,
no one was in a good mood. But Will wanted the last word. “And if ya see any
o’those Venusian plants, be sure to pull them out,
Trinio.”
Will shook his head. He was
a soldier; his job was war. But war against flowers?
Jeez! What was the world coming to? Maybe he should discuss this with Hawke.
Will yelled down the corridor. “Hey, wait a minute. Where’s Captain
Hawke?”
The steward shouted back at
him. “The Captain is in the garden.”
“Fine. Thanks.” The garden? By all the stars, why would Hawke be there? Will
stomped back outside, traipsing through leafy shrubs and prickly hedges,
unmindful of any damage to the greenery.
Rounding the corner of the
main house, he stopped dead at what he saw. Hawke was there, all right, sitting
in one of those flimsy lawn chairs. Next to him sat Sylvie Paddock, holding the
big man’s hand.
Hell’s bells! Every muscle
in Will’s body twitched in alarm. When Sylvie reached over to touch the
warrior’s scarred cheek, Will had to forcibly hold in his
dismay.
“Russell, your skin is so
smooth,” he heard her say, “so imbued with your own special burnished glow. How
did you get this savage cut?”
Ho! Will
couldn’t trust his own self control so he covered his mouth with his
hands. Hiding behind a large blue spruce tree, he then watched as Hawke--his revered mentor--glowed, all right. Glowed darkly red as he blushed. This was more than a soldier
could stomach!
Hawke rumbled his response,
but Will had seen and heard enough. Silently, he made his departure, leaving the
two lovebirds alone. Who could’ve guessed an old warrior like Hawke would
succumb to a female’s pretty face?
At loose ends, Will wandered
to the front of the great Compound. There he spotted Luke walking to the
entrance. “Luke! Hell’s bells, am I glad to see ya. Ya’ll never believe what I
just saw. Hawke--”
“My
apologies, Will.” Luke ran his hand over his
dirty blonde hair, then straightened the points on his
shirt collar. “I have some urgent business to attend to.”
Will’s ears perked up.
“Urgent? Can I help?”
The new Lord Jefferson
smiled rather peculiarly. In fact, his expression somewhat resembled the
Captain’s. “No, this is something I must attend to
myself.”
A thundercloud of
comprehension burst inside Will’s skull. “Somethin’ to do with Glyneth, I’ll
wager.”
Luke nodded, his smile
increasing to crinkle the skin around his eyes. He gave a quick wave and entered
the building.
“Hell!” Will spat. Was everyone smelling of April and May around
here? How could a man be a serious warrior if his thoughts were besmirched by
the feminine emotion of love?
Scratching his head over
this dilemma, Will then promptly forgot about it. After all, there was still
work to be done. Over at the command post, a prisoner awaited his
interrogation.
Will rubbed his hands
together. Yep, that Devon Dikeman sure would be one sorry cuss once Will got through questioning him.
With that pleasurable
activity in mind, Will headed for the stable to harness his
horse.
~ *
~
The knock on the door
intruded. “Go away,” Glyneth muttered. In truth, she had no energy to speak
louder.
Again it sounded, louder and
more insistent. She stared at the polished surface of the door, certain her
lackluster gaze mirrored the pain she felt. “Please,” she whispered, willing the
person on the other side to disappear.
Sitting on the floor, she
leaned against the side of her bed, curled over her bent knees in a fetal
position. All her life had been spent curing the sick, helping those in poor
health. Now that she’d been dealt a death blow, who was there to heal the
healer?
The door opened, as she knew
it would. The trespasser on her grief was... Lucas. He looked
magnificent--strong, muscular, and powerful. Another stab of pain lanced through
her. Lucas. Oh, how she longed for him, but he was destined for someone
else.
It only took a second for
him to locate her down on the floor. His piercing, azure eyes then softened, and
he bent down on one knee and took her hand. “Glyneth!
What is wrong?”
“Wrong?” she repeated. “Why,
everything’s wrong.” Faith, this whole mess was a mishmash of wrong. Her vile,
rapist father turned out to be the ruler of this accused land. How could she
avenge herself and her mother against Canusa, the most holy of these people’s
holies? Maybe that was why her mother decided to end her life. When the head of
a nation was corrupt, what hope did anyone have?
He lifted her hand and
briskly rubbed it between his own. “You are colder than ice, Glyneth. And your skin. It is the color of...”
She glanced at the grey
bedspread. “A gathering storm?”
Not replying, he picked her
up and gently laid her down on top of the bed. Smoothing back her hair, he
looked into her eyes. “Tell me what disturbs you. There is nothing amiss,
Glyneth. Not now. You are safe, and Sylvie is here at the Jefferson Compound. As
are all the women previously housed at the Altar of Canusa. I thought it best
for them to stay here until all of those plants were
destroyed.”
His touch was so soothing.
Glyneth closed her eyes to allow his calming presence to wash over her. Although maybe his touch wasn’t exactly calming. Electric
tingles pulsed down her arms, bringing to life emotions that she’d thought were
deadened.
“The Altar is almost rid of
those growths,” he continued. “Once the job is completed, the building will be
fumigated. Canusa is in agreement about that.”
Canusa. She inwardly groaned. How
could she tell Lucas that his revered Canusa was her despoiler
father?
Lucas murmured into her ear.
“I thought this news would be pleasing to you. But here you are again, deepening
your color to smoky grey.”
By all the mysteries on
Earth, that propensity of hers should frighten him. Didn’t he realize her
chameleon trait meant she was a mutant? She gazed up at his strong, square jaw;
his smooth, high forehead; and his bright, clear eyes. Her senses, so heavy with
despair before, now sang with joy at his nearness--drinking in the sight, the masculine
scent of cedar and bayberry, the erotic sound of heightened breathing, and the
giddy feel of firm lips against the shell of her ear. All that was left was to
taste.
Tentatively lifting up, she
kissed his lips to experience every sense. Mmmm, surely there was no harm in
sharing a kiss or two.
Or
three.
“Glyneth.” His mouth was hungry on
hers. Then suddenly, all of him grew hungry for her for he pressed the length of
his body against hers, in ageless, intimate contact. He freely roamed his hands
through her hair, over her arms and waist, then crushed
her tightly against him.
“Glyneth,” his words came
out in heated spurts. “I... I almost lost you today.” He pulled up to gaze at
her, desire hard in his eyes. “I vowed then I would take you back to the
village, but--”
“Lucas,
I--”
“No, let me finish.” He
placed his finger on her throbbing lips. “Perhaps I do not have the right to say
this, but I don’t want you to go.” His breath fanned her cheek. “You have become
very special to me. I have learned from you. All of Columont can learn from
you.”
Before she could speak,
Lucas rolled off her, then sat up. “Kissing you, while
still under contract to another is not honorable, Glyneth. Althea
is--”
“No! You’re the most
honorable man I know.” Glyneth stood, then paced the
room to release the sting of sexual frustration, the taste of him still strong
on her lips. She clenched her hands to drive away this overwhelming ache which
was, by far, more heartbreaking than the knowledge of her father’s identity.
Canusa’s perfidy was in the past; Lucas, with his honeyed kisses, was here,
now.
“Funny, isn’t it? With you
marrying Althea, and Canusa wanting me to wed Major Adams, we’d be brother and
sister-in-law.” Funny wasn’t the word for it. Horrible, tragic, and revolting
were more like it.
“What is this?” Lucas
grabbed her wrist, which stopped her movements. “Brice Adams has offered for
you? This is the will of Canusa?”
Glyneth reached up to touch
his precision crew-cut. It had a porcupine feel, all spiny bristles at the end.
She smiled sadly for there was no way she’d follow the will of Canusa. “Major
Adams mentioned the union had Canusa’s blessing.”
