This is a sequel to Anne Carr's original story Wine Dark Nexus
by Anne Carr
The ship sat low in the water, its hold filled to overflowing, its sail lowered. The crew were silent, looking at each other with questioning, frightened eyes, the usual well-trained bustle of activity absent in the face of tragedy.
One man stood alone on the port side, staring out over the rolling waves. Not overly tall, he was well built, with long brown curls and the clear green-eyed gaze of a pure Atlantean. His long fingers were gripped to the rail, knuckles drained of color, the only sign of the emotional upheaval going through him. His face was empty, impassive; the scar on his right cheek stood out.
Five years. Five years since he had been away from his home, beaten, then banished by his father to an unknown life for a crime he had not committed.
Five years. He had gone, angry and hurt, too proud to beg forgiveness, so terrified he could barely function. He had gone a frightened child, and had returned a man. The anger had faded to bitterness, the hurt too deep to heal. The fear had slowly turned to confidence because his stubborn pride refused to let him fail. It should have been a satisfying homecoming.
But where the island kingdom had once stood tall and proud, the white walled cities gleaming in the sunshine, there was nothing. Atlantis had vanished, reclaimed by the ocean that had surrounded it.
The return had been left too late. All his work, all the endless labor that had kept him going had been for nothing. His family had disappeared with the island and now there was nothing.
Not even hope.
And yet...there was one left alive. As sure as his heart beat, that other's beat as well. Somewhere there was a man with brown curls like his own, with green eyes that caught the sun and laughed. He would have known if those eyes had dimmed. There had been terrible danger, pain, and overriding joy...but not death. Somewhere his other half was alive and well.
Perhaps there was a purpose after all.
I remember an ancient man, wrinkled with sun and wind and time, his eyes blurred the way eyes become when they begin to see past this life and on to the next, and I recall his croaky voice saying sadly, "The worst thing about age is the growing old."
It had seemed a rather silly statement then, but now, with all my years behind me and nothing left but the passing over, now the ancient one's words ring true.
I lay in the Hall of the Jade Palace, surrounded by my women, by my children and my servants. I am cool and there is pain; my body is shrunken, my hearing no longer keen and the creeping weakness has almost taken its final toll. But my mind is clear enough and it takes me out of the present and returns me to my youth, when my step was quick and my body lean...back to the distant past, to the greatest adventure a boy could know.
My name is Tellac and I was probably about ten or twelve summers old when the Hawk sailed into the Red City harbor. The captain of the sleek trader was a huge man, with a beard the color of the city walls and a laugh like the thunder of a sudden storm. I lived on the docks then, without parents or siblings, doing whatever I had to do to stay alive. I had become very quick with my fingers and, experience being the best teacher, a good judge of who to steal from and who to leave alone.
The Hawk's captain, Andreas, was a 'leave alone'. One blow from his giant hand would end my career forever, and besides, once I had seen his passengers I was too curious to even think of such mundane things as a forever empty belly.
I was standing on the wooden landing watching the Atlantean sailors unload cargo, trying to stay out of their way and still assuage my curiosity, when the two men came into view.
I knew them for passengers at once, though they were unlike any I had ever seen before. The Red City harbor was a busy place and I had grown up watching the ships come and go wondering about the lands and beyond the ocean, what treasures dwelt in the foreign places. It was true, not many carried passengers...for in those days why would anyone not trading want to visit our little city? But occasionally fat men and their greedy-eyed women would come ashore to point at my people and laugh.
It was the way the men carried themselves, perhaps that led me to know them for what they were. There was an air of assurance about them not quite like that of the sailors; not arrogance, but more a knowledge of worth. They have been through fire, I thought and come out gold. I watched them as they moved closer, talking quietly, laughing with the sailors, and my curiosity was boundless.
One, of course, was Atlantean. Even if the aqua and red of his banded tunic hadn't told me this, his coloring would, for it was classic. Auburn brown curls and green eyes...not like the lady from his country who had come to join our King, but more like the sailors who were working around me.
The other was the most beautiful I had ever seen. His hair was short and very dark...its curls almost not noticeable in the severe cut...and his features were full without heaviness, his blue eyes as blue as the sky. I had never seen an Egyptian before and though I have since come to know several, not one has bettered the beauty of Nebrianhet. He was tall and muscular, topping the more slender grace of the Atlantean by a couple of inches, and his skin was pale, reddened by the sun and wind, but not the type to go gold like his friend's.
As I watched, the Hawk's captain came to stand beside them, smiling and jovial and they laughed with him over some joke. The Egyptian's eyes looked up to the sun then swept over the dock, over me, and returned to my graceless, gaping form as he sobered. He called something to me, but I did not know the language so could only shrug.
The Atlantean commented in a low voice to his companions then smiled at me. "Do you speak this language, little rooster?" He asked me in his native tongue and I answered slowly that yes, I could.
"My friend here," he indicated the Egyptian, "wants to know if there might be a place on dry land where his sea weary stomach could settle for our visit." He held up a small coin that gleamed in the sunlight.
There were several places...I nodded and waited while they bid goodbye to Andreas and crossed the thin plank from the ship to the dock. The Egyptian smiled at me as if he really liked me...a sensation new and warm to an orphan...and motioned me forward. We left the dock, threading between the crates of the trade goods, and entered the harbor town.
It was, and is, a dirty place, red dust everywhere, the people a motley mix of cut-throats and whores, drunkards and pickpockets. I knew them all, this was my home, and steered clear of the worst, taking my followers to one of the better lodges where the smells were not bad and the covers not crawling with tiny live-stock.
The Atlantean paused at the blanket covering the doorway, looking down at me. "My name is Damon and this is Bri'het who is Egyptian and is still learning civilized speech." His green eyes gleamed with humor. "What are you called?"
"Tellac."
"Tellac." He said it for his companion and Brianhet repeated his own name, putting in all the sounds as Damon had not.
"Bree on et," I mouthed hesitantly, then, "Damon."
"Very good." Damon laughed. He handed me the gold coin, enough to buy food for a week without stealing even an orange, and said, "Tellac, you look like someone who knows his way around. Would you take us for a look at the city?"
"Now?" I was eager, I admit, and not just for more gold.
Damon glanced at his friend and I noticed for the first time how tired the Egyptian seemed. He looked, I thought, like he was usually very healthy and only recently ill. 'Sea weary stomach' took on a new meaning.
"No tomorrow. When we've had time to rest. Will you meet us here?"
I nodded and went past the old blanket, inside the lodge, then I scampered away to old lady's Mitrae's to spend my coin and eat my belly full for the first time in weeks.
I slept that night in my usual corner, curled up with the sounds of whores plying their trade in the alley next to my doorway putting me to sleep. And I dreamed for the first time of the golden jaguar with jade green eyes.
The next day dawned hot and clear and I arrived at the lodge early, eager to see the strangers again. The old lady Mirabeth was Mitrae's sister and she let me in with a knowing wink.
"They're in the back. Here, take these." She handed me a loaf of fresh cornbread and a couple of papayas, then laughed, her fat face crinkling good naturedly as she tossed me a third piece of fruit. "You needn't turn those big eyes on me, Tellac. Mitrae told me you ate enough for a King and three wives last night."
I made a face at her and went past, going to the back room...the big one with extra sleep padding. There was another of Mirabeth's blankets over the doorway and I pushed it silently aside, then stopped short in surprise.
They were still sleeping, curled together with their arms wrapped around each other, faces together. Their covers had fallen aside and I could see their naked bodies in the shadowed sunlight that came from the single window. Damon's back was to me and a jagged scar, still red and healing was clear. A knife wound; it was not the first I had ever seen. As I paused, the Egyptian muttered something and snuggled closer, his legs twining about his friend's. Damon's eyes opened and he blinked, turning his head just enough to catch sight of me. For a moment he was still, then he smiled, a slow sweet look that drew me like a moth to flame.
"Good morning, little rooster."
I nodded and held out my food offerings.
"Egypt." His attention had gone back to Brianhet and he touched the Egyptian's face with one long finger.
Blue eyes opened with sleepy confusion that cleared away when Damon came into focus. It was clear, I thought then, as if it didn't really matter to the Egyptian where he was as long as Damon was by his side.
Before he could speak the Atlantean whispered something and those blue eyes flew to me.
Brianhet sighed, then stretched, unwinding himself with obvious reluctance from the other man's hold. "Come in, Tellac, and bring your food. I'm hungry."
Damon sat up, looking pleased. "You said that well, Egypt. You're learning." He took the cornbread and carefully divided the loaf into three equal parts. As he handed one to me he added, "He understands this tongue better than he speaks it, but his head is amazingly thick."
Brianhet merely chuckled around his breakfast, not at all angry at the slur on his intelligence.
I took them around the city that day...past the King's lodging and through the gardens he was growing for his new lady. It was Damon who told me the woman was the sister of the Hawk's captain. He went through the gardens with delight, recognizing many of the exotic plants that the lady had brought with her from her home. Atlantis was no more, lost to the sea only last summer, and Damon's face grew pale and sad when he touched the pink blossoms of one vine. "These grew on the walls of my mother's house, " he told Brianhet, translating for me. "My sister used to dress up with garlands of them..."
Brianhet said quietly, "she's at rest now. Let her be," and Damon's mood obediently shifted as he went on.
They continued to fascinate me, these two men; so different, yet so attuned to each other. I had never seen such friendship before, the kind that unselfishly can admit a third without fear of loss or competition. They treated me as an equal almost, as a grown man, and by the end of the day I, used as I was to being kicked out of the way if I was noticed at all, would have given my life for them.
When we finally returned to Mirabeth's there was a sailor from the Hawk waiting. He had a message for Damon...the King's lady asked that he and his companion join them for the evening meal.
Damon hesitated overlong, his gaze going far away, or perhaps deep inside. The sailor added, "Andreas said to tell you she has grown and changed and that it's time to forgive."
Damon focused on him but said nothing.
"There's not so many of us left," the sailor went on, "that we can afford to be enemies."
"Yes. Of course you're right. Tell them we'll come...oh and Tellac here as well."
"Oh NO!" I grabbed his arm, suddenly afraid. "Please...it is not wise to gather the King's notice."
Brianhet questioned from the far side of the room where he had gone to fetch another piece of fruit and Damon frowned down at me.
"What's wrong, Tellac? Brianhet thinks I've hurt you. Don't you want to go?"
The sailor caught the fruit Brianhet tossed him and commented. "They have a weird religion here, Damon, and human sacrifice is a big part of it. If the kid's an orphan..."
"Ah..." Damon repeated his words to Brianhet, then smiled at me. "You are wise, no doubt. Very well. Come back tomorrow and we'll go look at the fields."
I took the gold coin he handed me and slipped away before he could change his mind. The sailor was right...orphans were very subject to being the human part of the sacrifices to our great god...but it was not dying I feared.
Dying was the easy part...
Brianhet tied the thong of his sandal and reached for its mate. "Damon?"
"Hmmm?"
"Was I wrong or did you not want to go to dinner tonight?"
"No." The Atlantean leaned over on the pallet, turning his lover's face with one finger to meet his quick kiss. "You were quite right. It's an old grudge against the lady, Andreas' sister, Brynnene."
"You carry a grudge? It's not like you."
"She destroyed someone I loved very dearly."
Brianhet's crooked eyebrow went higher.
Damon shrugged. "It's been a long time now. Andreas is right, people do change and I should let it go. Here."
The Egyptian took the gold chain handed to him and slipped it over his head.
"When we meet Brynnene, give it to her," Damon instructed. "It's a custom and however much she's changed Brynnene will expect it."
"She sounds just lovely." Brianhet commented dryly and Damon grinned at him.
The King's lodging was larger than the other buildings in the Red City, rivaled only by the Temple, and the meager furnishings were of better quality...but the dust clung everywhere and Brianhet sneezed repeatedly as they were ushered into the receiving hall.
Damon whispered, "She must hate it here."
Before the Egyptian could reply, they were surrounded by Andreas and his men and from the other side of the room a heavy door was opening. The King entered first, a tall man with heavy lids and the beginnings of fat. Though Brianhet's face was impassive, it took only one look at the man for him to feel a chill go up his spine. The King's eyes, black and piercing, swept over his guests once and then he turned, holding out his hand with an imperious gesture so much like Menanhotep that the Egyptian was startled.
