Forbidden: Chapter Six- Nightly Visitations and Healing Past Hurts
By: Ëlen Lístë Aldá
And so, on the appointed date, Nefra opened the secret door that led to the desert.
'It would seem Thoth denies us this brilliance and Nuit shall remain dark but for the stars dotting her inky mantle of deep blue,' she mused silently to herself.
She gave a ladylike sniff. "Now I am waxing poetic," she muttered to herself.
Out of the corner of her right eye, she detected a shadow darker than the others detach itself from its fellows and move silently in her direction. She automatically reached for her weapon, but upon recognizing the gait, she relaxed her muscles. However, she kept her hand within easy reach of her sai—old habits died hard.
"So you weren't bluffing in an attempt to keep me from killing you," he called out to her in a cocky tone of voice.
His superior attitude grated on her nerves. "I highly doubt you could even nick me," she thrust with deadly accuracy.
"What did you just say!" he viciously ground out.
"You heard me. If you deny it, then let us go to a secure locale and prove it."
And so he tried. And tried…..and tried, but to no avail. Each and every time, she didn't even need to draw her weapons. Rather, she used her hands—deciding he needed a lesson in humility.
"Now you know an unarmed woman can defeat you and land you on your backside. How does it feel?" she taunted.
He stood up and dusted himself off. "How do you think it feels!" he snarled, eyes flashing.
"I imagine it doesn't sit too pleasantly for you," she calmly replied. "Now, would you like me to show you how to defeat your opponent and actually learn from it?"
And she did.
For weeks, they trained together, learning each other's moves, and how to counter them.
On one such occasion, she removed her cloak because the material began to impede her movements, but left her lower face covered to partially conceal her identity. In the light of the mock arena, the light bounced off of her hair and created a red halo that encircled the crown of her head. He couldn't quite make out the color of her eyes, but they looked like they were indigo and reflected the fire that burned brightly that was her soul. Her body was lithe; her light bronze skin was a sharp contrast to the white two piece dress she wore.
"Ok, now we get serious. Come at me," she ordered as she took up her stance. "Use your weapon with the intent to fight for your life because, believe me, I will not go easy on you."
When he hesitated, she whipped out her own. "Fight me," she commanded him in a tone of voice that dripped arrogant authority.
Still, he hesitated.
Beginning to become furious, she swung her right sai in a wide arch that would have sliced his belly open had he not backed up.
"So, you refuse to fight me now that I no longer wear my cloak and you can tell that I am a woman even though you knew I am this whole time."
She took his silence as agreement. Her eyes narrowed to dark purple, feline slits in her arrogant face. He almost expected her to spit on him, so great was her fury.
In a fit of rage, she threw down her sai, in the same fashion as she did when she and her brother had trained weeks before, at his feet. When he looked down at the dangerous projectile that was too close to his foot for comfort, she felt he was sufficiently distracted for her to swing her right arm to hit him with the butt of her sai—which was laying flush against the sensitive inner skin of her arm. He blocked the punishing blow in the nick of time and, hooking his leg behind her ankle, forced her down on her back using the momentum she generated for her attack.
Her breath came out in gusts as she tried to calm her heavy breathing once she recovered from having the wind knocked out of her. "Very good. You should always take your opponent seriously. Even a woman can be deadly."
"Point conceded," he grumbled, offering his hand down to her to help her up.
Her silvery laughter sprang forth. "Had you been any slower, that blow would have connected with your face. You have improved greatly," she praised as he helped her up.
At that moment, her stomach felt it had to make itself known. The loud growl caused Nefra's cheeks to warm in an uncomfortable blush. His rich laugh reached down to her, bringing to mind the rich earth under her feet. As if on cue, his own stomach rumbled. It was her turn to laugh at him.
"I didn't bring any food," he sighed.
"I took that into consideration. I brought some food with me. It's in that little pack over there by the wall. You're welcome to it; that is, if you are willing to break bread with me," she offered somewhat hesitantly.
"Of course, my friend," he gravely answered. It was true. He considered this mystery woman—Lilith—a friend.
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The loaf of bread and large chunk of cheese was split evenly between the two and each had a bladder filled with water.
"It was all I could get," she said by way of apology.
He bit into the crusty bread topped with cheese and his eyes widened. After he swallowed it, he said, "The quality of the bread is excellent and I've never tasted this kind of cheese before. This is no beggar's meal."
When she remained silent, he continued. "Another anomaly about you, your clothing, cleanliness, and manner are at odds with a thief. Rather ex-thief. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were from the palace…" he hinted.
The moment was upon her. "Yes, I am."
"Thought so," was all he said around a mouthful of bread. "So what do you do?"
She said the first thing that came to mind. "I am a dancer."
