Just a few details: Humans with magic are called mages/magicians. Half-elves = wizards. And elves… are elves are elves. They've all got magic, just to different degrees. Oh, and I figured out the Cwen would technically be called a bondling, not slave. But basically just upper-class slaves—stewards and bodyguards and concubines, etc. So. Now You Know. And me, too. ^_^
Disclaimer: Books belong to Lackey and Norton. This plot belongs to me.
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She had thought if she dreamed of Him they would be nightmares. Instead she dreamed that the familiar almost-smile widened and grew true. In wistful bliss, she dreamed that they laughed, and for once His beautiful voice held no trace of mockery.
She would have preferred the nightmares. These dreams hurt too much.
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"Okay, now try that again," Jemayne coached, as they picked their way through a copse of trees. "This time think: 'Fish.' Fishfishfishfishfish." It had almost two days since they had needed to hide from anything, and the reprieve showed in their relaxed demeanors.
Cwen—or Cyerriah, as she was gradually growing accustomed to—obediently concentrated on fish. Fish. The mind shield progress had not gone well, and Jemayne was growing more creative everyday. That was not a good thing. Fish. FishFish. If this didn't work soon she was going to throw herself in the next lake and beat a trout to death.
"If you do, let me have a bite, okay?" Jemayne commented. "I am heartily tired of biscuits, and I can't even kill them."
Cwen blew out a frustrated breath of air. "Fish!" She glared at Jemayne. "This isn't working."
"Swim, trout, swim!" Jemayne quipped dryly, and then quailed under another fierce glare. She muttered something dark about 'backbones.' "Well, I don't know! We've tried walls, and blocks, and misdirection, and who knows what else. I've told you, I'm new at this myself, and I have the advantage that I can tell when I'm shielding or not. For all I know that blasted collar of yours could be getting in the way."
Cwen frowned, her hand automatically going to the intricately worked gold about her neck, and the bit of dark metal hidden beneath it. Jemayne's plainer common-slave collar had long since been removed, a non-functioning look-alike taking its place. Currently it lay in the farthest depths of one of the bags. Cwen's own…
Well, there was problem as always. I'm a burden and a threat. The multiple beryl-stones of a concubine's collar meant that the clam-like iron device that had been used on Jemayne's would not fit. Cwen's own iron piece did no more than separate the collar from contact with her—blocking the effect of the beryls rather than de-activating them. So her collar remained on, its gold a continuous declaration of what she was. A concubine. A run away. A threat.
Cwen's hand clenched.
Jemayne, oblivious, was grumbling on. "…anyway. Maybe we're expecting too much. Amity said this could take years."
"Amity." The name cast a bit of a pall over the otherwise bright day. "She should be here, Jemayne. She should have come. What if something happens?"
Jemayne looked away with a frown, growing moody, as she often did when serious subjects came up. "She kept insisting she wasn't finished where she was. Rot the stubborn old woman."
Cwen actually managed a chuckle, though a subdued one. "Stubborn as stone. You know, when she said she was going to be cleaning up after us, I half got the impression she was planning to run about hiding our tracks and laying false trails."
Jemayne shook her head. "I wouldn't put anything past that old woman. Hey, look! Blackberries." Her mood shifting abruptly, she grinned, rubbing her hands together. With her small figure, and shock of light hair she looked amazingly pixie-like. "We've made good time, let's take a break."
Cwen smiled, and rolled her eyes. "Jemayne? Suggesting a break? You really are hungry."
Jemayne sniffed, the effect marred as she pricked her hand on a thorn and stuck a finger in her mouth. "Don't complain. Help me pick."
Cwen laughed, and started in, but her eyes occasionally rested on the smaller girl with concern. Jemayne never talked about it, but she had thrown up three more times in four days that Cwen knew of. Not only that but she looked—tired. Strained, and on edge.
Once she had woken Cwen up in the middle of the night, tossing and turning as if from a fever dream, or a nightmare. She hadn't wanted to wound the other girl's sensitive pride by waking her up, but she had sung a soothing melody until her sleep quieted. What will I do if she gets really sick?
She no longer worried that her thoughts would be overheard—at least intentionally. Jemayne had been as good as her word, as far as she could tell, listening in only during a lesson. And Cwen was almost certain she would have been able to tell if the girl was eavesdropping. Prickly as she was, Jemayne did not break promises.
She sighed, looking for something to distract herself. Mentally, she started going over the steps of what she thought of as the Dance. It was strange really; she learned so many dances over the years and yet none of them had ever really caught her attention like this one. Most of them she didn't even like to think about any more. This one… somehow she knew that she would have continued practicing it even though it hadn't pleased Shaen.
The movements drew you along... complex, and still tricky there--with the next one so… and then coming together wonderfully for the next part. Without thinking moved into a few of the warm-up steps, her mind falling into the rhythm of the Dance.
"Cyerriah." Jemayne had to repeat herself several more times before she caught the other girl's attention. "Cyerriah!"
She blinked, snapping back to reality. Jemayne was staring at her with the oddest expression. "What?"
The other girl spoke slowly, with carefully controlled excitement. "Whatever you were doing just then, I think you should do it again."
Cwen's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Jemayne…"
"Do it!"
Still frowning with consternation, Cwen decided to humor her, and started mentally running through the steps again, moving slowly through a few of them.