If he had thought at all about Brynnene, it had only been vague curiosity. Andreas' sister would probably look like Andreas, not as burly and without the beard, but not the tiny creature the King drew forth.
Brynnene was beautiful. Blue-eyed, with hair the red gold of a Thebean sunset, she was almost boyishly slim in her loose silk robe. Beside her husband she seemed like an apparition, vague and unreal.
Beside him Damon stirred and a strange look passed between the Atlantean and the captain of the Hawk, then Andreas went forward to greet their hosts, his cheerful voice booming with pleasure.
Brianhet waited until the noise of introductions was full before whispering, "What is it?"
Damon glanced at him. "There's change and change. Something is terribly wrong with Brynnene."
"How can you tell?"
The Atlantean shrugged.
The King was called Lan and as Andreas motioned them forward his black eyes went half-closed, watching them, assessing, judging them as he would an enemy. Brianhet nodded, taking the fingers held out to him in a loose brief grasp, unaccustomed to the gesture of greeting.
"You are welcome," Lan said slowly.
"I am honored."
They spoke Atlantean, but neither was proficient in the language. After a moment of awkward silence Brianhet was passed on to the King's lady, Brynnene.
Close up she was, he thought even more beautiful than from across the room. Looking at him with remote, clouded eyes, she seem to be focusing on another world that was far removed from this one, her face a little flushed in the rising heat of the room, her hand cold in his.
Brianhet smiled at her and lifted the gold chain from around his neck. "For you."
Brynnene blinked then glanced quickly at her husband, almost as if she were afraid. But Lan was talking to Damon about Atlantis and for the moment she and Brianhet were alone.
Taking the chain, she slipped it into her robe. "I...I thank you. You must not think me rude, it's just been so long since..." her voice trailed off and once again her eyes were far away, her beautiful smile vacant.
Brianhet's gaze narrowed.
Damon came up beside him and the Egyptian took a step back to wait while the two Atlanteans exchanged greetings.
Damon was coolly polite. "Brynnene."
They did not clasp hands and the girl barely responded.
Damon went on, "It's been a long time."
She looked up quickly. "Have you seen him? Heard any word?"
Brianhet felt the sudden stiffness rising in his lover. Damon's answer was short. "Nothing."
The King turned, his large hand engulfing his wife's shoulder. "Come. We will lead the way to the dinner. You may continue renewing your acquaintance there."
Immediately Brynnene turned away.
When the royal couple had gone ahead Andreas came up beside them, his face a mass of frowns. "Did you see, Damon? Did you?"
"Ssh. We'll talk later."
Brianhet looked around the room. Laughing sailors and their banded Atlantean tunics, the red lodge's walls, even the bright colors of the hangings...all made a pretty picture. But underneath there was something dark and ugly. Dark, like Lan's eyes. Dark, like death.
Andreas paced the small cabin of his ship, his stride eating the space. "I tell you, Damon, there's something wrong!"
Sitting on the low bed, his legs curled under him, Damon agreed. "Yes."
"It's as if she's gone away in her head!" Andreas gestured, "You know her! She's so ALIVE, so...I don't..."
"I do."
Brianhet spoke quietly, but his words carried assurance and his two companions turned to stare.
"She's drugged."
"Drugged?" Andreas frowned. "Is she ill then? She's thinner certainly, but..."
"No." The Egyptian shook his head. "Not like that. I've seen it before, or something similar. The temple priests in the service of Horus, and especially Isis, use a substance that leaves similar after effects."
Damon asked, "What does it do?"
"Well, this might not be the same, but our priests, and the women too, use it for the ceremonies. There's a wait between the time when it's drunk before the reaction begins, then they would get more and more excited until they were almost frenzied. Sometimes it's sexual, sometimes raging. It's very effective, you know, on the masses. Scares 'em to death."
Andreas looked horrified.
"Afterwards there's a long period of recovery and the drug leaves them like Brynnene...very docile. Even sheeplike. Frightened easily. The old priests sometimes had their hearts stop...either during sex, which is prolonged and mindless (they fuck anything that moved), or after the frenzy through sheer terror at the shadow on the wall."
Damon said softly, "That's terrible."
Brianhet made a face. "Like I said, CONTROLLED it's very effective. Brynnene looked like she was coming out of it. Sometimes she knew what was going on, sometimes she'd just...go away."
"I knew she didn't want to marry Lan," Andreas murmured. "But she insisted...said she had to make up for past sins..." he looked unhappily at Damon, "but I never thought she'd do this."
"I doubt if she had any say in the matter, " Brianhet told him. "Probably Lan found her reluctant or maybe he just wanted a little excitement. He looks like a cruel man...I thought of my father."
This brought Damon's head up sharply, but Brianhet smiled at him easily and he relaxed.
"What do we do?" Andreas questioned sharply. "I can hardly take her home. There's no home to take her to any more. She married him to help form a solid trade alliance with Lan's people but that's pointless now. Great God! I can't let her stay...what do we do?"
"Can you talk to her, " Brianhet suggested, "alone? Or with us? I could tell better about the drug if I had a chance to question her."
"I'll find a way." The Hawk's captain was grim. "Somehow I'll find a way."
by Tessa Rae
The muscular Atlantean Captain paced anxiously along the deck of The Hawk, the late afternoon sun turning his hair and full beard to molten gold. He stood alone on his now heavily laden vessel, the crew having vanished to occupy themselves elsewhere.
"Andreas?" The soft, strained voice from behind momentarily startled the Atlantean before he let out a relieved breath.
"Thank the Gods, Damon I thought you would never get here." The Captain clasped the other man in greeting. "Where's that mate of yours?"
"Tellac has taken him to the markets." Without taking his eyes from the Captain, Damon carefully studied him, noticing the tension, wondering if it were due to Andreas' sister. "Did you see Brynnene?"
"Yes and no."
Damon frowned. Andreas looked down a moment before leading his friend to sit on a large, wooden crate.
"I saw Brynnene this morning in her garden but was unable to speak with her. Returning here, I found Lan's messenger waiting for me."
"What could he want?" Damon looked around suddenly, seeing The Hawk prepared for departure.
"He has a proposition for me--to make a delivery to a harbor west of here. It is an important shipment and none of his traders will be free for another half moon. I could not refuse," he ended quietly.
"So when do we leave?" Damon stared numbly at his friend for a moment, then rose hastily, wondering how quickly he could find Brianhet. "I must find Brin't."
"No." Andreas restrained him with a firm hand, seeing the shocked, wild eyes. "No," he continued more gently, "I ask that you and Brianhet remain here."
Damon sat completely still as every instinct shouted 'NO' at him. The idea of remaining in this little kingdom with no escape terrified him.
"It will not be for long, two moons at most. I fear for Brynnene and want you and Brianhet to talk with her." When Damon did not answer him, Andreas fiercely gripped the smaller man's shoulder.
"Damon, please. She is my only remaining family."
Nodding slowly, Damon tried to ignore his screaming senses. "I will do as you ask." Looking back towards the Red City, he suppressed a shiver.
Andreas smiled in relief, not noticing the younger man's unease. "Thank you. That's all I ask. Just talk with her, make sure she is happy." He hesitated, clasping and unclasping his large, tanned hands together. "I fear for her life."
Suddenly needing to see Brianhet, Damon stood. "Do not worry, Andreas. I wish you a safe and fast voyage."
"I promise to return. We sail with the tide. Just one word of caution," Andreas lowered his voice, "do not trust Lan." He refused to say more.
They embraced before Damon withdrew, feverishly praying for The Hawk's speedy return. He hurried away to find his lover.
Andreas saw the slim figure disappear from view, his mind refusing to rest, wondering if he had made the right choice.
Without realizing it, Damon found himself back at their lodging. Parting the heavy blanket to their room, he settled on the soft, feather mattress, his mind and thoughts dwelling on Andreas' request. He was a dear friend and he had helped both Brianhet and himself more than once already. So why was he so hesitant now in returning that help?
The city made him uneasy, and it was the same feeling of dread and impending doom which had urged him to flee with Brianhet all those months ago from Egypt. Yet this time he was caught in a web of loyalties and friendship, and those ties were not easily cut.
He would have to wait and try to talk with Brynnene; although he couldn't see what they could find to talk about. With luck, Andreas would return before two moons.
Besides, even if what Brianhet had said was true, he didn't know what either of them could do about it. Lan was the King, was the ultimate power and Damon had the nasty suspicion that Lan's power could be deadly and poisonous. Lying back on the pillows, his mind still unsure, he realized his problem might be simple reluctance to meet with Brynnene again, as his last memories of her weren't exactly pleasant.
Last time he has seen her was on Atlantis--years ago. She had been dressed in white silk, accusing and vicious, it was a scene he would never forget. An older woman, Alexia, in fine but casual clothing had sat beside him, tears marring her soft beauty as Brynnene--his half-sister--had told him the cold, hard facts of his heritage. Alexia, his foster mother, had taken a risk in coming to him. His real mother and uncles had been furious with Alexia for threatening to expose their deception and angerous family secret. But then he, too, had still been a child and hadn't fully understood their motives. It was only years later, after listening to Brianhet talking of his family and the politics involved, that Damon started to understand the corrupt ways of his true family's heritage.
Many childhood dreams and ideals had been shattered the day his birth mother had arrived in secret to reclaim him and take him from all he had known. To this day, he still found it hard to believe that he was the son of a wealthy Atlantean trading family, not that it mattered now with Atlantis gone. At the time, the discovery had destroyed his very foundations. He had only survived on a cushion of shock, thrown into a world of back-room politics and bickering which were completely alien to him. He had been forced to pretend to be his twin brother--stunned to know he had a twin--and nothing had made sense.
Dymon, his twin had vanished. But for appearances sake his family had yanked him from seclusion and forced him into Dymon's identity. They had dictated his every word, his every thoguht, threatening to kill his foster mother if he did not play their game. He had been trapped. He was told that twins were a curse from the Gods, therefore as the younger twin he had been banished at birth. Given to a peasant family. And for seventeen summers he had been happy - until his twin had been expelled for a crime that no one would talk about.
For three moons he had endured the confusion and lies, then his father, the Lord Merchant, had died and that had been Damon's ticket out of the political nightmare. Or so he had hoped. He wanted to go back to his faster family - but found he was suddenly ordered to marry for the sake of the family. And his bride to be was none other than the beautiful Brynnene. He tried to run, but again they threatened to kill his foster family.
So he covered his fear and tried to be what the family wanted. He even tried to get to know Brynnene, to court her, to understand her. They had even shared a bed--once. But the whole experience had left him cold, the prospect of marriage and a future with her looming like a heavy, suffocating blanket.
Barred from social engagements until he learned proper behavior, Damon spent most of his free time trying to learn about his family and, in particular, his twin. All his real mother, the Lady of the House, would do was cry in private. Frustrated and feeling trapped, he longed for escape. On risk of punishment, he had slipped away once to return to his first home: that had been his biggest mistake.
Brynnene had somehow found out and seen him with Symon, whom was his childhood sweetheart. Jealous and spiteful, Brynnene had played a childish prank on Symon which had resulted in Symon's death. That was the final straw for Damon, he'd had enough and his his normally non-existent temper had flared as he confronted his Mother and renounced his ties to the family. He could never be Dymon and refused to be party to any more lies. The scene which had followed had decided his future, his uncle sending him on the yearly voyage to the caves with a tutor, and the instructions that he should return better mannered and educated. Fate had decided otherwise and Atlantis was now lost to the sea forever.
Fate had also brought him face to face with Brynnene and his past again. He had beleived her dead, had not given her a second thought--until now. His past was not something he wanted Brianhet mixed up in.
Breathing deeply, Damon pushed himself up to lean on his elbows, his eyes narrowed in the brilliant evening sun as it sank low over the sea. It was approaching evening and Andreas would sail on the next tide. Resigning himself to their longer stay, Damon straightened his short tunic and ran fingers through his heavy curls as he prepared to go and find his partner. No doubt both Brianhet and Tellac would still be at the markets, enjoying the bonfires. But what should he tell Brianhet? Having never mentioned any other family to the other man, Damon did not know how to bring the subject up now. Maybe it would be best if he didn't say a word? Or if he told Brianhet only what Andreas' request?
Taking a small sip of water, Damon left the cooling room and went out into the evening warmth.