"You're a thief turned dancer?" he asked somewhat incredulous.
She nodded. Well she was. "Life laid me low for a long time…" she quietly said. "Then I realized that I should turn my life around, and after I made enough money to get started, became a dancer for profit. My own mistress," she finished with intensity.
"Dance, Lilith," he said, periwinkle eyes sparkling with intelligence.
"Very well," she sighed. She stood up and walked to stand about ten feet away from him.
"No music?" he drawled.
"I can't sing and dance, fool. And I don't need music. For a true dancer, none is needed. Beat, rhythm, steps, and music all come from here," she explained, pointing to her heart. "If it isn't in your soul, then you are no dancer," she ended with conviction echoing in her very being.
"Very poetic. I believe you. Your story, I mean. I was testing you," he called out to her from his lounging position against the wall. "You passed." He shrugged lazily. "You don't have to dance."
"Tough. Now that I'm up, I will dance. Another thing about true dancers—we take any opportunity we can to dance when the whim strikes." And she did.
Silver watched her dance to music only she could hear and feel. Somehow, she made him feel what she did. She danced beautifully and gracefully with the grace of a gazelle and the brilliant passion worthy of the sun god.
When she eventually drew to a complete halt, he clapped. "Well done! I'm glad you did so—even if it was to make a point to me."
She laughed. "You're right, but I did enjoy it."
She sat back down and swallowed some water. "Soon you won't need me anymore."
"I'm that good, huh?" he joked, trying to dispel the gravity of her simple statement.
She raked him with a scornful gaze and said as coldly haughty as a princess, "Do not get above yourself. My aim was only to provide you with the means to survive on your own."
He scratched the back of his neck, grinning. "You certainly know how to let a man know you aren't interested and put him in his place."
"Silver, I—," she began.
He got up and stretched. "But you do have a point. Soon, we part ways."
"It's late," she said, rising up. "Past time I left."
"Myself as well," he agreed, gathering his things. He waited for her to put her cloak back on. "I'm off. Same time next week?"
"Yes. Until then, get home safely and be careful," she said by way of departing goodbyes.
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As Nefra made her way towards the palace, lightning illuminated the skies and an ear-splitting thunderclap followed closely behind. The rainy season had begun.
Her fleet feet swiftly carried her to the passage that led into the garden. After she silently entered the palace grounds, the sky was lit up again—revealing a huddled figure sitting on a bench. As she stealthily approached, she recognized the figure, but the jagged lightning proved she was right.
'Seto.'
Her hear pounded in a way that had nothing to do with the threatening weather. As she walked toward him, she made no attempt to keep her presence hidden, and her foot shifted on some of the loose gravel—alerting him. He nearly jumped off of the bench.
"It is alright. It is I, Nefra," she calmly called out to him while holding up a placating hand.
He walked up to her somewhat stiffly—clutching something his fist. His uncovered hair was flattened in the breeze and fell forward boyishly. She itched to smooth it back, but clutched her own hands in fists to prevent herself from giving into impulse. "What are you doing here?" he thundered, forgetting entirely to address her formally.
"I could ask you the same," she countered.
Their gazes met and clashed.
At that moment, the sky opened up and the heavens poured down on them. They were instantly drenched. Nefra's mind worked quickly and came up with one possible solution to their immediate crisis.
She grabbed his arm and pulled. "Follow me," she shouted over the rain. She led him past the tree; as she passed it, she sent up a prayer for its safety. Together, they ran against the wind over the gravel and past the flowers now plastered to their beds. Their clothing whipped around their legs, and their cloaks danced wildly behind them—choking them.
Nefra held up her free hand over her eyes to shield them from the pounding rain as she scanned the twisting and groaning garden for the moss-covered wall.
"Where are we going?" Seto yelled into her ear. "If we remain out in this calamity, we are done for!"
She turned to face him. Her hair was plastered to her head and she was thoroughly wet. The sky was rent by another flash of lightning and her features were thrown in relief. The wind pushed her body against his and he had to catch her to prevent them both from being blown away. The lightning struck somewhere nearby and the ensuing thunder was deafening. He covered her ears and pulled her close.
Their hearts thudded as one as they waited for the noise to stop. She pulled away and shouted, "Trust me!"
He stared at her. It felt like forever before he nodded. She briefly smiled at him and turned back to her search. He steadied her as another gale of wind swept past them. She pointed in the direction she wanted to go and grasped his hand. At that moment, the purgatory they were in turned into a brief utopia. He wanted it to go on forever. Unfortunately, he did not have the luxury. He was more than aware of the need for shelter. The storms during the rainy season have been known to take down even the strongest of warriors should they prolong their exposure to such extreme elements.
Nefra pulled him toward the wall and pushed hard at a stone. The wall behind the curtain of vegetation swung away and, before he had time to analyze the situation, they darted in.
