Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see...
~Queen
The mist rose from the ground suddenly, without warning. It coiled about her ankles, crept up her legs. She tried to scramble away, go back the way she had come, but it held her fast. Her feet were immobile, glued to the ground. And then the voice began to speak. Cold and menacing, the whisper-thin thread of sound wove through the mist itself. "Ah, Jamethiel..." it sighed. She jerked frantically, trying to free herself. She knew that voice, and it wasn't one she ever wanted to hear again. "Foolish child, what has become of you now? Cringing and groveling, for scraps from your brother's hand..." A dry chuckle. She increased her efforts, but her legs remained bound fast. "You should have taken the Master's offer instead of his hand. Fool girl, do you think there is a better offer from the weaklings you dwell with now, when you could have stood at the Master's side...?"
The whispery voice was interrupted. A newcomer strode in upon the scene, surrounded by a faint blue glow. "Release the girl, Athkinor. She is not for you."
A faint shriek of mingled rage and fear, then the mist dispelled as abruptly as it had come. "And as for you... follow me."
She did, blindly trusting. The glowing figure ducked through a door. She followed, and then
everything was real. No longer glowing, her rescuer bolted the door securely, then turned to face her.
"Tirandys!" Jame yelped, then surprised both of them by hurling herself into his arms for a hug. "I don't understand..."
"Surely that's nothing new for you," he teased, holding her carefully for a moment. Then she pulled away, rather pink around the edges.
"What is happening here? Aren't you... well-"
"Dead?" Tirandys smiled. His face looked younger than she remembered it, and for the first time there was peace in those silver eyes. "Yes, I am- very. But I suppose I'm too much in the habit of watching over you... I couldn't stop."
"So you're a ghost."
"You might call me that."
"What is this place? And how can you be a ghost, when you're so damn solid?" She reached out and grasped his shoulder, certain that it was living flesh and bone beneath her hand. "And who- or what- the hell is Athkinor?"
"The less you remember about Athkinor, the better off you'll be." His eyes hardened, and Jame shivered. This was an eerie experience. Then he smiled again and indicated the room around them. "This place is where I live, if you can call it such. It isn't real."
"Not real?"
"Not at all. It is a corner of the etheric plane, which I have made my own. As for myself, however..." He shrugged. "You perceive me as solid because you are not equipped to deal with me any other way."
She snorted. "You're right about that. And how am I here?" Jame looked about with interest. She had never seen the etheric plane before, whatever that was. But there was nothing much of interest- just an exact replica of the Senetha training room in the Master's House, before it was burned and shattered beyond recognition.
"You are here because I brought you here." He paused, a flicker of emotion crossing his strangely youthful features. "I was unable to finish your education in life. Perhaps I may remedy that situation now."
"You brought me here to teach me?" Jame couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice. "Forgive me, Senethari, but that seems a bit far-fetched."
"Nonetheless, it is truth. There are things you must know, and I am the only one who can teach you."
"In that case..." Jame shrugged and dropped to her knees on the polished wooden floor, hands behind her back and eyes on Tirandys. "I await your wisdom, Senethari."
Jame woke abruptly. Her hand rose to brush her cheek, which tingled with a phantom kiss. /Until next time.../
She sat up, looked at the now-familiar bedchamber of her suite. As usual, she had forgotten to draw the bedcurtains, so sunlight streamed in through the leaded glass panes to pool on the quilt at her feet. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, why she felt like something was missing. Must have been a dream, she decided, then climbed out of the enormous bed with an effort.
She saw her clothing for the day already laid out by some servant. Elegant, but still a dress... and with a mask draped across it in mute reproach. She scowled at it ferociously. Another damned day of all these damned Highborn trying to shove her into their mold for a proper Highborn lady. She made a rude gesture at the offending garments and turned to the window. Pale sunlight sparkled invitingly off the river. The sky was clear for the first time in a week. Defiantly, Jame turned to her standing wardrobe and donned an outfit suited to what she truly wanted to do... take Jorin out for a good long hike. Who knew how long the weather would cooperate? Better to excercise the kitten now.
She slipped through the massive stone keep, moving silently through the passageways in the walls. Tori still didn't know the true extent of the maze within his fortress, and she didn't intend to tell him. She grinned, remembering old Lord Ardeth trying to convince her to play the game of politics. "Knowledge is power, girl!" he'd said. "And you'll have precious little of that. You are a new player on a field of veterans, and you shall need every advantage you can get. Use it!"
She reached a seldom-used back stairway which led into the kitchen. With careful attention to timing, she was able to walk unnoticed through the swarm of bakers as they made a credible efffort to coat every surface in the cavernous kitchen with flour. Safely out the back door, she turned towards the cattery and Jorin.