The markets were almost on the opposite side of the city, starting at one end of the docks and stretching back inland: many things could be bought, sold or traded there. Damon passed through the red stone streets quickly, exchanging smiles and greetings with a few people but not really concentrating as he eyed the huge palace on his left. Behind it, not far away, he could see the temples. They looked magnificent in the fiery glow of the descending sun, casting long, outreaching shadows like tentacles over part of the city. The eeriness of it sent a shudder down his spine and he looked away quickly.
Slowing his progress, he admired the beautiful gardens again, recognizing the loving care which had gone into their creation. Some of the smaller plants were starting to come into bloom. Frowning over the oddity of that, he dismissed the phenomenon as the result of a different climate on the vegetation. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back to absorb the restfulness of the place. Smelling its exotic essence, he wished again that he could have shown Brianhet his beloved homeland. His relaxed thoughts were interrupted abruptly when he sensed a presence behind him.
Turning, he was confronted by a clear, blue-eyed glare, even now it chilled him. "Brynnene," he said through stiff lips, finding it difficult to think of her as a cherished Queen of this city.
She walked steadily forward, never taking her eyes off him. She was as striking as ever to look at, if not slimmer, and the two young men who accompanied her towered over both of them. Damon was aware of the cold contempt in her eyes; Brynnene, too, it seemed was incapable of forgetting the past.
"What do you think of my garden?"
"It is beautiful," he said simply, meeting her look. He was aware of the difference in her from the previous night. She was alert and he watched the play of emotions on her face as she studied him in turn.
"Yes, it is all I have left of home," she said it aloud, yet Damon had the impression she was not speaking to him. Just as abruptly, she pinned him with her gaze again. "Do you ever think of home, Damon?"
"Yes." He nodded warily while watching her closely.
"We had all thought you dead when the Apollo never returned. It destroyed your mother." She waited until she had his full attention. "Your real mother," she stressed pointedly.
He straightened as his muscles tensed. "And what of you, Brynnene, did it touch you?"
"No, but then you were never capable of doing that," she ended flatly.
"Is anything?" The bitterness in him was almost overflowing, he realized he was a fool to believe either of them could forgive.
"Once," she admitted quietly. Moving around him, she carefully touched a small bloom, her beauty as fragile and delicate as the flower itself. Damon tried to gather his defenses. "I had thought you were leaving today," she continued in the same tone, throwing Damon off balance for a moment.
"Leaving?"
"On The Hawk," she emphasized, as if to a child. "With my brother."
"No, I decided to stay for a while." Why, Damon couldn't now understand, in his eyes Brynnene was normal. If she had been on drugs, she was over it now, and she didn't seem in the least enslaved or frightened. Glancing over his shoulder towards the sun, he realized with a sinking heart that he and Brianhet had probably missed Andreas now; they would have to wait for his return. Maybe he could convince his lover to leave the city and explore the surrounding country until Andreas' return.
"Is the Egyptian staying as well?"
The question was innocent but the accompanying gleam in her eyes scared Damon. "Yes, why?" he demanded defensively.
She gave a spreading smile. "Then I must see that he enjoys his stay. You, no doubt, will please yourself--as always."
The remark stung and Damon just stopped himself from flinching physically. Her voice was thick with venom and Damon was shocked to discover the depth of her hatred. Illogically, she blamed him for everything that had happened but at least it had saved her life. If it hadn't been for him leaving on the voyage to the caves they would have both died on Atlantis and she would never have married Lan. The thought suddenly hit him, maybe Andreas was right and he owed it to his friend to find out the truth.
"Are you happy here, Brynnene?" The gentleness in his voice surprised him as much as her and Brynnene looked at him wide-eyed before the moment was lost.
"Happy?" she half laughed. "What is happy? Tell me, Damon, I've had no chance to find out, not like you. My own chance at happiness was snatched away from me," she ended bitterly.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't pity me," she snapped. "I have everything I ever wanted here: all the wealth, property and position I dreamed about. If it lacks a little something, other things make up for that." She straightened, pulling her self respect around her again like a cloak as the hard expression returned to her face.
"So you are content here with Lan," Damon concluded, needing to clarify the point, wanting to end the exchange and find Brianhet. He felt exhausted and just wanted to leave.
"Content?" She straightened her shoulders and frowned at him.
"Do you have children?" Not seeing or caring to watch her response Damon continued to clear the questions in his own mind for Andreas' sake.
"No." Lifting his head, Damon met her gaze. "Not any more," she ended without heat.
Damon looked puzzled for a moment before dismissing her answer. Brynnene seemed to shake herself from the mood, her manner brisk now. With a small hand gesture she motioned the two young and magnificently built men forward. Damon had forgotten their presence until now.
"It's almost sunset," Brynnene's voice took on a note of wonder and warmth. Damon glanced at her sharply in time to see her face turn into the glow. Her features melted into a soft radiance as she raised her hands in silent worship. Damon found himself touched by the simple, sensual gesture. It was a Brynnene he had never seen before but the moment vanished as she smoothed her hands over her dress. "I must go, Lan will be waiting for me at the temple. I will tell him of your wish to stay." Without further speech she turned away as if he no longer existed, leaving him with a vague disquiet he couldn't explain.
He left in turn, hurrying to find Brianhet.
The markets were a jumbled maze as people packed up their wares for the day. Wandering between the stalls, Damon searched for the familiar features but it was Brianhet who found him first, placing a large hand on his shoulder and turning him. The Atlantean relaxed for the first time under Brianhet's welcoming smile.
The smile diminished a little as Brianhet studied his companion closely. "You alright?"
Damon just smiled and nodded as he released a breath, so very relieved to see him.
"Damon?" Unconvinced, Brianhet squeezed his shoulder.
"Just glad to see you. We'll talk later. Where's Tellac?"
Picking up the odd note in the voice, Brianhet gestured over his shoulder at the tall, skinny lad exchanging a coin for a piece of clothing. He seemed to be winning the argument and came out grinning, holding up his new possession.
Brianhet dropped his arm casually around the Atlantean's shoulders and gave him a quick hug.
"Come on, I'm starving and Tellac says he knows a good place to eat."
They followed the younger man through the weaving back streets. Brianhet took to holding a cloth over his nose as his constant sneezing was turning into an irritating cough. The red dust seemed to get everywhere and the Egyptian was resigned to never removing it from their clothing. Damon walked silently along beside him, deep in thought and therefore missing the questioning glances.
The place was indeed interesting and the food smelled wonderful but Brianhet didn't want to look too closely at the makeshift cooking place. His stomach rumbled so loudly that even Tellac laughed. Having purchased enough food, Brianhet suggested they eat at their lodgings and invited Tellac back with them.
Mirabeth gave them a toothless grin as they passed through into the back room, letting the heavy blanket swing into place. Sitting comfortably, they quickly divided the food and ate while it was still hot.
Brianhet sat close, not saying anything while wondering if Damon would eventually confide in him. Maybe after Tellac had gone? He was a patient man, where his Atlantean lover was concerned. Someone, probably the old lady, had lit a candle in the room and after the meal Damon went around and lit a few more. The flames flickered in the slight breeze which was cooling the warm atmosphere. Conversation was stilted as Brianhet tried out his Atlantean on Tellac, which drew occasional smiles from the man beside him.
"Have you lived all your life in Red City?"
Tellac's almost black eyes looked up into the pale face of the Egyptian and he nodded.
"Do you know what happened to your family?" Brianhet asked the question with care, knowing how sensitive the boy was to the subject.
"No." Tellac shook his dark head, one heavy, black ringlet falling across his eyes. "As far as I remember I was always alone." He broke off some more bread.
"And you grew up around the docks," Brianhet concluded. He had learnt from the crew of Andreas' vessel that many Atlantean ships used to come into the harbor for trade and that was probably how the young African had learnt the language.
"I learnt many things around the docks, especially how not to be seen. Very important not to draw the King's attention."
Brianhet lifted an eyebrow, remembering Tellac's panic at going with them to the palace that first day. Looking at his lover he found himself presented with the top of a curly head as Damon played with a honey apple. Brianhet had heard about orphans being sacrificed before but had never thought that it still happened in this new, civilized world.
"Tell us about your religion, Tellac." The quiet request startled the two listeners as it was the first thing Damon had uttered all evening. He leaned casually against Brianhet, who accepted his weight and drew him a little closer while resting back on the wall behind him; it was cold and hard and Brianhet pushed a pillow behind him.
Tellac remained cross-legged in front of them with a sober expression on his face. Licking his dry lips, he spoke in a hushed tone. "It is a dance to the Gods which is celebrated. The High Priest thanks the Gods each day before sundown. In turn, they bless our land and crops."
"Then why the sacrifice of orphans?" Brianhet frowned as he quietly asked the question.
"It is taught that the Gods take the parents to show which children are the chosen ones. Orphans are known as God blessed, if the Gods demand sacrifice, the King has all the orphans brought before him in a ceremony of cleansing to prepare their way." Tellac's round eyes grew bigger as he looked towards the candle's flame.
"But surely people must object?" Damon sounded horrified at the idea.
Tellac didn't even look at him, seeming mesmerized by the bright shaft of light. "It is a time of joy and great sharing, and all the people of the city benefit. No one is forced into the flames, they all go willingly." He stopped, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them. "The flames draw them, they dance to a beautiful melody and sing as the fire burns, the sweet fragrance filling everyone with the Gods' goodwill. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." His awe was obvious.
"You've been there? But how?" Damon asked.
"I remember hiding away among the bins of grain to watch. I couldn't look away. A sense of dread and death filled me, yet it was so beautiful. For a time I felt the joy of it but I had no desire to enter the flames like the other orphans. I suppose the Gods rejected me." Tellac's soft voice held the tiniest hint of regret as he lowered his eyes, ashamed.
"Do the Gods answer the people?" Damon found it hard to believe in a God of sacrifice, yet he respected all forms of worship.
Brianhet flicked him a look of surprise, hearing the note of faint belief.
"After the fire the King scatters the ashes over the land and the holy men all pray for growth and fertility. They pray for days, or at least until the Gods answer with water from the heavens."
"And the Gods always answer them?" Brianhet half asked, recognizing the too familiar pattern he had heard of before. He could even guess the time of year the sacrifice would take place--just before the monsoons.
"Of course." Even in the strange language Tellac's voice sounded indignant.
Damon reached over and placed a hand on the young man's arm. "It's alright Tellac, Egypt did not mean any disrespect."
Tellac nodded, remembering that these two were strangers to the land. He found it hard to believe that he had only known them for a few days; they already seemed like old friends, the family he had never had. Damon smiled at him and again the young native was taken by his simple beauty.
"How often do these," Damon paused, looking for the word, "celebrations take place?"
"Whenever the Gods are unhappy."
"Which is?" Brianhet prompted with a smile of his own, interested to see if his speculations would be proved correct. Unlike Damon, he didn't hold with the romantic vision of the Gods which his companion was all too willing to believe in.
"Usually only after the Gods' anger strikes us in displeasure but sometimes it can be more often. The holy men decide," Tellac answered, slightly uneasy.
"At least they always answer you," Damon reassured him. "But you're no longer a child but a young man, the King can no longer call you an orphan."
"An orphan is one uninitiated in the temple by his parents before the age of five." Tellac's voice held regret and some bitter memories. "It's hard to survive when you're not accepted by the Gods."
Damon reached forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, understanding Tellac's sorrow, remembering his own childhood. "Tellac, forgive us for making you remember, we do not wish to hurt you." The light Atlantean voice calmed the tension which had suddenly arisen, and banished some of the pain.
Brianhet's frown deepened as he puzzled over what Tellac had said. In this society they too would be classified as orphans if the young boy was to be believed. It seemed to be a man-chosen rule rather than God chosen, for it didn't matter if you were parentless, only that you were uninitiated.
"Are all children initiated?" he asked.
"Of course. Usually in their first two years when the family can contribute to the temple."
"Contribute, as in gold?"
"Why, of course."
Brianhet raised a solitary eyebrow, giving Damon a pointed look. The facts seemed clear to him. But the Atlantean looked right through him, his eyes on far away images. Brianhet had the momentary urge to shake them both out of it.
"I think there will be a burning before the next new moon. There has been talk in the village." Tellac's voice lowered again and he almost whispered the words in a conspiratorial tone.
Damon closed his eyes, trying to imagine the scene but it was impossible, something totally outside his experience. Brianhet was right when he accused him of being naive, yet he still felt a tantalizing fascination and awe which frightened and terrified him at the same time. Straightening his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he tried to relieve the nagging ache in his still healing back. The angry knife wound could still produce a blinding pain.
