At least until she had come to realize the “why” of her fate, the purpose behind her tragedy, the cause of her salvation.
She had been given a second chance so that she could be born anew into a role of service and humility, and learn the error of her previous ways.
Pushing the temple’s door wide, she limped into the lofty room, where the rows of desks and rolls of parchment and flares of feather quills were. At each station, in the center of the workspace, was a round crystal bowl filled three-quarters of the way with water so pure that it was nearly invisible.
Indeed, Tohrment was suffering as she had, perhaps just starting the journey she felt as though she had completed over too many years to count. And though her anger was an easy emotion to feel in the face of his unjust accusation, understanding and compassion were the harder, more valuable stances to take…
She had learned this from the example the Chosen set.
Although understanding required knowledge, she thought, staring at one of the bowls.
As she stepped forward, she was uneasy with the quest she was about to initiate, and she chose a station far, far in the back, away from both the doors and the cathedral-size leaded windows.
Sitting down, she found no dust on the surface of the desk, nor minute debris within or upon the water, nor dried-up ink in the bottle—in spite of the fact that it had been a long while since the room had been filled with females seeking out the events of the race down below and recording the history that appeared unto their kindly eyes.
No’One picked up the bowl, holding it with her palms, not her fingers. With barely perceptible movement, she began to circle the water, picturing Tohrment’s back as clearly as she was able.
Soon enough, a story began to unfold, told in moving pictures that were trussed in living color, and animated by love.
She had never before thought to search him and his life out in the bowls. The few times she had come here, it had been to check on her family’s fortunes and the course of her daughter’s life. Now, though, she knew it had been too painful for her to look into the pair of warriors who had given her shelter and protected her.
In her final, most cowardly act, she had betrayed them both.
On the surface of the water, she saw Tohrment with a red-haired female of grand stature—they were waltzing, she in that red gown, he robeless and showing off the fresh scarification that spelled out her name in the Old Language. He was so happy, incandescently so, his love and bonding making him shine like the North Star.
There were other scenes that followed, drifting down through the years, from when it had been all new between them to the comfort that came with familiarity, from small abodes to larger ones, from good times where they laughed together to hard times when they argued.
It was the very best that life had to offer anyone: a person to love and be loved by, with whom you carved meaning in the oak trunk of time’s perennial passing.
And then another scene.
The female was in a kitchen, a lovely, gleaming kitchen, standing before a stove. There was a pan on the heat, some meat cooking therein, and she had a spatula in her hand. She wasn’t looking downward, however. She was staring into the space afore her, her eyes unfocused as smoke began to curl up.
Tohrment appeared across the way, rushing into the doorway. He called out her name and grabbed a small towel, going over to a fixture on the ceiling and whisking the cloth back and forth with vigor as he winced as though his ears hurt.
Over at the stove, Wellesandra jumped to attention and shoved the burning pan from the red-hot coil. She began speaking, and though there was no sound associated with the pictures, it was clear she was making apologies.
After all was settled and calmed and no longer afire, Tohrment leaned back against the counter, crossed his arms over his chest, and spoke for a bit. Then he went silent.
It was a long while before Wellesandra answered. In the previous pictures of their life, she had always appeared to be strong and direct… now her expression was hesitant.
When she finished her reply, her lips pursed together and her eyes locked on her mate.
Tohrment’s arms gradually unfolded until they hung limp by his sides, and his mouth grew lax as well, his jaw unlatching to fall open. His eyes blinked repeatedly, open and shut, open and shut, open and shut.…
When he finally moved, it was with the grace of someone who had broken every bone in his body: He lurched across the distance that separated them and fell to his knees before his shellan. Reaching up with shaking hands, he touched her lower belly as tears watered his eyes.
He didn’t say a word. Just gathered his mate to him, his big, strong arms enveloping her waist, his wet cheek coming to rest on her womb.
Above him, Wellesandra started to smile… beam, really.
Down below her happiness, however, Tohr’s face was cast in lines of terror. As if he knew, even then, that the pregnancy she rejoiced in was doom for all three of them—
“I thought I’d find you on this side.”
No’One whipped around, the water in the bowl splashing out onto her robe, the image ruined.
Tohrment stood in the doorway sure as if her invasion of his privacy had called him forth to protect what was rightly his. His temper had dissipated, but even in the absence of anger, his gaunt face was nothing close to what she had just seen of him.
“I’ve come to apologize,” he said.
She carefully put the bowl back, watching as the choppy surface of the water calmed down and the level slowly rose to what it had been, replenished from an unknown, unseeable reservoir.
“I figured I’d wait until I sobered up a little—”
“I’ve been watching you,” she said. “In the bowl. With your shellan.”
That shut him up.
Getting to her feet, No’One smoothed her robe even though it fell as it always did, in straight, shapeless folds of cloth. “I understand why you are in a foul way and quick to temper. It is in the nature of a wounded animal to strike out at even a friendly hand.”
When she looked up, he was frowning so deeply, his brows were a single line. Not exactly an opening for conversation. But it was time to clear the air between them, and as with the debridement of a festering wound, one could expect it to hurt.
The infection must be wrestled from the flesh, however.
“How long ago did she die?”
“Killed,” he said after a moment. “She was killed.”
“How long.”
“Fifteen months, twenty-six days, seven hours. I’d have to check a watch for the minutes.”
No’One walked over to the windows and looked out over the bright green grass. “How did you find out she had been taken from you?”
“My king. My brothers. They came to me… and they told me she had been shot.”
“What happened after that?”
“I screamed. I took myself somewhere, anywhere else. I cried for weeks in the wilderness alone.”
“You didn’t perform a Fade ceremony?”
“I didn’t come back for nearly a year.” He cursed and scrubbed his face. “I can’t believe you’re asking me this shit, and I can’t believe I’m answering.”
She shrugged. “It is because you were cruel to me at the pool. You feel guilty, and I feel like you owe me something. The latter makes me bold and the former loosens your lips.”
He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. “You’re very smart.”
“Not really. It is obvious.”
“What did you see in the bowls?”
“Are you sure you wish me to say?”
“All of it plays in my head on an endless loop. Not gonna be a news flash, whatever it is.”
“She told you she was pregnant in your kitchen. You fell to the floor before her—she was happy, you were not.”
As he blanched, she wished she’d shared one of the other scenes.