Up close, she saw a tiny
pulsing at Lucas’ temple. His jaw clenched and unclenched as well. As if he had
chameleon powers, his face turned beet red, then abruptly faded back to a
sun-kissed tan. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly against
him. “You belong to me, Glyneth. I stole you, I saved you, and now I claim
you.”
His kiss was savage,
intense, overpowering... and immensely satisfying, but it left her breathless,
wanting more. And yet she warred with herself. She was Canusa’s daughter, but
maybe Lucas wouldn’t care about that. He would, however, care about her being
tainted by radiation. She had to have
been tainted by radiation, after all, how else could she talk to the
Earth?
But what should she do about
Lucas? Sweet Christmas, what should she do?
She must’ve blasted her
question out into the airwaves, for an answer, straight from the Earth, filtered
into her consciousness. “Love one another.” The message pulsed sweetly through
her. “Love heals. Love creates.”
Yes. Glyneth nodded at this
ancient wisdom. Perhaps she shouldn’t think about anything other than Lucas.
Smiling at him, she ran her fingers up his arm, over his biceps to playfully
fondle his earlobe. “I claim you, too. What about Althea?”
He cupped her face in his
hands and kissed the tip of her nose. “Some contracts were made to be broken.
But not ours, Glyneth. This I pledge to you.” Again, he
kissed her, searing her through to her soul.
They fell back on the bed,
urgency fueling their actions. Their mouths fused, she felt his heart hammering
against her, even as her own pounded against him. When he slid his hands over
her breasts, feeling the sensitive swells, peaking her
nipples, she gasped.
“Glyneth, I would please you
more.” He removed his shirt, revealing hard muscles and curly dark hairs. “If you will let me.”
As she ran her fingers over
the firm planes of his abdomen, up to caress his masculine chest, he caught his
breath. She smiled again. This was right, so right. “Yes, Lucas. I want you,
too.”
One by one, each item of
clothing lay crumpled in a heap on the floor until they were bare, pressed
against each other, skin to skin.
“Although I had no right to,
I dreamed of this, my Glyneth.” He trailed his lips down her neck, along her
collarbones, to kiss her full breasts. “You are so
beautiful.”
Sensations too wonderful to
name throbbed through her body. Whatever concerns she had before, were now gone.
Mating with Lucas was right.
His kisses grew more
demanding, more greedy, more wanting. As did hers. She nipped at his skin and rhythmically rubbed
her hips against his. “Love me, Lucas.”
He was eager to comply.
Easing himself into her, he gently thrust until her maidenhead gave way. With
his head arched back, he crowed, “You are mine!”
And so she was. Entangled in
each other, they fulfilled their wildest dreams while losing themselves in
burning desires.
Twelve
::Sometimes, grim, cold facts had to be faced. The Elatus
Albus venusium were losing. In this savage, inhospitable climate, mobile
lifeforms had an undeniable advantage. Which they
used--ruthlessly.
The solid structure that had
housed so many of the Venusian growths, now lay almost
barren of these jewels. The female of Earth’s dominant species upon whom the
Colony depended, had been transported elsewhere, away from the plants’
influence. True, thousands remained in soggy fields surrounding this area, but
these members were under attack--systematically and brutally yanked from their
ground support. Although some of the enemy succumbed to carbon dioxide
poisoning, the mission, as a whole, was doomed to
fail.
However, now that each plant
realized the severity of the situation, they were no longer paralyzed. It would
take some time--a commodity in short supply--but there was one last thing they
could do.
Hope for success was
microscopic--as microscopic and as rare as water molecules on Mother Venus. This
last ditch effort might prove to be disastrous for them as well as those
inferior beings infesting this planet. But that was not
important.
As one, the remaining army
of Elatus Albus venusium proudly straightened their stalks. For the glory of
Venus, they would go down fighting!::
~ *
~
The new day dawned,
strengthened by the light of the rising sun. Lucas’ purpose was strengthened as
well. He eased away from his beloved, still curled in the mists of sleep. Not
wishing to awaken her, he gave her a gentle kiss upon her cheek and was rewarded
with a slight smile even as she snuggled further into the arms of
Morpheus.
His
beloved.
Who could have foretold, that he, a soldier, could have passions other than war?
That in only three days time, his life had changed
forever? That in Glyneth’s warm embrace, he forgot the tragedy of his father’s
death, his duty to the State, and his obligation to
Althea?
Quickly dressing, he
stumbled as he put on his boots. By thunder, Gaea had known; she had told Lord
Trudeau about some sort of prophecy. About believing Lucas would unite the old
ways with the new.
He glanced down at Glyneth,
her dark hair contrasting against the pillow while her white lock lay curved
behind her ear. Even in her sleep she was modest. Her beauty unfairly hidden by
the sheet securely tucked around her breasts, he feasted his gaze upon her bare
shoulders and one slim arm exposed to the morning air.
Did she have mystical powers
as Gaea seemed to believe? If Glyneth did, then surely she had cast a spell on
him. Desire stirred within him again. She was his, and
his alone.
But she would awaken to an
empty bed and wonder where he was. Last night he had not mentioned his plan to
see Canusa. Indeed, she blanched at the mere mention of the man’s name. And no
wonder, if Canusa intended her to wed Brice Adams.
However, Lucas could no longer delay in confronting Canusa. The older man had no
fondness for Lucas, nor would he take kindly to him marrying his
daughter.
With a sweep of his hand,
Lucas brushed back his hair, preparing to depart. Canusa would have to deal with
his loss, for Lucas would battle... to the death if need be, to secure what was
his. By all the planets above, he prayed it would not come to that, for to
subdue the enemy without fighting was the epitome of
skill.
Lucas twisted off the silver
ring so recently belonging to his father. He placed it in Glyneth’s open palm,
then closed her fingers around it. In such a short
period of time, she had given him so much. The ring was but a token of his love,
his commitment.
Entering the corridor, he
closed the door to her bedchamber as well as the softer emotions within his
breast. It was time to deal with Canusa. With long strides, he trod down the
hallway to saddle his horse.
As was usual, Canusa
sequestered himself away from life, sitting alone at the war room conference
table. Lucas walked in, invading the man’s privacy. Hunched over, Canusa had the
look of defeat etched upon his heavy features. Even his mustache seemed to
droop.
The sound of the door
closing forced Canusa to attention. His dark gaze hardened, obviously in
response to Lucas intruding. “I did not give you permission to enter,” the man
barked.
“True enough, noble Canusa.”
Lucas inclined his head. “However, as I could not find your aide to request
admittance, I believe my purpose is best served by coming directly to
you.”
The older man narrowed his
eyes. “And what is your purpose?”
Lucas took a deep breath.
Warriors never hesitated. “I seek your consent to marry your daughter,
sir.”
So now the truth was out on
the table. A flicker of surprise quickly passed over Canusa’s face. “You are...
aware of the connection between Glyneth and myself?”
“Yes,
sir.”
There was no need to go into details about how Lucas learned this information.
With Hawke under Lucas’ command, Canusa could figure it
out.
Whether he did... or not
could not be discerned from his impassive expression. “What are Glyneth’s
feelings for you?”
“You have her journal, noble
Canusa. Surely she has mentioned me in her writings?”
“Er, yes. I suppose she
jotted down something.” He got to his feet, then walked
to where Lucas stood. As thoroughly as a senior officer inspected his troops,
Canusa eyed Lucas, up and down appraisingly. “Does she know I am her
father?”
Lucas pondered the question.
Glancing around the empty war room, he stalled for time as he shifted through
the conflicting bits of information on whether she was aware of Canusa’s
identity. “To be truthful, sir, I do not know. Last night, she was distraught.
She told me you wanted her to marry Brice Adams, and yet I felt there was
something else troubling her. Something she did not tell
me.”
“
“I am relieved to hear you
say that, sir.” Lucas relaxed his military stance and clasped his hands behind
his back.