Ecstatic chirps greeted her arrival. "Poor kitten," Jame crooned, stroking his head. "So lonely here, I know. C'mon, let's go for a walk."
With the golden ounce bounding at her heels, Jame struck out to enjoy the bright, though chilly, autumn day.
"What is it now, Burr?"
Torisen Black Lord, Highlord of the Kencyrath, pressed a hand against his aching forehead and closed his eyes, shuttting out the sight of the latest missive from Karkinor. A new leader had emerged from the chaos surrounding Prince Odalian's death, and he rightly blamed the Kencyrath for the state of his country. Torisen had tried to open negotiations with the man, who was a third cousin to the former prince, but had yet to receive a favorable response. The new Prince demanded a ruinous blood price and the service of the Kendar to rebuild his palace. The whole mess was enough to create a headache of epic proportions.
"Sorry to disturb you, Lord." Burr shuffled his feet uneasily. "There's a small problem with-"
"-my sister," Torisen finished automatically. He looked up in time to see Burr's reluctant nod. "What's she done this time?"
"It's not what she's done, it's where she's at. Or rather, where she isn't- her tutors can't find a trace of her."
"And what exactly am I supposed to do about this?" He stretched backwards, loosening muscles tense from hours of hunching over his desk.
"I have no idea, but they insisted I tell you, and tell you immediately."
"Hmm... that would have been Anton, right?"
Burr nodded, and Tori summoned up a weary grin. Old Anton took learning very seriously, and expected everyone else to do so as well.
"Tell him I'll have a word with her, okay? But not just now."
"I will." Burr looked critically at the Highlord. "You work too hard, Blackie."
"Part of the job," he said lightly, with a smile for his old friend.
"You should rest."
"Later, Burr- I promise. Just let me work on this proposal a bit longer, see if I can't get the new Prince to agree to something other than beggaring the entire Kencyrath."
Burr made a humphing sound. "Good luck," he said sourly. "That one's as bright as a rock, and three times as stubborn."
"How encouraging." Torisen sighed and turned back to his work. Burr hesitated in the doorway for a long moment, then left without another word.
A whisper of sound reached Jame. In her state of heightened awareness, the faint rasp of the opening door was as loud as a shout. She halted the smooth flow of the wind-blowing kantirs and faced the door in time to see a slender white-haired figure slip in.
"I didn't think anyone ever came up here," Jame said quietly. The other jumped and spun around, revealing the shocked face of the healer Kindrie.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was here," he said, then turned to leave.
"You can stay, if you want," Jame said hurriedly. She moved toward one of the rather shabby, but comfortable, wingback chairs in the tower storeroom. Life here at Gothregor was incredibly dull so far, and she longed for someone to talk to. "Have a seat." She waved at the other chairs, shoved haphazardly around the storeroom to leave a bare spot in the center of the floor. She had taken to practicing the Senetha in here, away from prying eyes and would-be tutors. Highborn women never have any fun, she thought for the thousandth time.
Kindrie hestitated, then sat gingerly in a dusty chair. "I came here to get away from..."
Jame nodded understanding. "Me too. They won't let me alone out there. Always there, asking questions, telling me what to do- or not to do, more often." She shuddered. She wished she had never been forced to reveal herself as the Highlord's sister. If not for the powerful psychic attraction of the Kencyrath holding her as surely as a magnet held iron filings, she would have been long gone.
"They question me incessantly as well. Why am I here? Who am I? What can I do? And on and on..." He sighed.
"Yes, well, at least you can walk about without someone shrieking and trying to stuff you into a dress." Jame flexed her claws, thinking of what she'd like to do with those dresses.
Kindrie's eyes focused on them sharply.
"I've never actually seen one of us with claws before," he said, leaning forward in his chair. Jame responded to the unspoken question by fully extending her claws and stretching out her elongated fingers so he could see more clearly.
"They're nothing special, I'm afraid," Jame said apologetically. "More trouble than they're worth, in fact."
"I can see why." Kindrie setlled back into his chair, curiosity satisfied. "I have always been fascinated by the gifts of other Shanir. Ardeth encourages that at every opportunity."
"I can imagine," Jame said, with a wry chuckle. She had rarely met anyone with as much enthusiasm or as many interests as Adric, Lord Ardeth.
"We have a great and terrible history."
"Indeed." An image flashed through Jame's mind- a great hall hung with tattered banners, pelts of Arrin-ken... she shuddered. "I've seen a bit too much of the terrible."
There was an uncomfortable pause. "I was raised in Perimal Darkling," Jame said at length, shifting in her chair. "In the Master's house."
"Oh. Oh, my." Pale eyes blinked in consternation. "I'd imagine you wouldn't want that to be general knowledge."
