The Compass Rose

Kallista gave him the courtesy of privacy, looking away even as she briefly touched his shoulder with an ungloved hand. “I have letters to write.”

She managed three, writing to the accompaniment of steel on stone, before her eyes began to cross with weariness. Torchay tumbled her into her narrow bed and took his place on the pallet in front of the door.

Once more her dreams were filled with shine and fog. Again the city wall fell and again she shouted a warning that no one heard. But the dream did not end there.

She dreamed of a man, golden-skinned and golden-haired, his hard body moving over her and in her. As she cried out in passion, he changed. His black hair tumbled around her face, and he changed yet again. His dark skin paled, his hair going bright, and it was Torchay making love to her, Torchay making her cry out.

She jerked, struggling to wake, but something caught her soul and drew her back. She went spinning across the dreamscape, colors of light and darkness flashing by and through her, until she was released to roll tumbling across a rough stone floor, fetching up against a fat table leg.

Before she could pick herself up, a blade was pressed against her throat. The woman holding it shone fierce and bright with power. She was not young, perhaps ten or even twenty years past Kallista’s age. Her red hair was streaked with gray, her freckled face lined with experience. Her green-brown eyes stared deep into Kallista’s.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“I…” How did she get here? “…I don’t think I am here.”

With a snarl, the woman sliced her knife across Kallista’s throat.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kallista recoiled, hands flying up to push the madwoman away. She called for Torchay as she scrabbled backward across the stone floor, her voice a hoarse croak, surprised she still had a voice. She reached up to stanch the wound…but there was no blood pouring down over her undertunic. No pain. Carefully, Kallista felt her neck. There was no wound.

“So. You’re the new one.” The woman stood, tossed the knife on the table above. “How long has it been?”

Kallista ran her hands over the whole of her throat. How could that knife not have cut her? She had felt its sharpness, felt it prick her. “How long has it been since what?”

“Since I died, of course. What’s your name?” The woman poured wine from a silver pitcher into an ornate cup. “I’d offer you some, but I’m afraid you couldn’t drink it.”

“Why not?” Kallista got awkwardly to her feet, staring at the high chamber around her. It was dark, the windows mere slits in the gray stone walls, the candles blazing from bronze candlesticks insufficient to make up for the lack of sunlight. Banners in subtle colors with strangely familiar devices attempted to soften the stone, and a fire burned on a circular hearth, the smoke finding its own way out the hole in the roof. This was the most realistic dream she’d ever had.

“I can drink in my dream if I want to,” she said, recalling what the other had said about the wine.

“It’s not a dream.” The woman gave her a sour look. “Not exactly. You should know that—Here, what is your name?”

“Kallista. What’s yours?”

The woman laughed and took a drink from her cup. As she drank, the smile faded from her eyes. She set the cup on the table, staring at Kallista in shock. “You really don’t know me, do you?”

“Should I?”

“Yes.” The woman had no small opinion of herself if she expected a complete stranger to recognize her and know her name.

“Sorry.” Kallista lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I don’t.”

“How long has it been since my death? Since the death of Belandra of Arikon?”

Kallista stared. She was more than ready for this dream to end. It was becoming far too strange. “Belandra of Arikon never lived. She’s a story. A tale told by the fireside to frighten children and thrill young men.”

“I never lived? Never lived?” The woman—Belandra of her dreams—snatched up the silver cup and threw it across the room. Wine flew in all directions, none of it spotting Kallista’s pale blue undertunic.

“How then did I unite the four prinsipalities into one people?” Belandra demanded. “How did I fight and defeat the enemies of the One? How did I—” Her mouth continued to move, but Kallista could not hear her. It was as if some barrier had dropped between them, cutting off all sound.

In the far distance, she could hear Torchay calling her name and turned to go, to answer him.

“Wait.” Belandra caught her arm. “How long?”

Kallista felt Torchay’s voice pulling at her, drawing her back, but Belandra’s hand anchored her in place. “A thousand years. The four prinsipalities were united a thousand years ago. There are twenty-seven prinsipalities in Adara now. But the first Reinine was Sanda, not Belandra.”

The older woman’s smile showed a deep affection that made Kallista shiver. “My ilias was much better suited to governing than a hot-tempered naitan like me.”

Torchay called again, stretching her thin.

“I have to go.” Kallista clawed at the fingers holding her.

“Take this.” Belandra pulled a ring from her forefinger and pressed it into Kallista’s hand. “I will have many questions when next we meet.”

Which will be never, if I have aught to say about it. Kallista closed her hand reflexively around the ring. As soon as she did, Belandra released her. She went flying back through the light and the dark and the colors to slam into her body with a force that bowed her into a high arc. She gasped, drawing air into lungs that seemed to have forgotten how.

“Kallista.” Torchay held her face between his hands, fear in every line of his moonlit expression.

“I am here. I’m awake.” She resisted the urge to touch him in return, to be sure he was solid and real.

With a shaking hand, he brushed her hair back from her face, then sat up straight on the edge of her bed, setting his hands in his lap. “You were no’ breathin’,” he said, never taking his eyes from her. His thick accent showed the depth of his agitation. “You shouted, like you did before. I came to wake you, but you would no’ wake. Then you quieted. I thought the dream was over so I went back to bed. But you called my name.”

He stared at her, his eyes haunted. “You called my name, and you stopped breathin’. And no matter what I did, you would no’ start again.”

Kallista shuddered. Had that been while she was in that strange place talking to the woman who claimed to be Belandra of Arikon? Could some part of her have literally been in another place? That place? Impossible.

“I’m breathing now,” she said.

“Aye.” He was shaking, trying to hide it, but failing.

She reached for his hand. He took it, gripped it tight. But it wasn’t enough. She used his hand to pull herself up. She put her arms around him and held on tight until her trembling and his went away.

“Do no’ do that again,” he said over and over. “Ever. Do not.”

“No,” she said again and again. “No. I won’t. Never.”

When she could let him go, Torchay picked her up and stood her beside the bed.

“What are you doing?” She had to catch his arm to keep from staggering.

“Moving your bed. I’m too far away across the room. You’ll be sleeping next to me till the dreams stop.” He lifted the bedding, mattress and all, from its rope frame and set it on the floor. “We can bring in a larger bed in the morning.”

“It’s against regulations—” Kallista began, but fell silent at the flash of his eyes.

“It’s against regulations for me to allow you to die. It’s against nature for you to stop breathing like that. I want you at my back.” He crossed the room to collect his mattress from the doorway and laid it beside hers. He was on his knees rearranging the blankets when he paused.

“What’s this?” Torchay plucked a small object from the tangle of her blankets.