Canusa smoothed down the
bristles of his mustache, all the while regarding Lucas. The man’s powerful
brain was deeply engaged. But the question was, with what?
“You have long been under
contract to the incomparable Althea, Lord Jefferson. A warrior is obliged to
honor his commitments. Is the fact that Glyneth is my daughter a factor in your
abrupt switch of affection?”
Thundering Jupiter! Jagged
anger pulsed through Lucas’ veins. His muscles tightened in response, ready to
charge into combat. Which was, of course, an inappropriate
reaction. “Noble Canusa.” He spoke slowly to
contain his emotion. “While I admit my fondness for your daughter is of short
duration, it is also true I had already lost my heart to her before I knew her
circumstances.”
“Hmmn.” Canusa eased down into a
chair and gestured for Lucas to follow suit. “How do you propose to sever the
connection with Althea?”
A
softening in the man’s position? Lucas sat across the table,
then leaned closer to Canusa, holding his gaze. “I mean
no affront to Althea or the
“The question is, Lucas, will Lord Adams understand?”
Lucas blinked. He could not
help his reaction to the shock of Canusa using his first name. “I will journey
tomorrow to Alberdak and inform Lord Adams in person.”
A brief smile lifted the
edges of Canusa’s lips, hidden as the top one was by his walrus mustache. “You
must be in love. Lord Adams is here
in Columont, to attend your father’s funeral... tomorrow.”
Embarrassment scorched
Lucas’ cheeks. How could he have forgotten? He looked away, certain his face
flushed red. “Yes, of course. I... I shall tell him
today.”
Canusa’s change of heart was
puzzling, to say the very least. He even had an avuncular gleam in his chestnut
eyes. “Very well then. I give you permission to marry
Glyneth on one condition.”
“Gladly,
sir.”
“Perhaps
not so gladly, Lucas.” Canusa’s voice trembled.
“You have not heard the condition. It is this--you must transform my daughter’s
hatred of me into love.”
By thunder and all the
planets above! Lucas parted his lips to speak, but stopped to swallow his
surprise instead. While Canusa’s sentiments did him justice, Lucas was all too
aware of Glyneth’s thoughts. What Canusa asked, was, in a word,
impossible.
Clearing his throat, Lucas
met the man’s gaze. “That is not an unreasonable request,
sir.”
Canusa held out his hand.
They sealed the agreement with a shake. “Maybe not, however, I fear you will not
be successful.”
Lucas stood, eager to prove
the man wrong. “I am a warrior of Canusa, sir. Failure is not
acceptable.”
Canusa barked out his laugh.
“To be young and foolish! Go now. Inform the
Once out in the cool,
alabaster corridor, Lucas scratched his head over this wild turn of events. How
was he to accomplish changing Glyneth’s opinion of a man she had long considered
a villain? Canusa had been a villain;
that much was true. And he deserved to be punished. But how this would be
achieved, Lucas had no idea.
Sighing, he focused on his
next step, for a soldier could only take one step at a time. He pulled off what
he had set out to do with Canusa, now the next stage was with Lord Adams and
Althea.
No problem there. However,
the final part of this puzzle lay with convincing his beloved Glyneth.
Remembering last night’s activities, he smiled. Glyneth would be reasonable; she
had to be reasonable. After all, it was in everyone’s best interest to put the
past behind them.
Lucas did something warriors
seldom did. Superstitiously, he crossed his fingers, hoping for good
luck.
~ *
~
As Brice whistled a bawdy
tune, he dragged a comb through his thick, dark hair. He donned his uniform,
inspected his image in the mirror, then gave himself a
wink. Damn it, but he was handsome! Yes, he was pleased, and why shouldn’t he
be? Yesterday, things had gone much better than planned. Glyneth, thankfully,
was agreeable to marrying him, plus she held no grudge against Canusa. That news
would tickle the old man silly.
Things were looking up. And
taking Canusa’s daughter to wife would ensure Brice’s succession as the next
Canusa. He rubbed his hands together. First, he would visit the old man--
Someone in a concealing cape
had the audacity to burst into his room. By Jove, it was a female! Women were
not allowed in the Senior Officer Quarters. As a major, Brice was not allowed
either, however he roomed there as Lord Adams’ son and heir. So who--?
“Brice! I am ruined! I shall
be exposed!” Althea threw back the hood hiding her hair and ran to him, her face
wet with weak tears. “Oh, what should I do?”
“For starters, stay away
from my uniform.” He removed her hands from his sleeve, then brushed away offending wrinkles in the fabric. “Now,
tell me, what in Hades are you doing here and why do you think you will be
ruined?”
Her lower lip protruded in
an unflattering pout. “Father sent for me. I thought it was to talk about my
upcoming marriage.” She sniffed. “Instead, I find out Lucas is... is backing
out!”
“What?”
“Yes.” His sister’s nostrils
flared, most likely with the very anger that now flared within Brice. “Can you
believe it? He said he was committed to someone else. And
after all this time. After me waiting so very long...” She placed her
hand on her stomach and flashed red rimmed eyes at him. “Brice, I got so tired
of waiting. I know I am supposed to delay everything until I make an
advantageous marriage, but I wanted motherhood so bad, that I, well, you
know.”
Rage, blindingly red, choked
his throat. That bastard! That bastard had the hots for Glyneth. He shoved his
sister into a chair, then stomped out his fury without
obstruction. “So
Althea cowered and her weak
mouth trembled. “No.”
Sniveling
idiot.
“Who plowed you? Who is the father?”
“Please don’t be angry with
me, Brice. One thing just led to another.” She hung her head. “It was Sergeant
Eisenberg. I--I do like him--”
“You whore! This led to
this, and to this!” As Brice spoke, he pulled her to her feet, roughly grabbed
her abundant breasts, then reached down to paw at her
feminine mound through the material of her dress.
“Bitch!” He threw her away from him
and she fell on the floor.
To her credit, she didn’t
cry out, but only bit her lip as she stared at him with those pale, creepy
eyes.
“Wait.” He had an idea.
A brilliant idea to make use of his sister’s disgrace.
“Lucas Jefferson is the father to your whelp.”
“No, Brice, I told you, it
is--”
“
“But Lucas and I never
mated.”
Brice sighed. Althea was a
bit dense. “It is your word against his. He partook of your favors, and now
wants to discard you to marry Canusa’s daughter. We will not allow him to get
away with this, right?”
Althea slowly stood. “Canusa
has a daughter?”
He nodded. “The beauteous Glyneth.”
“Lucas prefers that... that
nobody over me?” Althea’s bosom heaved with righteous
indignation.
“Well, there is no
accounting for tastes.” Brice fondled her heavy melons, then escorted her to the door. “Leave everything to me. All
you have to do is act the part of the jilted lover,
understood?”
“Yes,
Brice. I
need to forget the sergeant, don’t I? Lucas should marry me.” She fluffed out
her unnatural colored hair. “I will make a good wife.”
Whether she would or not was
debatable. Nor was it Brice’s concern. What he had to concentrate on now was to
inform his father of
~ *
~
A thousand melodies played
their sweet refrains within Glyneth’s soul. Stretching out on the bed, she
hummed each and every one, reveling in the glorious feeling still soaring
through her. Love could do that to a person. Turn her world upside down, inside
out. Love. Love for Lucas. In her hand was his ring--a sign of his
love.
But he hadn’t said he loved
her. Claimed her, yes. Pledged
himself to her, yes. But love wasn’t mentioned.
She swept her hair out of
her eyes and studied the smooth, silver ring. It sat heavily on her left index
finger, too large to be comfortable. Maybe he did love her, for the ring had a
special meaning for Lucas. Belonging to his father, it also served as a symbol
of Canusa’s dynasty.
Canusa--her father. She shuddered. Before Lucas
learned the truth about her heritage, she had to confront her
father.
