CRAVE (5 page)

The only time he was completely quiet was when he could see boys playing scruffal through the windows. He stood at the iron bars, unconcerned about his nakedness, each hand gripping a rung, and watched. She didn’t know if he was entertained, but the game did occupy his attention.

One day he caused her to jump by barking out a single note of laughter in reaction to something he saw on the playing field beyond. When he felt the intensified energy behind the tormentor’s constant watchful gaze, he refocused on her. With a gleam of hatred returning to his eyes, he threw his body at the bars in front of her with a ferocity that matched his snarl.

She laughed. “Too late. You just revealed that you’re still in there. Somewhere. And I’m not going away.”

If Crave had been able to articulate his personal policy, it would be that he would
never
let her speech stand as the only sound in the building. He made sure that her unpleasant sounds were accompanied by his snarls, growls, and roars in instances when he wasn’t motivated to drown her out altogether.

Every day Crave’s family came. Serene and Free together in the morning. Charming by himself at night.

Every day they asked Dandelion for a report. ”How is he?” or “Anything new?”

As the weeks passed, Serene’s bandages grew smaller and thinner until they were removed altogether. What was left behind were angry red marks across her face where the slash of a Rautt short sword had opened her flesh. Somehow she managed to be regal in spite of it.

Dandelion had asked her to bring things from home that had belonged to Crave, things that might help spark a memory. And the collection had begun to grow in the corner opposite the hearth, near the door, safely outside the path of urine spray, but visible. Sometimes, at night by candlelight, Dandy would pick out an object, hold it up, and talk about it while Crave behaved as if the sound of her voice was the worst thing imaginable.

If there was a bright spot in Dandelion’s day, it would have been Charming’s visits. He behaved like a good and dutiful friend, always as concerned for her wellbeing as for his brother. Their dialogues were strange, the two of them sitting on the floor, trying to talk quietly while a naked Crave stood at the bars and growled. But it became a little like a lifeline for Dandy. Occasionally she thought that her own sanity might recede if not for Charming’s nightly visits.

He always came after dinner time, bone-weary and soul-tired. His father wanted the move and integration into Farsuitwail to continue as planned, but he no longer had the heart or the will to oversee the endless number of details that had to be addressed before a task of that enormity could be accomplished.

Free simply didn’t want to leave Serene’s side. What that had meant for Charming was that, one day he was a boy training to follow his brothers into warrior service someday. Then the next day, after the Rautt battle, people were looking to him to speak for his absentee father. As the younger brother of two larger-than-life males with personalities that he would have called overbearing, it had never occurred to him or anyone else that anyone would
ever
look to him for direction.

The first time he’d made a suggestion about the move to Farsuitwail, he was amazed that people had stopped what they were doing, taken him seriously, and then actually rushed to follow through. When he drew conclusions about the best ways to overcome challenges, people nodded solemnly and looked at him with the sort of respect that had been reserved for Free. He marveled at this as he rode by himself to and from the city each day, at the same time learning the first lesson of leadership, which is that feeling alone comes with the job.

He didn’t know what to make of people looking up to him. In fact, it seemed categorically wrong. He just knew that, until when and if his family resumed some path of normalcy, he needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other and putting the needs of Exiled before his own. It was what Free used to do. It’s what Carnal would have done. Crave, too, if… Well, if.

CHAPTER FIVE

One afternoon, thirteen weeks after Crave had been given a cell for a home, Dandy stood and said to Crave, “I’m going out for a couple of hours. I’m going to the waterfall. That will give you a chance to be alone and decide if alone is what you really want.”

He remained seated, his eyes fixed on her, and growled softly in response.

Eight years earlier.

Dandy and Crave had taken the hike up the western mountain to the waterfall pool. Everyone knew where it was, but few people went because the effort to get there was worth mention. Exiled trained hard, but didn’t exert themselves for recreation, choosing to save their reserves for battling the Rautt.

The pool was small, only fifteen feet across, but the water was beautiful and clear. It was also cold since it began its journey higher up as snow melt. Crave thought it was the prettiest spot in the world, surrounded by pink granite outcroppings, aspens and evergreen trees.

They’d removed their clothes and jumped in, Dandy shrieking about the cold while he pretended to be immune, laughing at her. They swam and splashed, but after a time ended up holding onto a rock, each with one hand, while kissing and exploring each other’s postpubescent bodies with the other.

In many ways Dandy thought those first shy touches were the most erotic things that would ever happen to her. It was then and there that Crave had also declared.

“I love you, Dandy. You’re my Promise.”

She laughed. “You can’t just say I’m your Promise, Crave. You have to ask me. Don’t you know that?”

He looked a little hurt, but started again. “Dandelion. I love you. Are you going to be my Promise or not?”

“I will.” She smiled, showing off her white teeth. Then her eyes grew dark and serious as a thundercloud. “But I’d better never catch you with another female.”

Crave’s first reaction was to be offended at the suggestion. Even in his fantasies, the only female he could imagine mounting was her. “I wouldn’t do that,” he protested. Understanding flitted across his boyish features as he considered the implications and his expression changed to a look of worry. “Same for you. Right? No other males.”