The passage was already lit as if in expectation of someone. 'Or some princess,' he thought to himself, piecing it together.
The winding path led them to another wall. She had already mentally called out to Ryske to tell him to trip the switch that released the swinging door.
They had just paused when the door opened—revealing her bathing room. Nefra blithely stepped through, followed by Seto.
Ryske wasted little time in jumping all over her. "Of all the hair-brained, idiotic stunts you've pulled, this Princess is by far the most crack-brained by far!" He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a fierce shake. He then pulled her into a hug so tight, she felt her soul try to leave her.
"Ryske, you great oaf! I cannot breathe!" she gasped.
"Be thankful you are alive to still draw breath," he growled as he released her.
Seto cleared his throat—making himself known. He did not like watching Nefra being hugged and by her bodyguard no less! He admitted to himself it was jealousy.
"My lord High Priest," Ryske said as he courtly bowed. "Don't say yon fair lady embroiled you in anything."
"No, but she did save my life." He turned to bow to her. "You have my eternal gratitude, Princess. If you will excuse me, I beg leave to don dry clothing."
"Of course," she quickly responded, secretly hurt.
As she watched him turn and walk away, she noticed him clutching his arm in a stiff manner as though he was in pain.
"Wait. Please," she added. She quickly walked up to him and paused by his side. She gingerly took his arm in her hand and turned him into the light so she could see it better. A short but deep wound was on his upper arm.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I was hit by debris," he smoothly lied.
"This needs medicinal attention, quickly," she told him.
"It is but a scratch. I can tend to it myself."
When he remained silent and unyielding, she sighed. "If you will not seek help from a medicine man, then I shall tend to your wound."
He looked down at her from his much greater height, startled. She raised her chin in a stubborn and very familiar way. He knew that Look all too well. He knew it so well that it warranted a "L."
"If it pleases you, Highness," he politely—distantly answered. He was very conscious of the feel of her warm hand on his arm.
Her chin rose higher. "It does. Go get into some dry clothing before you catch your death and return here," she ordered, every inch the stubborn princess he knew from so long ago and loved.
"The guards will not be at their posts," Ryske volunteered, watching their discourse and sensing the strain between them. "They are guarding the entrances to the wings rather than the doors due to the extreme weather in case they are needed. The other priests are on the alert for intruders. It will present no difficulty in my lord High Priest Seto gaining his chambers then returning here."
Nefra smiled in gratitude to her long time friend.
"Very well," Seto consented. "I shall return momentarily." He walked out.
When he left, Nefra passed a weary hand across her tired brow.
"Gods, but the day does not want to end!" she cried with feeling.
Ryske nodded. "In your case, Princess, true." He hesitated. "I assume much is in need of resolving between you and the priest."
Her laugh was fake even to her ears. "You assume correctly, my friend. There are matters that bear serious discourse betwixt the two of us. Old hurts. New wounds…"
She turned to her friend—her rock in the tempestuous storm that is her life. "How do I go about it? Digging up barely concealed wounds?"
"Well," he began as he walked up to face her. He grasped her suddenly clammy hands between his two larger, warmer ones. "The present is the best time to me to do anything."
He gave her hands a reassuring squeeze before letting the fall to her sides.
She smiled mistily and made a move to hug him.
"No gestures are necessary, Princess. Besides, I do so enjoy being warm and not to mention dry."
She glared up at him and removed her cloak to toss it at him. It hit Ryske with a voluminous, sopping SPLAT!
He blustered, looked at her, and turned away—face beet-red. "Gods, woman! Do you seek to blind me! Get yourself away and make yourself decent! Else you'll embarrass yourself and your priest!" he sputtered.
Nefra was very much aware of what thin white material when wet looked like on a body. She defiantly tossed her wet mop of hair over her shoulder and sauntered into her dressing room for dry garments. Behind her, Ryske let loose an oath as he shook the water her hair slung at him off of his clothes. He watched her saucy retreat and laughed.
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After having dried herself, she stood in her chamber wearing dry clothing as she dried her hair as best she could with a cloth. She was cursing her long hair when Seto entered her bedchamber accompanied by Ryske.
Nefra tossed the sopping cloth over the back of one of her gilded chairs and motioned Seto to seat himself in its mate. On the table between the two chairs was a woven basket and several supplies were laid in place.
Once Seto sat down, Ryske discreetly stationed himself at the door to afford them the privacy they needed. Seto was glad he worn a sleeveless tunic.
As she cleansed the wound, the air between them grew heavy and tense. As the minutes slowly crept by, Nefra's unease grew. The silence between them was palatable and the only noise was that of the steady drum of the rain on the balcony.