She fisted her left hand so
the ring wouldn’t fall off her finger, then walked to
the window to gaze out at nature’s beauty. The Earth spoke to her, and this
time, peace and harmony flooded her pathways. And no wonder, it was absolutely
lovely outside today. In the distance, majestic, tree-covered mountains filled
the deep azure sky. Closer to the Jefferson Compound, beautiful wild flowers
dotted meadows to the east, while to the west, areas of solid white appeared,
glistening in the sun.
Something niggled her. Wasn’t it too warm for snow? She peered at the
sloping white mass, then focused on a group of people
sprinkled throughout the area. Soldiers. As if pulling
weeds, they tore something from the earth and flung aside the
remains.
Sweet Christmas, it was
those Venusian plants! Glyneth opened the window to have a better view. One by
one, the alien growths ignominiously sailed through the air, no longer part of
the land of the living. Already she felt a change in the atmosphere. This was
why peace and harmony echoed loudly in her ears. The Earth was free--not held captive by outsiders, for the
plants were true outsiders to this
planet.
Instinctively, she also knew
these flowers were in some way responsible for Columont’s women’s lack of
fertility. Faith, it had to be so. And perhaps she hadn’t been affected because
of her innate difference from non-mutant women. Her ability to change skin color
came from her enlarged pineal gland. This gland also produced the hormone
melatonin, which regulated several biological functions including menstrual
cycles. That would be a simple explanation of why village women were more
fertile--before coming to Columont, they had no exposure to Venusian plants. And
with the gas-releasing flowers gone, there’d be no further need to supplement
this region’s population with village women.
So, maybe, her coming to
this land, albeit reluctantly at first, had been a good thing--for everybody.
Hopefully, Lucas thought so.
She smiled and looked down at her bare tummy. Who knew? She might be with child
even now. After all, hadn’t she received the message, love creates?
Turning her back on the
window and those abhorrent plants, Glyneth went into the washroom to get
dressed. With the Earth out of danger, it was time to take care of personal
concerns--like her unresolved issues
with Canusa. What she would say to him, she had no idea. But face him, she must.
No doubt she’d accuse him of all his vile deeds--accuse him with twenty years worth of
passion. And she’d take great pleasure in informing him that he had no part in
her life, not now and certainly not in the future. Contrary to his words when
they last spoke, she was not his, and
she would not do as he
said.
As for ensuring the line of
Canusa, again, she differed with him. Her future children would claim parentage
from the
After checking in the
mirror, Glyneth gave a little nod of approval at her appearance, then rushed out of the bedchamber. Next on
her to-do list--battling with the
revered most holy of holies.
~ *
~
Interrogating Devon Dikeman
had been strangely unsatisfying. Sure, Will learned about the villager’s attack
on Luke and the man’s subsequent shadowing of the bride-quest team into
Columont. But what drove Dikeman was
love.
As Will left the detention
center, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Again, it was that unstable emotion
love turning a man into mush, impairing coherent thoughts and causing irrational
deeds.
Hawke, Luke, and now Dikeman
suffered in this ignominious fashion. And Dikeman had made a fool out of himself
over Glyneth. True, she did seem to be a superior woman, but hey, she belonged
to Luke now. Didn’t the fellow understand that?
A beefy sergeant approached
Will and saluted. “Lieutenant, hallowed Canusa desires to speak with Lord
Jefferson. Do you know his location?”
Whether it was the soldier’s
tone or the snap in the man’s salute that warned him something was up, Will
didn’t know. Hell, it could’ve been the shape of his bushy beard. Whatever. Will narrowed his eyes, returned the salute, and
lied. “I’m going to Lord Jefferson now, Sergeant. I’ll inform
him.”
Eisenberg, for that was the
name on the uniform shirt, did an antsy dance. “But sir, my orders were to
escort--”
“Unnecessary,
Sergeant.” Will withheld his grin. By
the stars, if he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was Hawke speaking, and
not Will Flagg! “You may assure noble Canusa that Lord Jefferson will attend
shortly.”
The warrior had no choice
but to acquiesce, salute, and be on his way, leaving Will to scratch his chin.
What the hell was that all about?
No time to bother about it,
though. Where was Luke? Inspiration hit. Most likely he was checking on
arrangements for tomorrow’s funeral and change of command. Speeding over to the
command post, Will stood outside the window and spotted Luke pouring over some papers. Will reared up on tiptoes and waved
his arms to catch his friend’s attention.
Surprise widened Luke’s
eyes, then he nodded and went outside to join Will. “By
thunder, you resemble a blasted jack-in-the-box out here, flapping your arms
like a thousand bees were after you.”
Will scowled. After all, who
appreciated being told he looked like a simpleton? “Aw hell,
Luke. Somethin’s goin’ on. Sergeant Eisenberg came for ya, sayin’ Canusa
wants yer lousy butt. I tell ya, my antennas went up all right ‘n tight. What’s
the deal?”
Luke shook his head. “Odd. I
just spoke with Canusa, and we reached an agreement, or so I thought.” He
straightened the points on his collar. “I better go to him and find out what
this is all about. You stay here.”
“But
Luke.”
Will fell into step beside his friend. “I don’t have a
good feelin’ about this. Maybe I should go with ya?”
“No.” A world of
determination was spoken in that one syllable. Lucas Jefferson wouldn’t be
swayed. Will knew better than to try.
“Well, you just watch yer
butt, then.” He stared at Luke’s back as the Major strode down the road toward
Canusa’s headquarters. Something mighty strange was in the wind, but by all the
stars in the universe, Will had no idea of what exactly it
was.
Thirteen
While it was true Lucas had
just seen Canusa this morning in the war room, it might as well have been weeks
that had passed, so changed was the atmosphere. Hostility and ill will hung
heavily in the air. Sitting along one side of the table with precision steel in
their glare were Canusa, Lords Adams and Trudeau, and Brice Adams. In a corner, by herself, sat the astrologer Gaea, draped with a
black veil, as always. Since Lucas had but recently spoken with Lord
Adams, there could be no other possible explanation for this conference except
the termination of the betrothal ties.
“Lord Jefferson,” Canusa
broke the quiet. “You may sit.”
Trying to figure out what
was going on, Lucas took his place across from the
group. Canusa, who had been almost amiable when Lucas had left him, blazed
thunder from his dark eyes. Lord Adams, who had accepted the news of Lucas’
change of affection with regret, now sat with anger tightening his fleshy jowls.
Lord Trudeau appeared less sickly than two days ago, however a red flush spread
like ink over his sunken cheeks. Brice Adams, of course, was as satanically
handsome as ever. Wickedness fairly radiated from his entire
form.
Canusa pulled on the edges
of his mustache. “Lord Adams has made an accusation against you, Lord
Jefferson.” He gestured to the man on his right, then
nodded to the man on his left. “For balance, I asked Lord Trudeau to join
us.”
“I see.” Lucas glanced at
his father’s friend for encouragement but the man’s tense mouth revealed the
seriousness of the charge. “What am I being accused of?”
“You have dishonored my
daughter.” Lord Adams issued the statement as a hiss of
condemnation.
Lucas spread out his hands.
“I do not understand--”
Brice Adams jumped to his
feet and pointed at him. “Althea is with child. Your child. And now you say you
will not marry her.”
“That is impossible!”
Whatever vague ideas Lucas had for the reason of this inquisition, none remotely
resembled the charge. “Lord Adams, I have never touched Althea in that way. Not
even to kiss.”
Major Adams folded his arms
across his chest and smirked. “That is not what my sister tells
us.”
Still reeling, Lucas shook
his head. “Noble sirs, I am now one of the ten sons of Canusa. My honor, my
integrity has been called into question. I do not know why Althea would
lie.”
Canusa gestured toward
Lucas’ hand. “Yes, you are one of the ten sons. However, where is your
ring?”