Dandy smiled a perfectly coy female smile and drew closer. “I would never, Crave,” she breathed. “You’re my Promise.”

His forehead smoothed as he relaxed then promptly dunked her under with a mischievous grin.

When Dandelion finally reached the waterfall pool, she was feeling the workout. She’d never made the journey alone. Had never wanted to. She wouldn’t have wanted to that day if it wasn’t for the fact that she was on a mission.

She looked around for a pink granite rock that would be small enough to carry back to Newland. Maybe the sight of pink granite would uncover one of Crave’s buried memories and let a crack of light into the darkness of his mind.

Out of breath she looked around. Instead of spotting the right stone to carry back, her eyes came to rest on a flat stone promontory where she and Crave used to sit and talk and cuddle and experiment with teenage sexuality. She sat down on the rock, enjoying the feeling of mid-afternoon sun since she was so rarely outside anymore. As she sat, soaking in the sun, the memories of the place haunted her with sound and vision until she burst into tears.

Not once since Crave’s rescue had she allowed herself to cry. She was steadfastly focused on finding a way to bring Crave back to her. She wouldn’t tolerate the idea that she might not be successful. Likewise, she refused to feel sorry for herself. Life had given her what life had given her, good and bad. She’d taken the good and enjoyed it. She’d take the bad for eternity if it meant that Crave might be restored to himself someday.

She felt a little silly, sitting in the middle of the wilderness alone, sobbing loudly. But she also felt a little entitled. Hearing a rustle in the trees behind her, she promptly forgot about everything else. She leaped into a crouch and turned to see a black bear emerge. For several minutes she held that pose, staring at the bear as he or she stared back.

Finally she said, “Challenging me today would be a big mistake, bear. I might not be a famous warrior, but I’m mad!” She punctuated that by showing her fangs and letting out a feline roar that could be heard from some distance away.

The bear looked away, looked back at her, and seemed to decide that she was probably more trouble than she was worth. He or she withdrew back into the trees. Dandy listened to crashing about for a couple of minutes, the sounds growing fainter until they were gone.

“See?” she said to no one. “Even bears know I’m not having a good day.”

She jumped off the flat rock, dipped her hand in the cold water and brought it to her face, instantly relieving the fever and puffiness caused by a well-deserved cry. She found a rock that would do. Not so large that it would be hard to carry home. Not so small that Crave might mistake it for something else. She washed it in its native water and started down the mountain.

It was dusk by the time she returned to the holding facility. As soon as she opened the door Crave roared his objection.

“Glad to see you missed me,” she said, not appearing to be the least bothered. “I brought you something. I can’t put it in there with you because gods only know what you might do with it, but you can look through the bars.”

She set the stone down in the corner next to the door. He continued his perpetual growl, but dialed the volume down while he watched what she was doing. He approached the bars, got as close to the stone as possible and gave it a good look over.

“You know what this is?” He answered her question with rage indicating how very deeply he objected to being addressed. His roar gradually leveled out to his typical low level growl as he looked at the rock. She waited patiently until she could be heard over the growling. “It’s from the waterfall pool. Remember the waterfall pool?” He snarled and showed fangs. “Yeah. That’s what I expected. But I had to try.”

Dandy looked over Crave’s naked body, which was thin and gaunt but still familiar. She knew the shape and curve of his rib cage, the shoulders that still looked powerful even after years of malnutrition and long spells of cramped inactivity. What was new were the scars of a gruesome variety and a number too many to count. There were deep ridges on his back, buttocks, and legs that looked like he’d been repeatedly whipped.

Staring at the scars made her clench her teeth in anger. She invariably found herself wishing that she could personally deliver the same treatment to those who had abused her Promise so sadistically. The fact that they were dead didn’t provide nearly enough satisfaction.

His genitals hadn’t changed except perhaps to look larger because of his diminished size overall.

Discipline sometimes eluded her when trying not to think of Crave in a sexual way. After all, they’d been lovers for a long time.

When the Exiled were freed by Kellareal and given the opportunity to establish their own community, they had no conclusive religious, political, or social imperatives to impose upon the construction of their infant culture. An anthropologist would have seen Newland as the grandest of experiments and would have been in heaven collecting data on what, why, and how a spiritually free people, who are newly freed physically, would determine the structure of their society.

But the fact that the Exiled had no dogma programmed into their consciousness at an early age did not mean that they were a completely blank slate. They had spent a generation listening to the conversations of their guards, who spoke freely as if they weren’t there, and in so doing they’d picked up hints of how their creator/captors lived.

They heard their captors talk about gods and monsters and afterlife and thought that, since humans appeared to strongly believe such things, there was probably at least a kernel of truth when all was said and done. So word spread among them that there were powers beyond the limits of their physical strength or mental comprehension.

When Kellareal appeared from nothing and whisked them through mists to a new world, it was confirmation that indeed, superior beings capable of magic did exist. When Kellareal was asked if he was the supreme god, he’d laughed and said, “Far from it. I’m just a humble servant.”

Free had told the Exiled what Kellareal had said and they’d agreed it was logical that, if the angel was merely a servant, his masters must be powerful beyond imagination.