His mind undecided, he tried to work out what was best to do. He needed to talk with Brianhet and explain the Hawk's leaving and perhaps try to persuade Brianhet that they should leave Red City as well. They could purchase passage out, or buy some horses, do anything but stay. The dread of the city was so strong in him that he was certain Brianhet must feel it too.
"Damon!" An insistent shake drew him abruptly out of his thoughts, and Damon looked up to find worried eyes peering at him.
"I had imagined you asleep," the Egyptian's words were light but his eyes demanded something more.
"Sorry." Damon tried to shake off the feeling as he sat up.
"Quite." The Egyptian's tone was affectionate as he drew him closer, fingers almost bruising his shoulders. Turning to Tellac, he smiled warmly.
"It has been a most wonderful day, Tellac, and I thank you for your company. But I think now my companion is in need of sleep, so we'll bid you goodnight until tomorrow." From the small leather pouch by his waist he produced a single gold coin for the boy.
Tellac accepted it with delight, although he didn't expect any payment. The day had been a pleasure for him but if the beautiful Egyptian kept insisting on giving him gold he wouldn't refuse. Walking out into the warm shadows, Tellac returned to the docks.
Preparing for bed, Damon was more than aware of the clear gaze following his every move. Throwing back the heavy bed covers, he sat back and tried to smile reassuringly at his lover. Brianhet watched him for a moment longer before moving to sit beside him.
"Something is troubling you, can you not tell me?" Watching the worried expression on the Atlantean's face, he tried to imagine the worst.
Fidgeting with his crumpled tunic, which never seemed to sit right, Damon tried to think of a way to best tell the waiting man. He knew whatever he said Brianhet would still be angry with him and he wanted to disappear into a dark corner very much.
"Oh, Brin't, I think I have made the biggest mistake." He looked up, eyes appealing, biting his bottom lip, waiting for judgement. So sure Brianhet would be angry with him.
"Tell me." It was a gentle and wholly loving request and it broke the Atlantean's fragile composure. He opened his mouth, intending to explain everything but nothing would come out. Pulling himself together, he tried again, tumbling the words out in case Brianhet should turn away before he could finish.
"Andreas has left--he was so worried--and I didn't ask you--for Brynnene was fine--and I had to stay for Andreas' sake--he's done so much for me--oh Egypt," he ended hopelessly in a strained tone.
The Egyptian forestalled any further disjointed speech, placing warm fingers over the open mouth. Struggling to understand what he had been told he shelved his anxious thoughts of immediate disaster and tried to calm the other man.
"Slowly my love. Take a breath, then start again. From the beginning." Removing his restraining fingers he caressed the trembling lips fleetingly before tangling his fingers in the abundant curls, annoyed to discover the hair to be clogged and weighted with red dust.
Swallowing was suddenly impossible for Damon and he half choked on his indrawn breath. The amount of patience and tender understanding which emanated from the other man made threatening tears well in his eyes. Falling in love all over again with this beautiful man, he briefly wondered why the Gods had blessed him so.
"Now, start again," encouraged Brianhet.
"I...oh, Egypt," Damon trailed off as his shoulders started to shake, lowering his head, unsuccessfully denying the tears. He felt physically and emotionally drained.
Brianhet gathered him close, offering comfort while his mind spun as he tried to prepare himself for the worst. He had never seen the other man in such a state before and the reasons worried him. Mentally calculating their escape routes and money, imagining tragic news, he braced himself. Then the thought suddenly hit him: Andreas. Damon had mentioned the other Atlantean. He stilled his soothing rocking of the smaller man and pushed him away slightly.
"Has something happened to Andreas or The Hawk?"
Damon shook his head.
"Then what? Pray tell me, Damon, before I perish from worry."
Collecting his scattered wits, Damon said shakily, "Andreas has left on Lan's commission. But he asked before he sailed if you and I would stay behind and talk with Brynnene. I agreed," he ended lamely, still weighed down by guilt and not meeting the angry, blue eyes he knew he would see. When Brianhet remained motionless beside him for a prolonged period, he reluctantly looked up through his heavy chestnut curls.
"You little fool, of course I agree we should stay." Relieved, Brianhet's voice was laced with affection.
"But it is so unnecessary," Damon countered, not willing to believe Brianhet's easy acceptance.
"Unnecessary?" Bewildered, he raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. I talked with Brynnene not long after I spoke with Andreas. We were in her garden and she was fine. Happy in fact, and drug free."
"Her normal self as you remember her?" Brianhet persisted, unconvinced.
Remembering the conversation, Damon's mouth twisted a little. "Oh yes, she was perfectly normal. A little underweight, but mentally fine." If Brianhet sensed the bitterness he chose to ignore it in view of other pressing matters.
"Well at least you can reassure Andreas. How long will it be before he returns?"
"One or two full moons." Again a note of despair crept into Damon's normally light tones.
Relaxing and settling back on the soft mattress, Brianhet digested what he had been told. He drew Damon down with him, settling him half across his chest.
Life was looking good to Brianhet. They were both free for the first time in their lives and now they could start to live for themselves. Apart from the awful red dust, he found the city amusing and friendly. They had enough gold to enjoy themselves until Andreas returned. He could visualize the warm, easy days and lazy, playful evenings and smiled in anticipation as he kissed the head under his chin. Now that Damon had got what was worrying him off his chest, things would work out. Touched by his lover's concern for his welfare, he tightened his arms subconsciously, lifting the Atlantean's chin to kiss his forehead.
The closed face presented to him destroyed his sense of wellbeing instantly and with a sinking heart he realized Damon still wasn't with him. Releasing the rigid body, he pushed up on his elbows.
"Damon?"
Receiving no answer, Brianhet turned to the other man. Damon didn't try to resist him, his expression was no longer one of guilt and foreboding but that of plain worry. "You remember that night we left Knossos?" At Brianhet's nod, Damon continued. "I told you then I sensed danger. Don't ask me how, I still don't know. But that same sense of danger is with me now."
"What sort?" Brianhet's expression suddenly dropped. "Not another earthquake?"
"I don't know, all I know is that I want us to leave."
Brianhet traced a light finger down the unhappy features, memorizing them. "Alright, we'll leave," he said without hesitation.
Damon closed his eyes in relief, feeling a heavy weight lift from him.
"But in the morning. We must leave a message for Andreas."
Drawing Brianhet down, the Atlantean kissed him soundly, putting all the love and relief he felt into the moment. Breaking the kiss, he allowed the other man to pull away.
"Thank you Brin't," he whispered, letting his expression say the rest.
"For what? Trusting you? That I have always done," Brianhet muttered. Not waiting for Damon's reply, he besieged the open mouth, plundering it, feeling the Atlantean's unquestioning response as he gave himself completely.
The sun had barely risen when Brianhet found himself dragged from his cocoon of sleep. Watching his lover through half open eyes, he found tunic and underslip were thrust at him, his mind irritably recalling Damon's words of last night. Shaking off sleep, Brianhet dressed quickly, grimacing at the faint red discoloration of the white tunic. Damon smiled briefly at him as he shoved their belongings into a bag.
"Do you still sense danger?"
"Yes," said Damon with no hesitation.
"But last time the quake hit only moments after you spoke." It was a question that had been playing at the back of Brianhet's mind since the night.
"I know," Damon admitted, looking up from what he was doing. "But last time my mind was somewhat preoccupied so I didn't recognize what I was sensing till almost too late."
"And now?"
"We have little time," was the frank reply.
Without further talk they collected their belongings, which fitted into two small bags, and left the room. Brianhet looked back for a moment. He would always have fond memories of that bed.
Entering the food area, Mirabeth was startled to see them both so early, having grown accustomed to their late rising time. She was saddened to hear that they needed to leave but pressed them to take some fresh food. Giving her an extra gold coin, Brianhet thanked her and followed the preoccupied Atlantean out. He was not surprised when round the corner they literally fell over Tellac who was sleeping in some dried hay for the horses.
The boy sprang to his feet, disappointed, sorrowful and angry when they told him, large tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He had come to treasure their friendship too dearly and had been unprepared for their hasty departure. Brianhet started to doubt Damon's awareness of their surroundings as the man fidgeted slightly behind him. Feeling sad to part with the young African, he almost invited Tellac to accompany them before he remembered they had nothing really to offer the lad. He was better off remaining where he was.
"Tellac, we need to buy some horses...good, strong animals...quickly. Do you know where we can get them?"
"Yes, I can show you."
"Good." Brianhet turned to his companion. "I will get the horses, you speak to Brynnene and leave word for Andreas."
Green eyes gleamed with gratitude and affection. "I will meet you where?"
"Let's say the large outer gate on the north wall."
"Yes. Be quick." Damon gripped the Egyptian's forearm strongly in a parting gesture before he turned and was lost in the streets.
Brianhet shook his head fondly, hoping that Brynnene was an early riser. Somehow he doubted it.
Damon came to a halt outside the beautiful gardens, his nose picking up seductive perfumes. Ignoring them, he made his way quickly to the main palace courtyard. He recognized one of the guards from his first visit due to the man's immense size. The man stood by the King's colorful banner, the vast cloth moving sluggishly in the breeze. For the first time Damon realized that he could not hear any birds singing, and chilled by that fact, he shivered. The silence swamped him and he clutched his sweaty tunic to his body, hurrying to the guard.
"Sir, my name is Damon of The Hawk, and I need to speak with the King's lady, or at least get a message to her." He spoke half Atlantean and half African, remembering a few phrases he had heard Tellac use.
The guard gave Damon a look of near disgust. "The King is not to be disturbed." The guard spoke clearly in his own dialect, then proceeded to ignore Damon. It was his standard reply to all visitors.
Not understanding the language all that well, Damon learnt more from the closed face. It was obvious he wasn't going to find Brynnene this way. He would try once more...at the temple, as she seemed to spend a lot of time there. He glanced at the sky but everything appeared normal, yet still his nerves danced. He looked again at the guard but the huge man paid him no attention. Turning, Damon hurried to the temple.
It was larger than the palace and wonderfully decorated, the outside covered with intertwined figures, half in love, half in war. Vines of flowers clung to the majestic archway and Damon peered around curiously, intrigued and awed by the beauty. He was caught by a desire to explore so great that he almost forgot the urge to run. A half-hushed voice drifted over to him from the right and he followed the sound on light feet, respectfully aware of the holiness of the place. Bowing his head, he came to another sculptured arch. Driven by a need to touch, he leant closer but, unwilling to displease the temper's Gods, did not. Feeling unaccountably uneasy, he carefully looked around the corner of this entrance. The passage was darker and a cool draft hit him, filling his senses with a strong smell of herbs--the place was deserted. At odds with himself, Damon carefully removed his laced sandals, leaving them out of the way to one side as he went forward, looking for somebody to ask.
The herb scented air was not unpleasant, even though it hurt his nose and stung his eyes. Another entranceway loomed ahead, divided into three more passages. Feeling out of his depth and more apprehensive with each passing step, he backed away, intending to abandon the whole idea. He would find Brianhet and they would leave, they would somehow contact Andreas later.
His senses were starting to swim, a deep pain settling in the middle of his head. Putting out a hand, he encountered ice cold walls, their chill lancing his brain. Running a moist tongue across his top lip, he started back the way he had come. Again a hushed voice stopped him but this time it was closer and of a different tone and pitch: it wasn't words, more like a subdued cry. Probing with all his senses, fear started to eat at him as he made out a half closed door in the gloom, a small light escaping it and he was pulled forwards, shaky and apprehensive. He was teetering on the brink of withdrawal when another muffled sound decided him. The entranceway was partially blocked by a heavy blanket smelling of stale dust. Eyes smarting from the sudden torch light in the small room, he blinked repeatedly to clear his vision. What he saw made his skin crawl and Damon recoiled, steadying himself with a hand on the nearest wall. Again, its coldness pierced him and he snatched his hand away, tangling it in his tunic.
A child of seven or eight stared back at him with unseeing eyes, small hands fiercely gripping the base of her cage. Dried tear trails marred her cheeks, but apart from that her face was as expressionless as her eyes. She was naked, sitting motionless on the straw floor, completely unaffected by anything. Two other children were in similar condition; a little boy of about the same age, who neither spoke nor moved and a second girl, curled in a tight ball in the corner of her prison, whimpering occasionally but even she was unaware of him.