Lord Trudeau leaned across
the table for an unobstructed look. “I gifted your father’s ring to you just two
days ago.”
The heat of embarrassment
steamed Lucas’ face. “I, er, I cannot deny I gave the ring to young
Glyneth.”
Brice’s smirk grew deeper.
“Do you see, my lords? This womanizing bastard broke Althea’s heart and now has
shifted his attention to Glyneth, Canusa’s daughter.”
This news came as no
surprise to anyone in the room, for Lord Trudeau had surmised Glyneth’s true
identity, and Lord Adams already knew since Lucas had informed the man earlier.
Canusa said nothing, but continued to stroke his mustache.
“Great Canusa, if I may
interrupt?” The astrologer gracefully moved to Lucas’ side. “Why don’t you
request Althea’s presence? Only she can clear up this serious
situation.”
The most
holy of holies steepled his fingers. “Yes, you are right, as
always, Gaea.” Speaking into the electronic device, he gave the order for Althea
Adams to his assistant, then turned to Lord Adams. “We
shall await your daughter’s arrival before we go any
farther.”
But they did not wait in
silence. The war room buzzed with questions to Canusa about Glyneth and her
being Canusa’s offspring. The leader revealed some information, but no mention
was made of a rape.
While the lords talked,
Lucas observed Brice Adams. How did the Major know about Glyneth’s identity? Did
his father mention the fact or did the man find out from some other source?
Feeling a twinge of pain in his left upper arm, Lucas massaged the spot, then suddenly stopped. What if Brice had been the one who
attacked him around the campfire? Minutes before, Hawke had divulged the truth
about the long-ago quest, and both he and Hawke believed they were being
watched. Brice could have overheard the conversation, plus he was cowardly
enough to use the cover of darkness for his infamy. But to intend to kill a
fellow officer! That was an outrage, indeed.
A military aide entered the
room and saluted smartly. “Hallowed Canusa, sirs, I bring disturbing news. Lord
Adams, your daughter Althea is no longer in her quarters. She has been seen on
horseback heading south.” The soldier’s voice then trembled. “Sirs, she was in
the company of platoon sergeant Eisenberg.”
“What?” Brice’s exclamation
was louder than his father’s. “Why, that bit--” His eyes narrowed to mere slits.
“Sergeant Eisenberg, eh? Isn’t he under your command,
Lord Jefferson?”
Which
implied that Lucas had something to do with the flight from
Columont. In response to this new
“attack,” his lips tightened. “Yes, as is every soldier in ‘C’ Company. Until tomorrow, at any rate.”
Lord Adams pushed away from
the table, stood, then walked over to the window. “Noble Canusa,” he said with
his back to the group, “I believe your aide can be
dismissed.”
“Yes, of course.” Canusa
nodded to the man, who promptly left the room.
Lord Adams turned, sadness
heavily engraved on his doughy face. “My Althea is a weak girl, noble Canusa. I
knew of her trysts with the sergeant, and yet when Brice told me about Lord
Jefferson, I believed that was so, to my dishonor.” The man appeared to age
right before their eyes. “I apologize, Lord Jefferson.”
Then Lord Adams took a deep
breath. “Brice, you are no longer my son.”
Horror distorted the Major’s
classic features. “No! You cannot mean that, Father. I--I had nothing to do with
this.”
A good man did not wish to
see others suffer discomfort. But Brice Adams was finally getting his due. A
warrior must take full responsibility for his actions.
“I have turned a blind eye
to your evil ways, Brice. But I shall not do that any longer.” Lord Adams walked
to the table and placed his hand over his heart. “Noble Canusa, I formally
request for my middle son, Benjamin, to be listed as my
heir.”
Canusa gravely nodded. “As you wish, Lord Adams. I also will order a team to return
your daughter to you. We cannot afford to lose any of our women, especially
those who are breeders. Do you wish retribution against the
sergeant?”
“No, noble Canusa,” Lord
Adams answered. “We will all suffer enough with my family’s
disgrace.”
Lord Trudeau murmured his
assent. “That would be for the best.”
Brice had wisely kept silent
during this exchange. His father was a man not to be diverted from his
duty.
Canusa raked his gaze over
the shamed former
Brice bit his lip. “As you will it, noble Canusa.”
“You are dismissed. Report to the command post with your
orders.”
Lieutenant Adams took one
last look at his father, but the older man refused to meet his son’s gaze. After
saluting, Brice left, a man defeated by his own sins.
An awkward silence settled
over the war room’s remaining occupants. Lord Adams cleared his throat, then apologized again for doubting Lucas. “Once Althea is
returned to me, I shall leave immediately for Alberdak. My son Benjamin must
receive more extensive training for his new role.” He inclined his head. “Noble
Canusa, Lord Jefferson, Lord Trudeau, until we meet
again.”
After Lord Adams left,
Canusa loudly exhaled, no doubt releasing pent-up tension. “By the vast nebula
above, this has been a damned peculiar day!”
“Indeed, that is so.” Lord
Trudeau arched his back and rubbed some obviously sore muscles. “I, for one, am
glad the Major is no longer in our company. Plus, your
extraordinary news, Canusa. Glyneth is a rare jewel, beyond compare.
Luke, you are a fortunate man.”
Lucas had no trouble
agreeing.
“Yes,” Lord Trudeau
continued, “do you know that only yesterday, she ran those magic hands of hers
over the air around me, and bless my soul, if I don’t feel a thousand times
better. Energy medicine, she called it.”
A soft rustle of fabric came
from the corner where Gaea sat. Surely the mention of unorthodox healing methods
was not disturbing to her?
Canusa gazed at his
astrologer with a question in his eyes.
Lord Trudeau inclined his
head, preparing to depart. “Glyneth even warned me to stay away from those white
plants, too. And this was before she was trapped inside the Altar. Intelligent lass!” He pounded Lucas on the back as a sign of
approval. “You and Canusa have much to discuss, I am sure. I look forward to the
wedding.”
With a wave of his hand,
Lord Trudeau left the room.
Canusa turned his attention
to Lucas. “It is premature to speak of wedding plans until you accomplish a
certain task I assigned you.”
Marriage. Marriage
to Glyneth. As his heart swelled with love, Lucas sighed. “Yes, noble
Canusa, I am aware of that.” With Brice Adams out of the way, there were no
further impediments to claiming Glyneth as his very own, except for the fact he
had to convince her to welcome Canusa into her life.
And that might prove to be
more difficult than he had previously imagined.
~ *
~
It was difficult to retain
the anger in one’s soul in the face of overwhelming kindness. Outside doors that
housed her villain of a father, Glyneth stood, captured by Lord Trudeau and his
sentiments of gratitude.
Sandwiching her hand between
his, he smiled with genuine pleasure. “I must thank you again for all you have
done for me. Egad! Can you believe it? I am no longer followed by
undertakers!”
Embarrassed, she removed her
hand. “It’s nothing, sir. I’m so glad you’re feeling
better.”
“Columont is indeed
fortunate to have you as one of its daughters, Glyneth. I look forward to the
day when you and Luke... well, never mind. I ramble.” He curved his arm around
her waist, then opened the door into the war room. “You
must be seeking young
Lord Trudeau knew about her
father? She rapidly blinked. And Lucas was speaking to Canusa? Did he also know?
Oh, sweet Christmas, she couldn’t go in now.
But it was too late. Lord
Trudeau escorted her inside, then left her in the
middle of the room. The man had no idea how hard she wished the floor would open
up and swallow her.
There sat Lucas, her
beloved. As she gazed upon his handsome features, a warm flush of desire pulsed
through her. Truly, he was the most magnificent of men. However, seated across
from him was the most despicable of
men. Tightening her fists, which caused Lucas’ ring to
cruelly bite into the palm of her hand, she faced the
enemy.
“Glyneth,” the hated man
said. “Lucas and I were just talking about you.”