"That's it—almost!" Jemayne's voice radiated excitement. "Oh, I wasn't wrong, you had it perfect a moment ago!"
Cwen growled, and came to a halt. "Exactly what is this about, oh ambiguous one?"
Jemayne flashed her teeth. "You, oh slow student, were shielding. Just then, when you started that dance thing. And just a minute ago, you were doing it partially."
"What?!"
Jemayne smirked and raised her voice. "YOU WERE SHIELDING!"
Cwen found herself too excited to even be irritated. "Ouch, yes, I heard that! But how?"
Jemayne folded her hands, a familiar glint in her eye. "That is exactly what we are going to find out. Come on, Cyerriah, break's over. Stuff some of those berries in that sack and let's get started."
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As it happened, things progressed rather quickly from there. Jemayne was once again demonstrating her zealous dedication to a task, and Cwen was almost relieved that some of the girl's energies were being channeled in a different direction. At least while she was pushing Cyerriah to her limits, she wasn't pushing herself so hard.
For her own part, she felt a continuous glow of wonder and self-satisfaction. I can do this! It's just a small thing, but it's something I can do. Maybe… A smile touched her face, and she rolled over, lost in happy contemplation. It was very early in the morning, and she'd barely slept at all, but she was unwilling to rise just yet.
They never had figured out what it was about the Dance that put Cwen's shields up, though Jemayne had more than a few hypotheses. But with steady work, Cwen had been able first to shield without actually moving through the steps, and later to cease mentally running through them, holding only to the peculiar, trance-like mind-set that remained. Gradually, she was making that mind-set habitual.
Jemayne said what she was doing wasn't precisely like mind-shielding, though she had been unable to put the difference into words. "It's not like I can't get in," the girl had tried to explain, "but more like your mind's there, only different. As if your sense of self was so strong that I couldn't touch it, or feed anything into it. Like a fire rather than a wall." As long as it worked, Cwen didn't care.
My mind is my own. She still wasn't sure why she was so vehemently set on this matter. All she knew was that once, she had allowed love to shape her to another's will. Once, she had trusted too much. Now, she was only just beginning to discover aspects of herself she hadn't known existed. Now, she still bled from a wound created by trust.
My mind is my own.
She shivered, and finally sat up, blinking in the dim early morning light. The air was chill, and she folded the blanket over her shoulders like a shawl. They had had extremely good luck with the weather so far; she hoped it wasn't taking a turn for the worse. I should make sure Jemayne's not getting cold.
But when she turned to check on the other girl, her blankets were empty. Cwen sat still for a few moments, staring at the tousled bedding. "Oh, Jemayne." She didn't know why the girl felt compelled to hide her illness, except perhaps as a sign of weakness she did not want to share with Cyerriah. But she had suspected something like this might be going on.
Cwen got up, scanning the trees around her. Can't she see how worried I am? Why won't she let me help? The thoughts overlaid another more troubling one. What isn't she telling me?
Finally, she decided to try along the stream. As likely a place as any. Setting off, she picked her way through the trees in the general direction she recalled, listening carefully for the sound of running water.
Instead, the sound of several, low, distinctively male voices made her freeze, instinctively reaching deeper into the shield-trance that guarded her mind. Questions buzzed frantically through her head. What?! How did they slip past Jemayne?—oh, high lords, Jemayne!! Every fiber of her body was trembling with the desire to bolt, but somehow she edged herself carefully nearer, and nearer to the source of those voices. Maybe… maybe I can find Jemayne and we can get out of here. Maybe…
The sound of raucous laughter up ahead curdled her stomach. It was a cruel sound. She huddled at the edge of the small clearing, not daring even to peek out. The voices carried clearly now, a malevolent smudge against the stream's murmuring backdrop.
"…d'joo go an put 'er out for, eh? Tha's no fun."
Sound of a smack. "Idyit, she's a mage. Y' didn't wanna get zapped, did ya?"
Jemayne! Her mind spun frantically. What do I do?!
"Aww, Gein coulda took her. S' little an' all. Couldn't ya, Gein, buddy?"
"Maybe, Maybe not. Why bother? Sneak 'n bash is safer. Let's get 'er stuff."
"Heh heh, cute li'l snippet, ain't she? No collar, neither."
Cwen couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Why did she feel so cold inside? Numb, like a sculpture of ice. Like she'd never moved or breathed or felt before.
A low moan. "Hey, look she's comin' round. Let's get th' loot."
"Doesn't matter. Gein's got 'er prop'ly shielded now. Come on, I wanna have some fun."
Cold. To cold even for fear. But within the void, something else was growing now. An icy fury rose within her, driving away all uncertainty. In silent, futile wrath, she gathered herself into a predator's crouch, and then exploded from the bushes.
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A/N: Dun dun dun! See? I told you something would happen sooner or later. Are you excited? What will happen?! Will you review? (That's *my* cliff-hanger.)
Next Time: Some actual characters from the book! Yaaaaaay!!!
Review Response:
Rosethorn: That's just the way Shaen is. ^_^ As for Jemayne—I'm really liking her too, especially since she wasn't even supposed to be a main char. Poor sick Maynee. Did you guess? You'll find out next chapter…
Lizai: Si, there are THREE wonderful books. Elvenbane, Elvenblood, Elvenborn. Read them all! I command you!
Everyone: Thanka much! Virtual what-not for everyone. ^_^
Please review, and the next chapter'll be ready in a week!