Numb with disbelief, Damon felt his knees start to give as he stared fixedly at the children in the flickering light. Remembering where he was sickened him even more. He must be mistaken, no Gods would do this. He shook his head as if to clear his vision, blocking out the dark, sightless eyes of the small girl.
Shuffling backwards towards the blanket, he released a shuddering breath, realizing his own cheeks were wet with tears. A biting grip on his shoulder made him jump in startlement and he turned large, frightened eyes on a darkly robed man. Gleaming white teeth smiled at him from under the covering cowl and Damon gasped, instinctively pulling away. The other man followed him, the dark eyes watching him with a knowing expression as the robed priest ran a light knuckled hand down the Atlantean's smooth cheek. Flinching under the cool touch, Damon steadied himself against the wall.
The priest placed his other hand over Damon's thinly covered shoulder, moving until he towered over the auburn head.
"A small, white man-child, the Gods will be pleased."
The manner was so seductive that Damon faltered as he tried to slide out of the firm grasp, feeling hemmed in by the other man's closeness. The old remembered fluttering of his heart fought the African's words pounding in his head, his breathing quickened as he pushed ineffectually at the swamping black robe surrounding him.
"I'm sorry but I must go." Even to himself his words sounded desperate.
The all-seeing eyes frowned at him before glancing briefly at an unused cage.
"No!" Damon half gasped in Atlantean, his suffocation growing with the thought of being caged. Wildly he fought the weight enclosing him, maddened beyond reason as he saw the amused glint in the priest's eyes.
"No one ever leaves, little one."
While Damon didn't understand the words, their sense was unmistakable. His eyes widening in startled realization, he lashed out in panic-stricken terror.
Not prepared for the fierce assault, the African lost his grip momentarily, catching only a shoulder of the thin tunic before the Atlantean slipped out of his grasp. Blind to anything but escape, Damon fell through the heavy blanket, his momentum almost tearing it from the doorway. He half staggered, half ran towards the light coming through the archway, tunic torn across his back and shoulder, he didn't stop or look back as he fled from the temple. He could hear a shout going up behind him as he tried to lose himself in the red streets.
Completely disorientated, he stopped on a street, panting and clutching at his ribs. Eyes round and frightened, his gaze darted around nervously as he searched for a familiar landmark. Standing a little straighter, his legs trembling slightly, he urged himself forward.
A dog on a tie was going berserk down the lane, running in circles and whimpering, but Damon didn't see it, his mind still too preoccupied with the images from the temple. Almost by accident he turned into the main street and saw Brianhet and Tellac ahead with two horses.
Brianhet was talking softly to the animals as they pranced around, agitated and nervous, an elderly man pleading with the Egyptian. Tellac, standing to one side, looked dejected and unloved.
"Brin't!" Damon gave an urgent gasp, clutching the other man's arm as he came to his side.
Fed up to his back teeth, Brianhet cast a quick look at the out-of-breath Atlantean, the flushed face, eyes wide, wild and red.
"Damon?" The open terror in the normally clear, green eyes made him slacken his grip on the leather bridles. Immediately the horses started to pull away, whinnying as they tossed their heads. Swearing in Egyptian, Brianhet was pulled forward by their restlessness.
"Really sir, they are normally very good horses." The elderly man was babbling in a mixture of his own language and Atlantean. The gold he'd been given was generous and he didn't want the tall Egyptian to think he was being cheated. "I don't understand this." He shook his head in amazement.
Brianhet didn't have time to listen, even if he had been able to understand him. All he knew was that they had lost half their provisions and unless they could settle the animals there was no way to ride them. Damon's persistent clutching of his arm was restricting and he half glared at the other man.
"Well that's it...we'll lead them," he said in annoyance, looking with displeasure at the elderly man who scampered away. It wasn't really his fault, it had just been a bad morning for Brianhet.
"Oh please, take me with you." Tellac's voice assaulted his senses and he took a deep breath to squash his exasperation.
"Tellac, I'm sorry but we cannot," he repeated for about the tenth time. Watching the fine boned, young face crumple again as fresh tears spilled, he relented slightly and handed the boy two more gold coins. At least that way he could survive better, Brianhet reasoned.
The boy stared at the gold in his hand, it was more than he'd ever been given at one time and he still had two gold pieces from the previous day.
Turning back to Damon, Brianhet thrust a rein at him, trying to get the Atlantean to take it. Damon jumped when he touched him. Brianhet bit off a cry of frustration as he took back the rein, glancing from the nervous horse to the distraught Tellac and the vacant Atlantean at his side. It was only then that he noticed the beautiful tunic was torn and that his lover wore no sandals. Lifting an eyebrow in question, he was interrupted by Tellac...again.
"Please, I will go with you for nothing!" The swollen eyes pleaded with him as the boy gave him back the gold. Sighing, his shoulders slumped, Brianhet closed his eyes for a moment, only to be pushed off balance by Damon as he cannoned into him.
"Egypt, we must go! NOW!" He took a few steps forward before grabbing the larger man's arm. "Egypt!" he begged as he nervously looked back over his shoulder.
Confused, Brianhet was not surprised when he felt a slight tremor under his feet. Tellac stopped also, looking up, frightened. The trembling sensation only lasted a few breaths and everything was curiously still after it, only Damon seemed oblivious to the quake.
"Brin't, come on!" The Atlantean was desperate as he grabbed the reins, trying to drag both Brianhet and the horse forward.
"Damon, a quake," Brianhet spoke in Egyptian, "an earthquake!" He stared in amazement at the other man. Tellac, behind them, had dropped to his knees and was muttering a litany in his own language.
Knowing enough about quakes, Brianhet decided it would be best if they left while they still could. Noise had erupted around them as people appeared, confused and shaken. Many had dropped to their knees, facing the blazing sun. Praying, Brianhet supposed. For someone who had been raised in the priesthood, he had little faith in such things, but he was still amazed at his Atlantean. Normally Damon would be reacting by now but still he seemed unaware of the distress around him.
Concentrating on getting them out of the city and away from the noise, Brianhet promised himself he would find out the real reason for his friend's unease later.
They had gone no more than ten steps or so when an even stronger quake rocked the city. Buildings around them crumpled and the ancient gates toppled over. The ground shook for longer this time and Brianhet lost his grip on the horses as they bucked in the panic. A scream pierced the rumbling echo and Brianhet saw Tellac fall to the ground, whether in an act of submission or sheer terror he was no longer sure. His main concern was the man in front of him, who stumbled and tried to keep his balance with a look of utter disbelief and despair.
Stretching out to grab a flailing arm, Brianhet attempted to drag them both to the ground. Damon fought him, still locked in his own world of horror, only feeling the restraining hands trying to drag him lower. People were milling around, jostling each other in their desperation and Brianhet's only link with Damon was the strong grip he had on his arm. The air became heavy with the red dust and breathing was difficult. How long the quake lasted Brianhet would never know as he was thrown to the ground by a crashing stone wall.
Standing alone on the upper deck, Dymon watched through narrowed eyes as the Sea Sprite approached the large harbor. A vast, red cloud sat malignantly over the land like a vulture. For the last hour or so the sea had been very rough, the Sea Sprite riding out the large swells, her heavily laden hold keeping her steady in the water. It had taken the Captain a week to sail from the now nonexistent homeland to this nearest harbor of trade. His cargo was ripe for trade and his crew desperate for land, it had been a long trip from the Westlands. Dymon lifted his head towards the sun, trying to come to terms with his loss. In all his imaginings that had been one constant certainty he'd been able to rely upon. Never in his wildest dreams did he think Atlantis would fall. It was a land so proud, beautiful and gentle, yet strong and resilient that its destruction seemed unspeakable. It had also been his salvation.
He would have returned wealthy and prosperous, plenty for his family to be proud of. He had gone out to prove he was a man and worthy of his father's blessing, not his scorn. Even that had been snatched away from him now and his wealth meant nothing. He would disembark here and see what this land had to offer as he could not return to the Westlands and had nowhere else to go. Besides, sea travel sickened him.
"Sir, I would come away from the rail as the sea is angry, an accident could befall you." The Captain stood a short distance away, watching him through lined eyes and yellow, shaggy hair. Taking the man's practical advice, Dymon moved to the lower decks, feeling the heavy vessel toss around as she dipped in between the big swells, riding out the worst of the conditions. Most of the ship's crew avoided him, finding Dymon an uneasy companion if truth were told for his moods, it was just because he disliked sea travel. Besides, they spoke a barbaric dialect which through necessity he had learnt, but the crew didn't have to know how well he knew it.
So here he was heading towards a new land and a new future. He had known Lan five or six summers ago by reputation as a shrewd trader and politician. Lan had been the oldest son of the ruling house then, waiting for his father to die before taking over. The old man had a knack for hanging on and no one had been surprised when he reached a hundred summers. Their trade alliance was prosperous and both nations had benefited. Dymon decided to present himself to the palace and see what followed.
The vessel rocked violently from side to side and he held on tight. Steadying himself as the ship evened out, he was again plagued by an intense apprehension. A vague uneasiness had started the previous morning, strong enough to register its presence and just enough to distract him. It was a feeling he very rarely experienced, touching him briefly almost as a reminder, before vanishing. But this heavy fear and dread left him breathless as it washed over him in waves and it didn't seem to recede at all. Clutching his sea-damp tunic, his eyes darted over his shoulder, ridiculous he knew, as he was perfectly safe and well able to defend himself.
He could guess at its origin and that terrified him even more. Damon, his naive twin brother. He felt the familiar mixture of tantalizing joy and resentment as he recalled the one and only time they had almost met.
Lowering his head, Dymon smiled at the memories. He'd only been about eight summers and consigned to the outdoors with his tutor. He'd been so angry with his mother for sending him away that he'd spent little time concentrating on his studies. She had just come out of confinement after giving birth to his little sister and the whole family was in an uproar. The way his mother behaved you would have thought it was her first child. Dymon had felt hurt and rejected because he had been sent away to study. No longer was he the center of his parents' world and he had hated his sister for that.
He had been unhappy and miserable the whole summer, moody and bad tempered, until not even his tutor wanted to talk to him. When the disturbing uneasiness had started, Dymon had taken no notice at first, too wrapped up in his own unhappiness. It was only as the feeling grew and he was swamped by fear and confusion that he had started to notice. He had woken up one night in tears, terrified for the first time in his life of the dark. He had not tried to control the grief, huddling on his bed, rocking slightly and allowing the feeling to take him completely.
Red-eyed and still slightly tearful, he'd been ignored at breakfast and sent to his studies with a single gesture. He had slipped past the tutor that morning, something he'd never done before, and gone into the lower city. He knew by now that he was feeling someone else's distress--it wasn't just his unhappiness over his sister's birth. If he closed his eyes and dwelt on the pain he could almost picture the place it radiated from. Of course, that had not helped much because he didn't know the lower city very well.
It had taken him most of the morning and early afternoon before he found the old abandoned well shaft. Not a sound could be heard when he looked over its old stove-in lip but just the same he had known it was the right place. The frayed strands where the rope had snapped were clearly visible and he quickly looked around. His dirtied tunic, missed lunch and his father's anger seemed unimportant as he set about searching for a new rope. Adventure singing in his veins, he found some twine and tied one end securely, as he'd been taught, then lowered the other into the dark well.
Suddenly unsure what would crawl out, he had hid in the bushes to watch. He had to wait some time before a sniveling, filthy, scrawny, tousle-haired little boy climbed out. Limping slightly, the boy looked around with wide eyes as he sniffed again, pushing heavy curls from his face. Dymon had remained transfixed, speechless with shock as he stared at a mirror image of himself. Desperately curious, he had watched the boy leave and followed him to the harbor village. There he was enfolded by a big, angry woman and hugged and petted until Dymon had felt slightly envious. It seemed he was obviously well loved and had been missed.
Pleased with himself, but also sad, Dymon had returned home to find his tutor asleep in the afternoon sun, his family hadn't even noticed his absence at lunch. Hurt and feeling betrayed, he had cried for himself that night. During the season that had followed, he had often spied on his mirror friend, he felt a special kinship for the boy who was about his age, but he never made contact. It wasn't until later that he discovered who the boy really was: his twin, his replacement, his punishment if he failed his father. How quickly an object of love, longing and freedom could turn into an object of hate and resentment.