They both rose, inviting her
to sit. Naturally, she sat next to Lucas.
“My child,” Canusa said, “to
what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
She couldn’t help shuddering
at his words. How dare he call her his child?
“Are you chilled, Glyneth?”
Lucas ran his fingers over her upper arm. “Your gown must not be warm enough. I
shall have a shawl brought to you.”
A woman, who Glyneth hadn’t
noticed before, left her position in the corner of the room and handed him a
woolen wrap. “Please, use mine.” Dressed from head to toe in black gauzy
material, she bowed, then returned to her
chair.
Lucas draped the shawl over
Glyneth’s shoulders and smiled into her eyes.
“This is my astrologer,
Glyneth.” Canusa interrupted Glyneth’s bliss. “Would you like her to construct a
chart for you?”
“No, thank you.” The time
for pleasantries was over. Inhaling deeply, she flipped a lock of hair over her
shoulder. “Canusa, I need to speak with you, alone.”
“Glyneth.” By Lucas’ tone, she knew he
admonished her for her bad manners.
A rush of tears quickly
burned her eyes. Forcing this sign of weakness to disappear, she hardened her
resolve. “I ask for privacy, Lucas. This matter only concerns Canusa and
me.”
“That’s where you are wrong,
my dear.” The astrologer’s low voice drifted over to Glyneth, and for some
strange reason, even with the shawl warming her, the hair on her arms stood at
attention.
Lucas nodded at the woman.
“Of course. I am involved in this,
too.”
“Yes, that’s true,” the
woman continued. “But perhaps in a different way than you
expected.”
Again, another shiver rocked
through Glyneth. The astrologer’s voice sounded so...
familiar.
Canusa
steepled his fingers. “I grow tired of riddles.
It is time to speak plainly, Gaea.”
As if a thunderbolt suddenly
struck Glyneth, she jolted up to a fiercely erect position. “Gaea?” she
breathed. Gaea had been Mamma’s pet name for herself, Térèse being her given
name. Gaea meant goddess of the Earth. As Mamma had considered herself as a
steward entrusted to take care of the Earth, it seemed an appropriate
nickname.
“Yes, my own one. I am
here!” The woman removed her shimmering black veil and discarded it on the
table.
“Mamma!” Glyneth scrambled out of
her chair to enfold her mother in the biggest bear hug ever. “Mamma! You’re alive!” Tears flooded her eyes; this time, she
allowed them to spill out with abandon. She sprinkled kisses, long denied, over
her mother’s dearly loved features.
“Glyneth,
my sweet. How I longed for this day.”
Mamma returned each hug, each kiss, with her perfumed fragrance of freshly
plucked honeysuckle. Pulling away for a brief second, she cupped Glyneth’s face
in her hands and gazed dotingly at her. “You’ve blossomed into a beauty,
Glyneth, as I knew you would.”
Tight as glue, Glyneth
embraced her mother, savoring the very feel of her. A thousand questions
surfaced, yet no sounds except quiet sobs seemed to get past Glyneth’s
lips.
Lucas and Canusa were patient, allowing them to reunite without interruption.
But the men had their questions, too. Especially
Canusa.
And he wouldn’t be
postponed; he demanded his due. “Women, sit. Gaea, you have much explaining to
do.” After they both complied, he stared at Mamma as if memorizing her features.
“Yes, I clearly see now the young vixen of twenty years
past.”
A subtle blush covered his
cheeks. He must’ve been thinking of his dishonorable act.
“Why didn’t you tell me,
Gaea? When you arrived here ten years ago, why didn’t you let me know we had a
daughter?” Canusa wasn’t through with his barrage. “Why did you pretend to be
dead? How did you become my astrologer?”
Watching her parents,
Glyneth absorbed every single detail. Surprisingly, no animosity shone forth
from Mamma. In fact, she must’ve internally made her peace with the man years
ago.
Lucas slipped his hand into
Glyneth’s, maybe to give her comfort. She smiled at him, then returned her attention to the gripping scene in front of
her.
The years had been kind to
Mamma. She looked more like thirty instead of forty. Her dark hair, lightly
laced with silver, fell in soft waves about her thin face. Her eyes,
mysteriously dark green, flashed at Canusa and Glyneth, keeping them both under
observation. “As to how I became your astrologer, Canusa, surely you remember
that. Soon after I was abducted, your old advisor died and you searched for a
replacement. Since I have some talent in reading the heavens, I decided I
preferred to serve you in that capacity, rather than serve as a hostess of your
Altar.”
Glyneth bit her lip. Serve
as a prostitute, Mamma meant.
Canusa’s flush deepened.
“All this time.” He shook his
head.
Mamma nodded. “Yes, Térèse
from the village died and Gaea took her place as your
astrologer.”
“But why didn’t you tell
me?” Canusa repeated.
Her gaze on Glyneth, she
answered his question. “I’ve served you long and well, great Canusa. I’ve also
given you something no other woman has been able to do--an heir. While there
are ten ‘sons’ of Canusa, there’s only one daughter. She is destined to
fulfill the scriptures.”
Lucas gave Glyneth’s hand a
squeeze. “I begin to understand now. After I left the village, I heard them
chant, ‘Then the land shall be as one again, uniting the
old ways with the new.’” He then addressed Mamma. “Lord Trudeau told me you
showed him a book containing a prophecy about a savior who would unite the old
ways with the new. This man would steal a woman with mystical powers to help him
carry out his destiny. You told Lord Trudeau you thought that man was
me.”
“That is so.” Mamma bowed
her head. “Glyneth, please believe me, although I wanted nothing more than to
return to you, it was my duty to stay here in Columont, paving the way for your
arrival. It is written in the stars.”
Canusa must not have liked
what he was hearing for he bellowed out his displeasure. “By
the great galactic nebula! What is this uniting of the old ways? And what
are you saying? That Glyneth has mystical powers?”
“No, I don’t have mystical
powers.” Glyneth had to interrupt. “Listen to me, please. I have to tell you
this. You see, I’m, um, I’m a mutant.”
She expected everyone to
turn away in disgust, but oddly enough, all three of them
smiled.
“My child,” Canusa said
kindly, “I have read your journal. Your mother assures me that you are not
tainted by radiation. Indeed, she also has the same abilities as
you.”
“Really?” Glyneth sat up, eager to
hear the confirmation with her own ears. How many nights had she cried herself
to sleep wishing she was the same as everyone else?
“Really.” Mamma corroborated Canusa’s
words. “Your grandmother, and many greats down the line, also had been blessed
in this fashion. But no one had these abilities to your
degree.”
Lucas leaned toward Glyneth
and murmured, “So it is true. You bewitched me!”
She grinned at him, but
wouldn’t be swayed. “Mamma, this can’t be. I have an enlarged pineal gland which
is responsible for my skin changes. There’s nothing mystical about that, at any
rate.”
“True. However you also
identified the Venusian plants as our enemy. In all my time here, while I felt
the Earth’s unease, I couldn’t isolate the source. Perhaps the presence of those
flowers was another reason I didn’t want to stay at the Altar.” She smiled
proudly. “Glyneth, you have saved Columont’s women.”
This was too much. Too much to take in. Hating her father, finding her mother
alive, learning she wasn’t a mutant, being part of a prophecy... all this, on
top of consummating her love for Lucas.
Glyneth rubbed her temples.
A headache the size of the moon pounded through her. She had to concentrate on
what was truly important. Her mother was here--alive and well. Lucas didn’t seem
to mind if she was a mutant or not. Her father, well, maybe he wasn’t the
world’s most evil man. If her mother had learned to forgive him, then perhaps,
Glyneth could learn to do the same--in time.
She stood. “If you all don’t
mind, I think I’d like to retire to my room for a while. Mamma, could you come
with me? There’s so much to catch up on.”