"You have that right, friend." Even the Arrin-ken, the fairest-minded of the Three People, had had difficulties accepting this little tidbit of her history. She squirmed again. She had more memories than when she had arrived in Tai-tastigon, true, but most of her time in Perimal Darkling was still a blank. Who was she? What had she done? And with who? "What's worse is that I can't remember most of it."
"Why is that?"
"I came out of the Haunted Lands a little over a year ago with the clothes on my back and a pack containing three things- my father's shattered sword, his ring, and the Book Bound In Pale Leather." She shuddered. Beastly thing. "I had no knowledge of where I had been, and very little of who I was. Am. I remembered enough to try to set fire to the bodies of those at the keep where I was born, and to know that I must get to my brother Tori. I never doubted he was alive somewhere, I just had no clue he was now the Highlord of the Kencyrath- not to mention ten years older than me."
Kindrie chuckled at her peevish tone. "That must be a bit of an awkward situation. Our Highlord must be difficult enough as a twin brother, without having him suddenly older."
"You've no idea." Jame stared broodingly at the other Shanir. There was something odd in his manner when he mentioned Tori. "Then again, perhaps you do know a bit of what it's like. After all, it is hardly comfortable being openly Shanir around our Highlord." Yes, there it was again- that flash of longing. Oh my... Ardeth was right. I thought he was exaggerating. Poor Kindrie.
"I wish... oh, I don't know what I wish. It would be nice if your brother were not so vehement in his dislike of our kind."
"He's trying hard." Torisen Black Lord had been put in a decidedly awkward position by her return. Not only was he suddenly saddled with a wild thief of an unexpectedly younger sister, but he also had to deal with her obvious Shanir heritage. Add that to the political maneuverings of the Lords, who had reacted eagerly to this new player in their game of power, and it was a perfect recipe for strained relationship between Jame and her brother.
"Yes. Still... ah, no matter. Haven't you an ounce?"
"That I do," Jame smiled broadly. "His name's Jorin. The little scamp is out with Marc, doing heaven only knows what."
"Marc? That would be the big Kendar you traveled with?"
"Yes." While no longer as easy as it had once been, their relationship was now more certain. They had begun to adjust to her new status.
"Was he truly the one responsible for what happened to the Merikit at Kithorn?"
"He was." Another silence fell. Jame regarded her companion curiously. "Lord Adric took you on, didn't he? I still don't understand how all that works."
"All what?"
"The relationships between lords and their people and all these contracts..." She snorted, reminded of the fine Lord Caineron delicately feeling for the ground with an elegantly booted foot, all the while trying to convince her how wonderfully beneficial a marriage contract with him would be.
Kindrie patiently attempted to explain the complicated workings of the Highborn political structure. Somewhat to her surprise, Jame was able to understand his explanation far more easily than that of the tutor assigned to her.
Torisen sat alone in his room. The hour was late, the keep was quiet. The dark night pressed against the windows, held at bay by the mellow glow of the lamp. The muffled sound of Burr snoring emerged from the adjoining room.
Sleep evaded the Highlord. He was consumed by the need to organize his thoughts.
It was Jame, of course. His sister had struck up a friendship with Kindrie, who remained in Gothregor with Ardeth's retinue. One of them was enough to unsettle him. Both of them together had him constantly on edge. He felt trapped, bound by obligation and love to the two Shanir. Every day was a constant struggle with Ganth's legacy of prejudice. Jame, his twin- younger now, due to some oddity of time in Perimal Darkling, but still a part of him. His darker half, his Shanir twin... he still loved her, even when she drove him to shouting with her obstinate refusal to conform to the mold of Highborn women.
What exactly was it that disturbed him so, anyway? Torisen steepled his fingers and tapped the tips against his lips, staring sightlessly at the blackness. The Shanir were those Highborn in which the old powers manifested. The ability to link minds with animals, to heal, to manipulate energies beyond normal comprehension, a close connection to the dreaded Godhead... Many other traits, many other reasons to hate and fear the Shanir for being different.
Different.
That was it, wasn't it. It wasn't the first Jamethiel's spectacular misuse of her powers, it wasn't the betrayal of the Master. It wasn't even the connection to the Godhead. What bothered him above and beyond Ganth's training was that the Shanir were not normal, predictable, understandable. As a group they were frightening- who knew what they would do? Never mind that he knew that they were as much Kencyr as he. On an individual basis- he could scarcely keep a civil tongue in his head, even with his sister, when around a Shanir. How could he cure himself of that?
Restless now, Torisen rose and pulled the heavy drapes closed on the night. He paced the length of the room slowly, eyes tracing the geometric pattern of the carpeting.
Start with the simple thing. He loved Jame. She was his sister, no matter if she had claws or not. He would be polite to her. He would not allow himself to give in to the savage intolerance he had learned from his father. There had been a time when he could be with his sister without saying anything vicious and cutting. He would do his best- no. He would do it. He would treat her as though she were just another Highborn and not fear her differences any longer.