And here he was now, sitting on the Sea Sprite with the cool sting of sea salt in his face, experiencing the same dread and fear of all those summers ago, and still helpless before them. Damon was close and in some kind of trouble, he knew. But now, as a man, would he find it any easier to approach his twin than he had as a boy? Maybe this was fate's fortune, but would either of them survive it?
The Sea Sprite drew sluggishly into the harbor. Two smaller vessels had overturned and lay three-quarters sunk while the many loading jetties littered the choppy water with their drifting wood and cargo.
Anchoring well away from any other vessel, the crew stood and gazed in horror at the destruction. Many of the visible houses lay in ruins as mothers and wives mourned their loss and the dead. Even the immaculate palace showed some damage, the only building which looked unaffected was the towering temple behind the palace. Seeing enough and deciding not to stay the Captain gave orders to leave harbor.
Almost certain of what he would find in that city, Dymon hesitated for a moment, his clear, green eyes hard as he watched the activity on shore. He indicated to the Captain what he wanted, and the large, broad man looked at him in disbelief.
"Are you mad? The city is ruined. We will go to a far better port."
"No, I desire to remain here," Dymon said, his cool, steady gaze remaining on the Captain, who threw his arms up in exasperation, muttering to himself. Dymon gave a half smile as he heard the other man refer to him as a barbarian.
Gathering his only possessions, two small trunks, Dymon climbed into the bouncing rowboat which sat on the port side. It took two of them to navigate the restless sea and reach shore safely. Disembarking, Dymon watched the boat return to its mother vessel before turning away.
The docks and markets were swarming with people trying to salvage what they could. Unconcerned, Dymon casually stepped over the fallen rubble, making his way steadily but slowly towards the palace. The closer he got to the palace the more people stopped to stare at him. It was puzzling and he wondered when an Atlantean had become such a rare sight. Holding his head higher and ignoring the looks, he continued at the same pace.
A woman at his back gasped and drew away, an expression of fear widening her eyes. Frowning, he shot a quick glance around and saw everyone whimpering and pulling away from him. It wasn't until he saw the two huge guards approaching with speed and a grim determination that he realized he was in trouble. Knowing he had nothing to conceal, he drew his shoulders back to meet the guards. If they had come to take him to the palace they could carry his trunks.
Refusing to be intimidated, he shrugged off the heavy hand and pointed to the palace, indicating that was where he wished to go. Blinking at this dominating personality, the guards reluctantly obliged him.
Dymon had never visited Red City before and he was suitably impressed with the delicate carvings he saw decorating the outer walls of the palace. Maybe his uncle had been right in cultivating a trade agreement with this city and its ruling house. Walking through the labyrinth of lengthy passageways he was finally presented in an oblong, light room which invited thought. One piece of furniture dominated the simple but beautiful room--a gigantic, white, carved marble throne. Its seat was vacant but an immaculate, slender female leaned casually over its side.
Frowning, Dymon studied her carefully and covered his shock expertly as his mind identified her as Brynnene. Walking forward with the ease of true breeding, he left the guards at the door as he approached the throne, his eyes narrowing but never leaving the woman. How stupid of him to think she would have waited for his return.
Brynnene was as regal as ever, her flowing gown complementing her beauty and highlighting her blue eyes. Stopping a small distance from the throne, Dymon looked around, wondering when the King would join them.
At the movement in front of him, he turned his attention back to Brynnene. She was studying him closely and Dymon was hurt that she showed no recognition. Absently his hand raised to his broken cheekbone and he wondered if his features had been altered so greatly. Still Brynnene continued to study him with open hostility and he felt his own temper rise.
"So, again you prove your presence only brings sorrow and unhappiness." Her voice mocked him as she moved away from the throne, trailing her fingers over its white smoothness. "Well this time you shall not escape so easily." Walking behind him, she watched his back muscles stiffen and smiled in satisfaction.
His brow creasing further, Dymon compressed his lips as he swung round to meet her, his eyes hardening as he saw her raise her chin in triumph.
"Since when have you grown so big, little girl, that you no longer respect the order of your own heritage." His words were concise and cool as he returned malice for malice and contempt for contempt.
Brynnene recoiled a step, her eyes widening in anger. Her small hands clutched at the silky material at her thighs as she glared at the man in front of her, her nostrils quivering in fury.
"How dare you!" she said in an outraged tone, only to be stopped by his stalking presence.
"I dare." The words were spat out quietly as he noted the movement of the guards at the heavy doors.
Meeting the bright green eyes squarely, Brynnene faltered for the first time. The fire of his suppressed anger assaulted her defenses as her mind supplied the missing pieces. Never had she believed her dreams could turn into reality. "Dymon?" she mouthed, starting to note the small changes. Somehow she had always pictured the differences between the brothers to be greater. Now all she saw was a darkly tanned young man, a perfect double except for an oddly shaped cheek and shorter curls. But even the cheek hadn't been noticeable until he had turned towards her.
"By the Gods, Brynnene, who else did you think it was," he demanded, throwing his arm up and turning to walk away a little.
The guards glanced nervously between their lady and the prisoner, waiting for instructions.
"I finish a long sea voyage to find my homeland destroyed. Then I have to search for my people and when I do find them I am treated like a common thief!" He threw his hurt at her. "What has happened to our gentle yet majestic race--are they all dead?"
"Dymon? You are alive?" She moved forward quickly, entwining her long fingers in his tunic, her face raised as tears welled in her sparkling eyes. "I thought you dead all these years, I never expected to find you alive."
"And now?" Dymon cut her off coolly, unmoved by the tears.
"Now?" she asked puzzled, half smiling, blinking at him.
"Yes, when I walked in here you had revenge planned. Surely you can't have forgotten?" His word still held a bite.
She removed her hands from his tunic and smoothed them over her gown, looking down. "Yes, but not to you," she answered softly before turning to the guards behind, speaking to them in African. They left the chamber chastised, glancing doubtfully once more at the Atlantean. Beckoning to Dymon, she hurried to another door.
"Come, I'll show you where you can stay. But you must promise now to keep out of the city for a few days."
His anger giving way to curiosity, he followed her. "Why?"
"Just trust me Dymon, please. It is for your own safety."
His brow creasing again, he cast a look over his shoulder. "And what of the guards?"
"Guards?" Her expression affectionate, she turned back to him.
"Yes, what did you tell the guards?" he demanded, standing still and refusing to go any further.
"Just that they'd made a mistake." She shrugged, unconcerned. Pushing another set of doors open, she motioned him through.
He went reluctantly, still waiting for a better explanation. "What sort of mistake?" he persisted, gritting his teeth. He had a very good idea but wanted to hear Brynnene say it.
Without answering, she unbarred another door and led him into an even lighter room.
"Brynnene," he growled out, not interested in the view or the bed she was thumping.
"What?" she asked in all innocence. Playful and mischievous, she gazed at him, very much the old Brynnene he remembered from summers ago. Lifting her hand, she brushed his cheek lightly. "How did this happen?" She was standing close, too close, her expression soft as she moistened her lips.
Groaning in exasperation, Dymon pushed her away, no longer susceptible to her spell. "Who are the guards hunting?"
"Just a man." She was non-committal, recovering quickly from his rebuff.
"A man who happened to look like me." It wasn't a question, his voice flat as he looked over her shoulder, remembering his twin's face as he'd last seen him six summers ago.
"An Atlantean," she hesitated, "yes." Grabbing his hand, she tried to pull him forward. He resisted her.
"Damon, perhaps?" The name fell heavily between them and he saw her mouth drop in shock.
"You know him?" Her face was a picture of disbelief.
"Of course I know my twin, I just don't know what it is he's supposed to have done." Closing in on her, he gripped her by the shoulders and sat her on the bed. "And that, Brynnene my dear, is what you are going to tell me."
Helpless before his persuasive charm, she did so.
"Foolish little idiot," he mumbled without heat a short while later, able to picture all too clearly his twin doing something so stupid. "And what will your husband do when he finds him?" He watched her pale face as she considered the answer.
"Punish him."
"How?" He had heard a few rumors while living on Atlantis about the eastern religion and Gods, and he hadn't failed to notice the huge temple behind the palace.
Brynnene just shrugged again, swinging her leg in unconcern. "The people will decide." Pitching forward, she gazed up at Dymon through her long lashes, smiling sweetly. "But let's not talk about him. Tell me where you've been?"
Seeing her purposefully seductive expression, Dymon turned away. How did you explain to someone who was still a child that you'd left to prove yourself a man? You didn't. Besides, he was more interested in his other half. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he turned back to Brynnene. "When will you know if the guards have found him?"
"He'll be brought here, as you were," she said puzzled, not used to being ignored. The old Dymon had never ignored her.
He stood up and walked slowly to the open doorway, looking out over the city below, seeing the destruction after the earthquake. Maybe, just maybe he could find his twin first. Why he needed to see him Dymon didn't know, he only knew that he did. Unhappiness was still bombarding him and he knew it originated from Damon. He also hoped a lot of other things would be explained once they finally confronted each other. He was not used to this irrational fear he experienced every time he got close to his brother and it was something he was determined to conquer. The resentment was still there but now it was balanced with an emotion even stronger that he refused to name. Something had to give and he was determined it wouldn't be him.
"I doubt they'll find them today, more likely tomorrow, when the guards search the outer city," Brynnene said matter-of-factly from behind him, gliding up to lean elegantly against the wall at his side.
Dymon missed her calculated posing and picked up on the one word which interested him. "Them?"
"Damon and his Egyptian," she stated flatly, as if it was obvious, getting really annoyed with him now. No one, in her mind, could be so willfully callous.
"Which Egyptian?" he emphasized the last word, a tightness pulling in his chest.
"His friend, lover, companion. I don't know," she said in near exasperation, standing straight as she forgot about presenting her best features. "They're always together."
Lover. The single word struck Dymon and for a moment he forgot to breath. A slow, white fury built in him as he dwelt on the idea. There was no doubt left in his mind now, he wanted to find Damon before anyone else did. Needed to.
Damon sat beside the brightly burning fire, numb from head to foot, eyes unblinking, his hand clutching the boneless, cold fingers of his friend and companion.
Kireva watched worriedly as she prepared a warm drink for him. A very old lady in her own right, having out-lived two men, her movements were slow as her joints protested.
Living as she did on the outer boundaries of Red City, she'd been amused at first, then oddly touched, as she had observed the smaller man carrying his companion away from the confusion. What had convinced her to help the two had been the open grief on the dust stained face as he had labored, clutching the other man in a desperate hold.
Intervening, she'd soon learned that neither could speak her language adequately, the curly headed man gasping out half gibberish, until she took control, ushering the two into her small dwelling. Apart from everything being covered in heavy dust, her home still stood, a little damaged but with only a few possessions smashed in their fall to the floor. Her first man had built the house strongly in their young days.
Giving the young man a cloth and water, she had watched, first interested, then fascinated, as he carefully sponged the other man. This man was very white, his skin soft and Kireva was almost spellbound by his contrasting features. His hair was short but matted with blood and she had quickly hurried to bring clean, dry cloths for his head. On her return, she had seen the other man's long, delicate fingers tremble as they smoothed back the dark hair, the light, clear voice soothing the unconscious man.
The Egyptian's head wound still bled sluggishly and Damon helped wrap the cloth tightly around Brianhet's skull. The black lashes lay motionless on the pale cheeks, Brianhet did not even quiver under the somewhat rough bandaging.
A pair of very green eyes looked back at Kireva in abject misery as Damon wiped a filthy hand under his nose, distributing more dirt and grime. Shoulders hunched and curls hanging limply, he looked a pathetic picture.
Kireva's instinctive protectiveness sprang forward and she gave him a huge toothless grin. Pushing the bowl of cooling water and cloth back at him, she indicated he should clean himself as well.
Washing sketchily to remove the worst of the dust, Damon's eyes never left his lover's face. Still too stunned by the quick turn of events, he was slow to take in their new lodgings. The old woman muttered non-stop as she shuffled around the room and Damon was a little in awe of her, his eyes following her meanderings.
Having swallowed the warm, sickly-sweet drink she had given him, Damon received another beaming grin. In her presence it would have been easy to relax, even if they couldn't talk, but he was still worrying over Nebrianhet.