Tall and beautiful, Mamma
also stood. “I would love to. Great Canusa, Lord Jefferson, if you would excuse
us--”
A rumble, deep and powerful,
came from within the ground under the war room. In response, the building shook,
causing Glyneth to lose her balance. Gracious, holy Lord! It was an
earthquake!
Fourteen
::As one, the Elatus Albus venusium army gasped its last gasp.
Willing their root systems to create faults deep in the ground, the plants then
straightened their stalks for this final campaign. At first, the vibrations were
mild, causing only minor slippages in the Earth’s crust. However, through
concentrated resolve, the shockwaves grew to an acceptable size. It mattered not
if Colony members plunged to their doom in the huge fissures now forming. What
was important was the destruction of those puny lifeforms who so dastardly
ruined any chance of redeeming this frigid planet.
For the glory of Venus!::
~ *
~
Disasters have been known to
strike suddenly... without warning. What was happening this moment followed that
pattern--this time it was an earthquake. Lucas herded everyone in the complex
outside in case the walls around them crumbled. In sadness and amazement, they
viewed areas of land that had been heavy with the white blooms of Venusian
flowers now collapsing upon itself, as if the ground
had abruptly turned into quicksand. For one full minute all military members
stood, taking in the horror of the scene in front of them. The next minute,
Lucas grabbed Glyneth and Gaea--the
only women in the group--by the arm
to escort them back inside. “Quick! Go to the shelter in the basement. The walls
are fortified.”
“But Lucas,” Glyneth
protested, “I want to help--”
“I will be obeyed in this.
There is no time.” He turned to the older man. “Noble Canusa, you must protect
yourself as well.”
“No.” Canusa moved as a man
half his age. He opened the door and gestured for Gaea and Glyneth to enter.
“You both must be safe. The future of our great land depends on
you.”
Glyneth was mulish. Her
jutted lower lip told Lucas she would not do as she was told. Canusa held up a
hand to silence Lucas’ lecture to her, then he gripped her by both shoulders. “I
understand you... resent me, Glyneth. I have wronged you and your mother. But
you must believe me, I want you out of harm’s way.
Not only for your own good, but for the good of all people in
this country.”
Glyneth cast an anguished
glance at Lucas and Gaea. “I don’t know what to do!”
Precious seconds ticked
away. Lucas itched to be off so he could fight the enemy... any way he could.
Even if all he could do was yank each plant stalk from the dirt. “Listen to
Canusa, Glyneth. And listen to me.”
“Yes,” Canusa agreed,
“listen to your future husband.” A rolling tremor shifted rock beneath them,
indicating the need for action. “Perhaps you can help by using those mystical
powers of yours, hmmm?” He gave a casual salute to Gaea, which seemed to suggest
that she was now in charge of Glyneth’s safety.
As the door closed, Lucas
held Glyneth’s gaze for an instant, sending silent messages of love. His
beloved’s brown eyes grew as wide as saucers with concern, and he had to
forcibly tear himself away.
Canusa by his side, they
both jogged to the disintegrating site, darting in between and around newly
formed crevices. “A leader must be on the frontline of battle, Lucas. That is
important for you to learn if you are to be the next
Canusa.”
By thunder, taking on the
mantle of Canusa was the furthest thing on his mind. But Lucas did appreciate
Canusa’s sentiments... and his physical presence. After meeting up with troops
now rescuing fallen comrades trapped in smoky, narrow fissures, Lucas surveyed
the ruined landscape. Hell and damnation! There were still thousands of those
accursed plants thriving in the soil. How else could they defeat the enemy other
than uprooting them one by one?
~ *
~
Glyneth and Mamma made their
way to the shelter below ground. Every now and then, a booming rumble vibrated
the walls causing dust particles to spew down on them, but other than that, they
were safe.
“Mamma, I know those hateful
plants are behind this! They tried to kill me once on the journey to Columont,
by doing this very same thing. But here, there are thousands of them. How can we
possibly stop them?”
Her forehead furrowed in
thought, Mamma sat on the ground in a cross legged position. She inhaled deeply,
but then coughed, due to the dirt specks in the air. “Maybe Canusa has the right
of it. Maybe you can use your talents to find a solution.”
The only one of her
“talents” that might be of any use in this situation was hearing the Earth
speak. Glyneth sat next to her mother, held her hand, then concentrated on images of the Venus flower. What were
its weaknesses? How could it be defeated?
She shivered. Yes! That was
it. Sweet Christmas, she just received an answer! “Mamma, those plants can’t
tolerate the cold. After all, Venus is about ten times hotter than Earth. Each
stalk has a warm, furry covering. Maybe that’s a type of insulation to protect
it from our cooler weather. If somehow we can drop the
temperature...”
Mamma squeezed her hand.
“Ask the Earth. We’ll ask together. Remember, people from the Golden Era used to
pray for rain. Our request will be for a paralyzing freeze. Indeed, it is late
October. Before the Great Destruction, it wasn’t uncommon for snow to fall in
this region. We might have a chance for success, with those plants now damaged
by the quakes.”
Hope lifted Glyneth’s
spirits. “Yes! We do have a chance.
We must!” She tugged on her mother’s arm. “Come. Let’s go outside where we have
no barriers to obstruct our communication.”
Mamma hesitated, obviously
reluctant to leave the security of solid walls, but then smiled and led the way
outside the shelter. The land still shook and the air was filled with cries from
people trapped by debris.
“Quickly.” Ignoring the danger,
Glyneth sank to the ground to sit and bowed her head to focus. Her entire being
radiated the need for cold in whatever form the Earth chose to supply. Also
urgent was the need to have this cold delivered without delay. Fast, faster, fastest! Please, please oh
good Earth!
The winds suddenly shifted.
From the southwest, this sharpening of wind became stronger and whipped their
loose hair into a frenzy.
“Look, Mamma! Look, it’s coming.”
A thick, ominous roll of fog
moved rapidly toward them. In the distance, rain, flashes of lightening, and
growls of thunder pressed forward. A sudden chill in the air lifted goose-bumps
on Glyneth’s arms. Temperatures were dropping!
“You did it, my own one.” As
Mamma hugged her, they both jumped up and down in the freezing
rain.
“Our Earth did it! And now
we’ll finally be rid of this alien heat.” Glyneth shivered again, but this time
it was due to frosty weather. “Let’s go help the
rescuers.”
Soaked to the bone, they
held each other’s hands and headed through the mud toward Lucas and Canusa up
ahead. The only rumblings now heard were those thunders coming from above them.
No further grumbles from below disturbed the Earth. Once all the white Venusian
flowers were eliminated, that would never happen again.
~ *
~
For the second time today,
Glyneth sat at the great oak conference table in the war room. This time though,
there were no vacant chairs. The ten sons plus additional officers sat or stood
around the table. Will Flagg and Russell Hawke were in the crowd, as was Sylvie,
with a beatific smile on her face as she elbowed her way next to the
captain.
Everyone had been given time
to clean up after the earthquake. Lucas, on Glyneth’s right, had to have medical
attention, as well. The edges of a jagged cut to his temple had been stitched
together with black thread. She burned to place her hands on the wound to help
it heal, but would have to squelch her sentiments until they were alone.
Warriors didn’t appreciate any reminders that they weren’t
invincible.
As if he knew she was
thinking about him, he slid his hand over to hers under the table, and gripped
it tightly.
She smiled at him, then lowered her gaze to her lap.
Canusa pounded on the table
once, to gather everyone’s attention. “I have called this meeting for several
reasons. The first is to issue thanks for those who helped citizens trapped by
the sudden earthquake to our province. I am pleased to report there are no
fatalities, and only a few people required medical
treatment.”
A low murmur circled the
room, perhaps relief that no one had died.