That left the problem of Kindrie. Torisen halted his pacing and threw himself on his bed. The white haired healer was far more of a problem than his sister. At every turn, Kindrie was there. Never obtrusive, but always willing to help in any way which would put the Highlord under even deeper obligation to him.
Torisen stopped that train of thought immediately. Kindrie did not deliberately seek to put the Highlord under obligation. Things merely happened that way, with the healer in the right place, at the right time, and with the right skills to save the day. And Torisen was grateful, which burned like acid. Grateful to a Shanir. One who had, in fact, put himself in harm's way more than once to help the Highlord.
He flipped over onto his stomach and pounded the mattress. Alright, idiot, you're supposed to be an adult. Quit being irrational. The same argument applies to Kindrie as to Jame- he is Highborn. You should not treat him differently. Never mind that it makes your flesh crawl when he heals himself or another. He is just another Highborn.
There was something more than that, though. The healer affected him far more profoundly than Jame ever could. Just thinking about him now was doing it- his guts felt clenched all in a knot. Yet, not thinking about him did it too. The Shanir had been on his mind far too often of late.
Slowly, Torisen's thoughts ground to a halt. He drifted into a strange dream, in which Kindrie and Jame tried to convince him that he was not only Shanir, but one of the Tyr-ridan.
"Wait a minute, here." Jame stopped, looked around in disbelief. "This is a bit ridiculous!" She concentrated. If he should catch her looking like this... "There, much better." The scenery remained unchanged, but as for her clothing... She smoothed her hands down the tight leather. She had always loved the feel of the shadowdancer costume. She spun, exulting in her freedom. Then she stopped, because he was there.
"Nice." He looked her over appreciatively. She blushed furiously, despite the fact that she had hoped for just that response. "Shall we get out of your dream now? Before we get distracted by the lovely spring day?"
Her blush deepened, but she took the arm he offered. Tirandys led her through the doorway which appeared at his bidding.
Jame followed him into something other than the room she had come to expect. "What do you think?" Jame stumbled over an unexpected footstool.
"It's lovely," she replied inanely, glad of his steadying hold on her arm. The room had taken on the appearance of a parlor, almost obnoxiously ordinary in the surreal setting of the dreamscape.
"I've been experimenting. So, have a seat and tell me of the affairs of the living." He settled into a comfortable chair, silver gaze never wavering from her face.
"Will these people ever understand anything?" Jame threw herself gracelessly on a cushioned settle. "They continue to go on and on about proper behavior, meaning that they expect me to sit in the corner and keep my mouth shut, while their society crumbles around their ears. Tori is working himself half to death, trying to keep these lords from each other's throats. At least he's given over trying to make me behave."
"You always were stronger willed than he." Tirandys smiled. "And what of Jorin? How has he adjusted?"
"Rather well, given that he's been moved to the cattery. Tori wouldn't have minded, but the housekeeper went into hysterics at the thought of an ounce in my room." She grinned. That had actually been an amusing sight.
"They are all oblivious to the danger..." Tirandys shook his head sadly. "The plots continue, Jamie. It is all I can do sometimes to keep you safe."
Jame swallowed. "From what, Senethari?"
"Oh, the usual. Many of the darkling creatures work upon this plane of existence regularly. They do their best to affect the living in every manner possible, but there are ways to protect someone at this level as well."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. I won't have you destroyed now, by some shadow-crawling darkling- not after all that's happened." Another of those impenetrable looks, while Jame wondered yet again why Tirandys was so obsessed with her safety. But then, did she really want to know? Perhaps not. "Perhaps we'd best get to work. You have much yet to learn."
"Yes, Senethari," she responded, rising to follow him into the training room.
Jame returned to consciousness slowly, stretching with a sensuous enjoyment. She had had one of those dreams again, the kind she could never remember but which always left her smiling and at peace. Perhaps life wasn't so bad, after all. Now if only her inner peace could help her deal with her brother...
He'd cornered her today about avoiding her lessons. "I promised to talk to you about it," he'd said, eyes crinkling with humor, "but I didn't promise to make you attend your lessons. Where is it you escape to, anyways?"
She had shown him the tower sanctuary. He had been amazed at the privacy- apparently Tori had never been in his own storerooms, and so did not know that nobody would disturb the room high at the top of an unused tower. She had managed to persuade him to spar with her for a bit, testing her knowledge of the Senethar. More and more was returning to her, if only in muscle memory.
She rolled over and cracked an eye open. The sky outside her window was black as pitch, with a waning crescent moon barely visible through a high haze. Jame smiled, then persuaded her sleepy body to rise long enough to close the bedcurtains. No dawn rising for her today!