The Egyptian's eyes were puffy, the left rather bruised and with the cumbersome bandage on he looked like a half-wrapped mummy. But he was alive and Damon kept his fingers lightly over the great pulse in his neck, caressing the skin as he studied the pale features. Biting his bottom lip till it almost bled, he could not help thinking that it was his fault. He had known and yet he'd still been unable to protect the other man.
A soft groan heralded Brianhet's return to consciousness and both Damon and Kireva were at his side instantly. The restless man turned his head towards the movement and Damon breathed a sigh of relief as he stroked the rough chin.
The dark lashes lifted marginally as the injured man grimaced with awakening pain, his hand uncoordinated as he reached for his head. Damon intercepted the attempt and kissed the searching fingers as he whispered his lover's name.
"Brin't..." Leaning forward, he scanned the face. "Brianhet?"
Kireva muttered something in African as she placed two lighted candles on the bed table. Ignoring her, Damon leaned closer still as his grip tightened on the imprisoned hand.
"Egypt--"
Again Nebrianhet moaned, his lips trying to form a silent word, a frown deepening between his eyes. Pressing the hand close to his chest, Damon caressed the frown lines with his lips.
"Come on Egypt, wake up. You're frightening me," Damon whispered with feeling. A hot, dry hand touched his cheek in reassurance and he doubtfully looked up into old and understanding eyes.
"Damon?" It was a tentative question which warmed the Atlantean and he gave a breathy half laugh, half sigh as he observed the rapidly blinking eyes.
His face twisting in discomfort, Brianhet's grip tightened over the cool fingers clutching him, still blinking as he tried to regain his vision.
"Oh, Brin't..." The voice was heavy with emotion and longing, banishing a little of the pain.
Opening his eyes a little wider, Brianhet was still unable to sort the blurred shadows out. From the half images his brain received, he would have imagined them in a dark room. He could make nothing out, everything was a mismatch of dark patches.
"My eyes, Damon, my eyes!"
"Ssh, my love. They are swollen and sore." Damon moved his thumbs to glide softly over the side of the too straight nose as he tried to reassure the other man.
The lashes lifted as far as they could, the eyes extremely bright in the candlelight as they stared past Damon in blind terror. "No! My eyes, I can't see."
Speechless for a second, Damon's fingers stilled, his mouth falling open as he stared into the vacant, blue depths. "Brin't?" his voice broke slightly in disbelief.
"I can't see." Tears ran from the corners of the now unblinking eyes, their roundness a deep, empty void.
Trembling, Damon watched the Egyptian's face close in anguish. "It will come back. It has too," he tried to reassure him, as he added silently, 'it must!'
The thick lashes swept down, covering Brianhet's thoughts as his hands reached out, searching for his one security. Tangling his hands in the silky tunic, Brianhet dragged the smaller man into a bruising embrace, hands finding the Atlantean's face and roughly tracing its unique outline.
"And what if it doesn't?" Brianhet's voice was shaky as his fingertips skimmed Damon's moist lashes.
"It will," Damon said with conviction, convincing himself as much as Brianhet. He closed his eyes, allowing his lover freedom of touch, delivering his every essence to the other's need.
Calming, Brianhet re-opened his eyes. The black images remained, yet he could sense light as well. It was not a complete darkness and from that he took hope.
"Where are we?"
Turning his head into a cool palm, Damon kissed it gently before answering. "Still at Red City. You have a nasty cut over the head and I was so worried and scared for you!" His hand came up to cover the one cupping his cheek. "A lady named Kireva has given us shelter and bandaged your head."
"Are you wooing to break another heart, my little lover?"
"Not I." Damon smiled against the hands. "It was you she wanted to help."
Sighing, Brianhet closed his eyes again, trying to block out the throbbing pain. Sensing his distress, Damon felt helpless. Glancing round he found the old lady busily removing a warming jug from the fire, pouring a small amount into a cup. His sense picking out the sweet herbs, he suddenly stiffened as his mind unblocked a memory. Pushing the chilly thoughts aside, he went to get up and help Kireva.
Two desperate hands grabbed at him, tearing the soft fabric of his tunic with their frantic grip as Brianhet half sat up.
"Don't go. Damon, please don't go."
Thrown completely off-balance Damon collapsed on the broad chest, pressing them both back on the furs. "I wouldn't leave you. Brin't, please believe I won't leave. I love you."
The biting fingers relaxed a little but Brianhet refused to allow Damon to move out of reach, keeping a firm hold over one slim hand. Kireva had reached the bed by this stage and although she didn't understand their speech she had guessed a little as she eyed the possessive hold the beautiful Egyptian man had on his friend.
Resting the cup and steaming cloth on a small table, she slowly lowered her weary bones into a comfortable chair. Giving the cloth to the curly haired, young man she indicated what he should do with it, touching her forehead; Damon got the idea. A small, pleasurable moan escaped the white lips as the warm cloth eased a little of Brianhet's discomfort. But it was not enough to ease the pain enough for him to sleep.
"Brin't." Turning his face towards the voice, Brianhet squeezed a lean thigh in response. "I am going to help you sit up a little. Kireva has made you a hot drink and I want you to drink it. All of it."
Supporting the dizzy and pale man, Damon took the cup from Kireva, pressing it to the tight lips. It took a long time but eventually Damon settled his precious lover down, covering him with the furs as he settled into a herb induced sleep.
Studying the now relaxed features, Damon tried to remind himself that sleep heals: in this case it had to. Hearing a few mumbled words beside him, he turned a little to smile thanks at Kireva. She was a wonderful lady in his eyes and he thanked his Gods for her kindness.
Watching him with shrewd eyes, she returned his smile.
Deciding Brianhet was sleeping quietly, Damon moved to stretch his legs. Immediately the sleeping man mumbled a protest and his grip tightened on the Atlantean.
Resigned to an uncomfortable night, Damon smiled happily as he glanced at the large, square hand hugging his thigh in a possessive manner. Let his Egyptian heal, that's all he wanted. They had both survived the odds again, and the impending dread which had filled him was gone. Only a vague uneasiness haunted his senses but he chose to ignore that, his mind refusing to think about its origins at present. Besides, he needed all his energy to help Brianhet over the next few days. Turning his uncomplicated smile on the other occupant in the house, he saw the old woman was fast asleep, head resting on the stiff chair back, her mouth hanging open a little as she snored gently.
Resigned to his solitary watchful state, Damon leaned back to get more comfortable so he could watch his Egyptian sleep.
Pacing the room like a caged tiger, Dymon watched through silted eyes the sun finally sink beyond the calm ocean. The faint breeze which touched his skin from the open balcony made him shiver as he heard voices raised in unison from the temple. Priests lay prostrate on the inner courtyard while the King stood majestic and dominating in their circle, arms spread wide as he recited a litany Dymon had no wish to hear.
He had little faith in any religion, he'd seen and done too much in far lands to be awed by simple rituals. Any faith or love he'd had for the Gods of Atlantis had been shattered over five years ago. The memory was still bitter. No, he could do without religion.
A single piercing voice captured his attention and he found his eyes drawn to the spectacle. Lan still stood, arms outstretched high above his head, hands clasped and head thrown back as the ceremony reached its peak. An intense orange glow seemed to spread from the white alter and envelop the King completely, its tentacles reaching across the pure marble floor entwining with each of the other monks at the High Priest's feet.
His mouth falling open in disbelief, Dymon rubbed his eyes before checking the courtyard again. Now all he saw were ordinary monks in a subdued light as the sun's glow disappeared. It had to have been a trick of the light, he reasoned with himself, studying each monk minutely from his safe distance. The ceremony had ended and Dymon watched curiously as each figure came forward to touch Lan before leaving. There was nothing extraordinary in the gesture and Dymon was slightly disappointed. But then what had he expected from this small, uncivilized race?
Eyes narrowing in the darkened room, Dymon cast a glance over the City; even the sight of that was unremarkable. The earthquake was already a thing of the past as Red City quietened down for the night. Somewhere out there was his twin: alive. There was nothing more certain than that simple fact. And his perfect twin was no longer his mirror image. Dymon fleetingly raised a hand to touch his damaged cheek in regret. The injury was a souvenir of his frantic trip out of Atlantis, over the years it had ceased to worry him.
A light tap on the door refocused his attention on the present.
"Yes?" he called, waiting for whoever it was to answer.
"Dymon?" The query was hesitant as the small figure stepped around the door, long tresses of dark hair tumbling around her shoulders.
"Brynnene," he drew the word out, allowing his eyes to wander over her trim figure, playing her at her own game. Her sexual allure no longer blinded him as it had done years previously and he wasn't above a little provocation himself. Watching her calculated and flawless movements as she approached him, he leant back against the stone wall, pushing his hip forward, assessing her through his lashes.
"Did you watch the ceremony?" She stood a hand's distance away, keeping her voice soft, inclining her head to study him.
"Is that what it was?"
"You know it was." Her voice gained an edge to it. Stopping, she looked down before pinning on another smile. "I have come to invite you to the King's feast, which will be held in the main hall."
"Ahh." Dymon lifted his brows knowingly.
"I have informed my husband of your arrival and he is expecting to see you."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Well I have other plans for tonight."
"But you cannot." Again her voice took on a hard edge.
"I can and I do."
"But you do not understand." It was a half demand, half plea as she moved closer to rest both hands on his chest. "No one disobeys the King."
He studied her face for a minute, seeing the sudden tension and fear there. "And what happens if they do?"
"Dymon, please. For my sake if not your own."
Closing his eyes, he let a breath out loudly as he considered her words. He'd known that a meeting with him would be coming but he had also hoped that it would be the following day. He had just spent all afternoon steeling himself for the possible confrontation with his brother, only to lose the moment again. But Brynnene was right for once, it was foolish to invite Lan's anger.
He had learnt quickly on the Sea Sprite, that as a King and ruler most sea traders respected the man, but nobody liked him, or anchored long in his harbor.
"Alright," he capitulated, "I will change and meet you downstairs."
Brynnene hugged him in relief, drawing back only when he made no attempt to return the embrace. Clearing her throat, she looked everywhere but at his face as she pushed her hair from her shoulder. "I will leave a guard outside to escort you down when you have changed. Do not be long, the King does not like to be kept waiting for his food." Drawing her narrow shoulders back she spun on her heels and exited, leaving Dymon suppressing an amused smile.
Pushing a slow hand into his short curls, he started to laugh as he considered the ceiling. "Oh yes, my dear Brynnene, and the games are just beginning," he murmured, thinking of the next few days. Stepping away from the wall, he started to dress for the feast.
He was warm from head to foot and the tingling sensation travelling through him was not unpleasant, in fact it was wonderfully exciting. Stretching again in unfocussed pleasure, Nebrianhet felt at peace, untroubled and content to savor the feeling. The pain he had experienced was now just a distant memory, as was everything else. Nothing seemed to matter except his little cocoon of pleasure. He drifted in warm, dim surroundings, an uncomplicated smile adorning his features.
Turning, he sighed aloud, his mind picking out an increasing bright, warm glow. It danced in his mind, vaguely erotic as it seduced him closer, filling his mind with awe and beauty. The brightness intensified, its heat something to be savored as he stumbled uncontrollably towards it, needing to touch its magnificence, to let it enfold him until they were one. Knowing he was almost there, his whole being cried out in joy as he took the final lunge.
"Egypt." The sharp voice matched the stinging pain as Damon slapped him again.
"Da...mon?" Even to his own ears the word sounded slurred.
"Watch what you're doing." The Atlantean's voice was filled with annoyance as he leaned across the prone man to rearrange the beside table. "What were you trying to do, burn the entire place down?" Setting the two candles back in place, Damon pushed them out of Brianhet's reach.
"Burn?" He latched on to the only word which penetrated his clearing senses.
"Yes, burn." Damon still sounded angry. "In another moment the furs would have caught fire. If you wanted anything, all you had to do was wake me."
Hearing the distress behind the anger, Brianhet tried to sort out his muddled thoughts. All he recalled was an immense sense of wellbeing and an intense brightness. He'd wanted that light but now he couldn't remember why.
"I was dreaming," he said, almost to himself.
"Dreaming?" Damon still sounded confused.
"Yes, about light. Damon?" He held out his arms, asking a silent question and was relieved when the other man came into his embrace.
"The light was calling me, I didn't realize...I'm sorry, my love." He said the last into the abundant curls tickling his nose.
"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have fallen asleep." A warm mouth caressed his neck as Damon relaxed. "You frightened me, that's all." He offered a fleeting kiss.