“Secondly,” Canusa
continued, “all remaining plants that we call Venusian flowers will be
destroyed, whether in homes or growing wild on our lands. We are arranging for
storage tanks containing liquid nitrogen to be delivered to the area. Spraying
this extremely cold, deadly liquid over the plants will ensure complete
destruction. The operation will commence at daybreak.”
Again, a buzz filled the war
room, this time it was of approval.
Canusa cleared his throat,
signaling his desire to go on. “For those of you not in attendance at the last
council, we discussed waging war against villagers to the south. At that time,
Lord Jefferson proposed an unusual solution to our dilemma--incorporation rather than
destruction.”
Surprised, Glyneth glanced
over at Lucas. Had he really recommended that? His squeeze to her hand confirmed
it. And Mamma, seated to her left, imperceptibly nodded her head. So it was
true! Glyneth squeezed his hand back. Her heart swelled not only with love, but
with pride.
Canusa smoothed down his
bushy mustache before speaking again. “I have given this matter much thought.
And I agree with Lord Jefferson--”
An uproar among the warriors
interrupted. But Canusa wouldn’t be deterred. “Yes,” he raised his voice. “As my
astrologer predicted, we have suffered through a time of turbulence, we have had
upheaval, rebellion, and proceeded in the shadow of death. I am now ready to
follow a proper course. I propose we unite the old ways with the
new.”
The scriptures! The
scriptures were to be fulfilled. Bursting with pleasure, Glyneth felt her
jubilation shining forth from her head to her toes. Faith, she probably glowed
the color of the radiant sun.
A cacophony of sounds piled
high atop each other. Everyone’s movements fueled their neighbors’ actions, and
the room seemed to swirl in a
frenzy.
“Order! Order, I say.” As Canusa
hammered his fist on the table, the resounding thud reverberated through the
assemblage. “To continue, the proper course for this reunification is for Lord
Lucas Jefferson, representing the new, to wed, my daughter Glyneth, representing
the old.”
If the chamber was noisy
before, now absolute quiet blanketed everyone. An “o” of astonishment rounded
Sylvie’s lips. Will Flagg also flapped his mouth open,
staring at Glyneth, then Canusa. Obviously they hadn’t known about her father’s
identity. But Russell Hawke must have, for he stood impassively, while Lord
Trudeau gave her a wink.
Then, as a wave breaks upon
the shore, questions surged forth, all asking about Canusa’s
daughter.
Canusa held up his hands.
“The hows and the whys are not important.” Oddly enough, he caught Russell
Hawke’s gaze and held it. “Suffice it to say, Glyneth’s mother is sitting beside
her--my astrologer,
Gaea.”
Even Russell Hawke reacted
at that news. Tears filled Glyneth’s eyes as she watched her mother smile from
the heart. How wonderful it was to know Mamma again. To have
her here, by her side, and feel her comforting
presence.
Lucas ran his hand over his
precision cut hair and sighed. “By thunder, I believe you have dropped enough
bombshells for today, noble Canusa. I move we adjourn our meeting, so that I may
properly propose to your daughter.”
Canusa shifted his dark gaze
onto Glyneth. “So be it. May I be the first to offer best wishes?” He leaned
across the table to shake her hand.
An unexpected flash of
sympathy for this man overpowered her, weakening her knees. By no means did she
condone his previous actions, but instead, she pitied him. He had lost a
precious opportunity, one he could never experience. He would never know the
joys of fatherhood. For that loss, he was a poorer man.
She glanced at her mother,
sending a silent message of what she planned to do. Mamma slightly smiled and
nodded her understanding. Glyneth stood, then walked
over to Canusa. After taking a deep breath, she gave him a brief hug. “I thank
you for your wishes, Father.”
From his expression, she
couldn’t have given him anything more valuable. His eyes glistened with
moisture, and he looked down, adjourning the meeting.
Lucas moved quickly to
spirit her away from the inevitable questions bound to be asked. “I do not wish
to share you with anyone right now.” Once outside, he unhitched his great horse,
helped her on top of its broad back, then also mounted.
Curving his arm around her waist, he whispered in her ear, “This brings back
pleasant memories, does it not?”
She grinned her reply, safe and secure in his
embrace.
“You are to be commended for
many things, my Glyneth. But perhaps the most difficult thing was what you just
did for Canusa. I thank you for accepting him.”
The horse galloped past the
area of destruction, on toward the Jefferson Compound. She stayed silent, lost
in her own thoughts. “Do you think he and my mother will... start seeing each
other?”
“Other
than as leader and astrologer, no. I do not. Truly, Glyneth,
you have a tender heart!” Lucas chuckled. “Perhaps this will satisfy your desire
for romance. I believe I spotted a certain twinkle in Lord Trudeau’s eye as he
observed Gaea from across the table.”
“Really?” Glyneth pictured the two of
them together. Yes, they would make a good match. “He’s a nice man. I don’t want
my mother to be alone anymore.”
“Nor do I wish for you to be
alone.” Lucas trailed kisses down her neck, causing all sorts of havoc in her
veins. “And I hope this satisfies your more personal desire for
romance!”
“Sweet
Christmas, yes! I can hardly wait until we
get to the Compound.”
He suddenly stopped his
horse. “Then we should not. Wait, that is.” Helping her down, he held her
tightly, loving her under the dying light of sun-streaked
skies.
Coming up for air, she had
to giggle. “But Lucas, what if someone passes this way?”
He scooped her up and
carried her to a copse of small trees and bushes a short distance away from the
road. “We shall have privacy now, my love. Besides, my stallion is trained to
bare his massive teeth should anyone disturb us.”
Pulling him down on top of
her and kissing him as only a future wife could, she delighted in the most
pleasurable of activities.
Afterwards, chilly October
air rushed over their naked bodies to create mile-high goose-bumps on every inch
of exposed skin. Lucas reached for his pants. “I propose we put our clothes on,
for in truth, if we do not we will surely catch cold.”
Glyneth folded her arms
across her chest and gave a pretend frown. “Is that what you propose? Tush, I
expected a proposal of marriage!”
Grabbing her gown, he then
helped her into it. “There. Now I can propose properly, without undue...
distractions.” He knelt on one knee. “Glyneth, would you do me the supreme honor
of becoming my wife?”
As they returned to the
horse, the imp of mischief spurred her on. “Well, I don’t know. You still
haven’t shown me Columont’s libraries bursting with Golden Era knowledge. Are
you aware that ‘Canusa’ is a combination of the old countries
He snorted. “Quiet, woman!” Lifting her up, he eased her over the great
horse’s back. “While the present and past are important, all I care about is
uniting with you, you irresistible witch!”
Glyneth’s lungs weren’t
large enough to contain her sigh of contentment. She took his hand and slid
Canusa’s ring on his finger. “Then I say, yes, Lucas, for always and forever.
With this ring, I thee wed.”
Although kissing astride a
horse wasn’t the easiest thing to do, somehow they
managed!
Meet Susanne Marie
Knight
Susanne Marie Knight works
as a writer for a nationally syndicated fitness program shown on public
television. Multi-published with books, short stories, and articles, she
specializes in “Romance Writing With A Twist.” In
addition to Alien Heat, she also has The Reluctant Landlord, a
Regency with Wings ePress Inc. Her other Regencies include 2003 EPPIE
finalist The Magic Token and five-star time-travel Lord Darver’s Match, both with LionHearted Publishing; and
another five-star time-travel, Timeless Deception, with Novel-Books, Inc. For
science fiction enthusiasts, she has 2003 EPPIE finalist Janus Is A Two-Headed
God with Awe-Struck Ebooks; plus 2003 EPPIE finalist Love At
The Top, a contemporary romance with NovelBooks, Inc.; Tainted Tea For
Two, a romantic murder mystery with Hard Shell Word Factory; and Grave Future, a
paranormal romantic suspense novel with LTDBooks.
Originally from
and received her Master of
Science degree in Natural Health. Sign up for her newsletter, Knight Dreams,
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