Seto couldn't help but notice the delicate smell of lilies mixed with her own spicy scent. He breathed it in like he was a dying man. The smell of her was arousing and he felt himself become uncomfortably hard. He shifted and draped his other arm across his lap to hide it.
After thoroughly cleaning the wound, she gently applied a slightly sweet ointment to the part of the bandage that would be against his arm and then to the wound itself. The creamy ointment had a substance that cooled the angry wound and numbed the pain.
As she began to wind the long strip of cloth around his arm, she delicately cleared her throat. "The gods must favor you. While your injury is somewhat deep, it is small and shall heal—" She broke off when he winced in pain because her hand accidentally brushed against his side.
"I—Are you well? Does your side pain you?" she asked abashed.
Seto shook his head. "It is nothing. A mere twinge is all."
Nefra looked at his pale, sweat-bathed face. "A twinge? It must be a mighty twinge to cause your face to bear witness to the pain you feel inside but refuse to let me see. May I see your side?"
"I said it was nothing," he bit. "Do not trouble yourself!"
Her jaw clenched and her hands fell to her lap and balled into fists. Her wet hair fell forward and acted as a curtain. "I see. Very well, as you wish," she quietly answered, concealing her hurt feelings behind her wall.
She fluidly rose and gathered the scattered supplies back into their basket. She wound the extra bandaging—her profile facing him. She paused in mid-wind.
"I saw the note you wrote me that day…the one warning me of my uncle's plans."
Seto looked up, rattled. He had not been expecting her words.
"Forgive the words I ignorantly told you. I had no idea…I only knew what I saw and it was not the whole truth." She paused, wetting her dry lips. His gaze was temporarily drawn to the action of her tongue darting across her lower lip to leave it looking softer with a slight glaze. He shifted again.
"I ask you to forgive me."
Seto stood and turned her so that she stood facing him. "There is nothing to forgive, Princess. As you said, you did not know."
His feelings were all mixed up. He felt elated that she forgave him—even consented to speak to him. Yet, he felt so jumbled—especially after that night's happenings.
Nefra nodded, relieved. "I am glad."
"I, too."
Neither knew what to do then. It was too awkward to embrace, yet simple words were nor enough. Seto brought her hand to his lips and lightly kissed its back in a polite fashion before returning it to her side.
Nefra's cheeks warmed and she hoped it did not show. She shyly smiled and dipped her head before returning to her winding. She handed it to him along with a small pot.
"Extra dressing for your wound which you must change regularly else infection will set in and a salve to hasten the healing process and ease the pain in both you arm and side."
He stood stalk still before responding. "My thanks."
Nefra sighed. "It grows late…early," she smiled ruefully.
"Yes, I shall return to my chambers now. Again, you have my thanks—in more ways than one."
She smiled and it warmed his heart. "I shall see you in a few hours from now."
"Of course. If you will excuse me?" He excused himself and made his way back to Ryske. Together, the two men walked back the way they came.
"I have a question, Ryske," Seto began somewhat hesitantly.
Ryske stopped outside the door that led to the corridor. Seto took it for silent assent.
"The princess. Does she not sleep at night?" he asked.
"Only on nights the gods decide to release the rains, my lord High Priest Seto," he answered.
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Ëlen:"Yet again, I would like to thank all who have reviewed! You know who you all are! Thanks also go to my lovely beta and friend, Child of the Ancients andYami-shun for understanding the power of the LOTR soundtracks! Lalanna, you're the best friend I've ever and will ever have even if you can't proof-read worth dirt.(o.o;) Love ya, sis!"
Seto:"Blah, blah, blah! Don't you ever know when to shut up!"
Ëlen:(Hurt and angry.) "You know you have a major attitude problem! And I've just about had it with you and your damn cynicism!"
Seto:"Oooh, I'm so scared. Whatever…"
Ëlen:"That's it!" (Pushes Seto into the next room and closes the door behind her.) POW! BAM! SLAP, SLAP! KNEE! ( O,o Seto.) (Walks back out.) "There that outta take care of him. That'll teach him about not being such a bast-butthead… Huh?" (Ëlen sees viewers looking over her shoulder to see Seto in a heap on the floor with a fast swelling eye, a split lip, and cradling his jewels.) "Hehe… Okay I feel bad…" (Closes the door.) "There that relieves my conscious!" (o.o;)
Seto:(Through door.) whimper, whimper "She hit me. She actually hit me!"
Ëlen:"I know his fangirl contingent won't appreciate it, but he was asking for it! I didn't do any permanent damage. -Whisper I'm sure he can still procreate… I hope…Whisper- "
Seto:(Pitifully calls out.) "She said she loves me… Roland. Where's Roland?"
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Stay tuned for the next chapter in Forbidden: Lost Light Rekindled.