Brianhet smiled and turned his head, intending to kiss the curls but stopping abruptly as a pain knifed through his head at the movement.
Feeling the sudden tension, Damon sat up and looked into the pain filled features.
"Brin't?"
Pain receding as he lay perfectly still, Brianhet managed to open his eyes, only to shut them again as a brightness assaulted him.
"Brin't!" A little panic crept into the voice.
"Just the light...it hurts my eyes." Realizing what he had said, Brianhet stopped and opened his eyes cautiously again. The brightness was intense and stung his eyes. He felt Damon reach across him and take up something from the table.
The intense light faded and Brianhet was able to open his swollen eyes further.
"I have put out one of the candles," the quiet voice told him.
Trying to focus on the voice, Brianhet found his sight unimproved. One dark shape sat to the left of his vision and he knew it was Damon, a flickering brightness haloed his dark outline.
"I still cannot see you." He reached out a hand and felt it taken in a secure clasp.
"It will come back." The words were positive and Brianhet smiled at him.
"Lie down with me."
"I cannot."
"You can, I'm sure there is enough room for two."
Damon cast a hesitant look at the old lady still asleep in the huge wooden chair. She had not moved the whole time and he was sure she would sleep through to sunrise now.
"I'll move over a little." Brianhet proceeded to edge over in the soft furs. Only when he moved his head did the pain jar at him and he fought the nauseating effect.
"Brin't?" Warm hands rubbed his bare shoulders. "I will get you some more of Kireva's drink."
"No--" Brianhet reached out to stop him.
"But it will reduce the pain."
"And make me dream again. Just let me lie still and the pain will go by itself." He felt Damon resettle beside him as he waited for the throbbing to ease. It took only a few moments before he felt his head was his own again and he ran a hand blindly up his companion's thigh. "Come and lie beside me."
"But your head..."
"I will sleep better with you against me." Still he felt the Atlantean hesitate. "Please, Damon."
He heard a capitulating sigh as the man stretched out beside him.
"No, lover, under the fur, and take that tunic off."
"Egypt, may I remind you we are not alone." The tone was indignant as Damon cast another look at their sleeping hostess.
"I need to feel you beside me."
Hearing the plea, Damon looked at his lover with open affection, knowing the words to be true for both of them. Teeth catching his lower lip in thought, he spared the old African another quick glance. Drawing the torn tunic over his head, he frowned at his bare feet, wondering what had happened to his sandals. Not dwelling on the thought, he lifted the fur and settled beside his lover, sighing with pleasure as one of the Egyptian's arms slipped under his head. Settling on his side, he draped a careful arm over the injured man, watching his chest rise and fall as they both drifted back into sleep.
Dymon leant back elegantly on the firm velvet seating, eyeing the brightly decorated, yet beautiful room, so different from those rooms he had been first shown. As the throne room had been majestic and virginally pure, this was bright and joyous, seducing the visitor to celebration.
Dymon guessed the rooms were designed to project the image Lan wished to show the world, depending on the visitor. He would be very interested to see the true man stripped of all his props. So far the King had not said more than a bare, courteous greeting to him as he led his stunningly clad wife to dinner.
Brynnene was every inch the Queen in Lan's presence; tall and regal in her white, silk gown, she remained passively at Lan's side, not giving him a second glance. Lan, on the other hand, was studying him through lowered lids, assessing and measuring his worth, until the small hairs on the back of Dymon's neck stood up under the chilling gaze. A small, dark boy played a long, carved flute behind Lan, creating an atmosphere of luxury and contentment.
Dymon refused to be fooled, fixing a pleasant smile on his face as his discerning green gaze picked out possible flaws.
"Dymon!" The loud bellow drew his attention back to his host and he visibly straightened under the dark, mocking stare.
"Come up here and tell me about your travels." Lan's Atlantean was understandable but by no means good. Dymon got slowly to his feet.
Seating himself carefully across from the royal couple, he inclined his head, delivering what respect was required of him. Lifting his eyes, he attempted a pleasant greeting.
"I am honored to be shown such hospitality." The black, unswerving gaze was like a vacuum, sucking all traces of warmth from the atmosphere between them.
"Do you mock me, Dymon? Why, after so many harvests, do I suddenly get both Antoneas' sons visiting me?" Lan's narrowed eyes challenged the younger man.
"Our joint arrival was unconnected and unintentional. My brother and I have never met." His tone flat, Dymon met the openly hostile look head-on, ignoring Brynnene's rigid presence beside Lan.
"Unintentional?" Lan rolled his tongue around the word, as if testing its sensitivity.
"Yes, your Majesty. My arrival is by chance, I have been travelling in warmer waters for more than five summers now."
"The Westlands..." Lan smiled inwardly: a private smile. "I have heard much of that land. Tell me Dymon, is it as bountiful as everyone says?"
"I would say wild and untouched, but yet, rich in many aspects."
Lan nodded, fingers knitted in his lap as his heavy, dark lids lowered in an unseen pleasure. "And you have brought some of these riches with you?"
"Only what I've earned. They were to be for my father." He felt himself enveloped by startled blue eyes but kept his gaze firmly fixed on the man in front of him.
"I need wealth if my kingdom is to grow. You must tell me more." Lan's tone was seductive yet a bitter, cold chill seeped through, sickening Dymon.
Lan's self-importance, callous greed and vicious maliciousness reminded Dymon of another force he had not long escaped: Nedommerik. During his often adventurous travels, Dymon had been unfortunate enough to be ensnared by the Egyptian. Inheriting a large prosperous estate, Nedommerik had latched onto the Atlantean, making his life a misery, wanting to own, dominate and break his spirit. The corrupt, twisted evil of the man had forced Dymon to leave the Westlands a little sooner than he had intended. It was only through cunning and skill that he had walked away a wealthy man. Walked away, leaving behind a furious and impotent Egyptian whose memory still made him shudder. Dymon saw the same traits before him now but magnified. He risked a quick look at Brynnene and wondered at her life.
Knowing himself to have been dismissed, he rose and bowed his farewell, preferring to return to his room rather than remain in the hall so alive with laughter yet devoid of pleasure.
Damon awoke with heavy limbs to the sound of unconnected mumbles and bright, piercing sunlight. Raising his head, he found Brianhet still fast asleep, chest rising and falling steadily. Smiling crookedly at their closely entwined bodies, Damon ran a gentle finger over the dark stubble of his lover's cheek. The fact he could have lost him numbed his whole brain with terror, knowing that he couldn't survive without the other man. But his dreams of late had shown him a life without Brianhet, filled with loneliness and pain. He didn't want to dwell on them in case they came true. Moving forwards, he buried his face in the warm junction of Btianhet's neck and shoulder and he breathed deeply, relaxing his tense nerves.
Suddenly the mumbled words behind him rose a little and he turned in alarm to place the sound, falling off the narrow bed and dragging all the furs with him. It was Kireva singing.
At his undignified sprawl on the floor, the old lady held her cheeks as she chuckled, shuffling over to them slowly, her eyes lighting up in welcome.
Getting hastily to his feet Damon dressed, trying unsuccessfully to straighten his twisted and torn tunic, the emerald Atlantean colors discolored by blood and red dust. At the sleepy enquiry behind him he glanced back, doing a double take at the inviting stretch and half erection of his naked lover. Without ceremony, Damon dumped all the furs on top of the waking man before Kireva stopped to regard the patient.
With only minor niggling aches and pains and a throbbing head, Brianhet felt alive all over, his body still slightly damp from where Damon had lain plastered to his side. Opening his eyes produced an instant pain, and his memory dropped back into place. He reached out for his anchor.
Capturing the hand Damon tried to sit on the bed with some measure of dignity, too aware of Kireva's gaze.
She spoke in a merry voice but even with clearer senses, Damon couldn't understand a word. He shook his head and she patted him on the shoulder knowingly, indicating she wanted him to follow her.
He nodded. Throwing an uncertain glance at his companion, Damon saw the tension in him and felt it through the grip of the large hand. Leaning over, he gently kissed the small, upturned nose.
"Brin't?" he spoke in Egyptian, noticing that some of the tension disappeared in a long released breath. "I'm still here...I'll always be here."
The grip slackened but Brianhet refused to release the warm hand. Reaching out, Damon allowed his fingers to speak for him as he smoothed the dark hair back. The eyes remained closed and Damon moved closer, seeking for a more positive response.
"That's better. How is the pain?"
Lifting his lids very slowly this time, Brianhet found the Atlantean's form blocking most of the light. "Not too bad, just the brightness which hurts."
Damon watched the squinting contortion and had to smile. Moving a couple of inches closer, he kissed each eye. "Just take it slowly," he warned, eyeing the red and white bandages. "I'm going to help Kireva...won't be long." Disentangling himself he straightened the fur.
Brianhet endured the organizing hands, knowing what lay behind it, only insisting on having one of those hands again before Damon left him in his world of blurred shapes. Lifting the fingers to his mouth, he kissed the warm palm. "Don't be long."
Squeezing the hand in response, Damon padded quietly over to the low burning hearth. A mixture of corn bread and sweet melon lay already chopped on a long narrow board, and Damon's nose twitched as he caught the tangy scent of herbs poured out into stone cups. Casting a worried glance at the coils of steam swirling from the mugs, he heard Kireva give a snort of laughter as she picked up a mug and rubbed her head, showing her intention.
He forced a weak smile, still feeling off-color and uneasy, as if a subconscious force was tugging at his mind. It wasn't a particularly bad experience, more like an annoyance which he couldn't explain or shake off. It left him stripped, as if all his inner thoughts were exposed and being read. A chill crept down his spine and he shivered uncontrollably, glancing around nervously. He was not given time to complete the action as warm, dry hands pushed food at him, showing him she wanted him to eat. He tried to look grateful as he battled to eat the dry bread. More food came at him as Kireva pointed at Brianhet. He willingly returned to where the Egyptian rested.
Brianhet was lying on his back, rigid, his eyes open wide as they became accustomed to the light. His knuckles whitened as Damon sat gingerly on the bed beside him, turning his head to watch the blurred images of his companion.
"Brin't?" Damon's own voice sounded less than confident, still tight and dry as he swallowed the last of the bread. "Can you sit up a little as I've brought you something to eat."
Glad of the action, Brianhet slowly sat up, finding his head not too painful. He accepted the food without comment, even drinking half the herbal brew, much to Damon's amazement. He watched with pleasure as his Egyptian ate slowly, testing the distance to his mouth by touch and not spilling a drop. Brianhet seemed to have gained his appetite while Damon had lost his.
Quickly helping Kireva to tidy up, Damon returned to the waiting man. They sat in silence until Damon asked the question which had been plaguing his thoughts.
"Is your sight any better?"
Brianhet had to smile at the hesitancy. "No, I still cannot see you, but I can see where you are." As if to prove the point, he lifted a steady hand to the curly head. "Nothing is clear, everything runs together, but at least I can pick out objects now." When Damon said nothing, he tried to gather the smaller man closer. "Honest, Damon, it will return. My eyes are better than last night."
"I know, just ignore me." Damon felt ashamed of his hesitation and he soothingly ran a finger down Brianhet's cheek.
Needing to be close to reaffirm his lover was real, Brianhet pulled the Atlantean into a tight embrace. Not caring if they were observed or not he sought the warm lips, exploring the offered mouth thoroughly. Releasing Damon eventually, he became conscious of the slight tremble in the other man and tightened his hold.
"Need you." He buried his face in the longish curls, kissing the exposed neck, smiling at the instinctive response.
Damon, knowing deep down that they both needed this, glanced around, half expecting to find two round, black eyes observing them. But the room was empty and the blanket in place across the entranceway. Wondering how long they would have alone, he breathed a sigh of relief and cuddled closer.
Feeling restraint leave the slim body, Brianhet placed a gentle lick bite on the tender skin, drawing the other man down with his weight to lie on the furs. He pulled back a little, keeping his eyes closed and picturing in his mind what Damon would look like sprawled beneath him. His breathing caught and his pulse quickened as he searched for the moist lips below him. The kiss was deep and demanding as vice-like fingers held him closer, a slender, taut leg trapping his lower body in near desperation. His senses swimming, all thought of his painful head and blurred sight vanished as he responded to the open need and raw emotion.
Breaking the kiss, Brianhet gasped for breath, urgently pushing the crumpled and stained tunic up to the Atlantean's shoulders, not bothering to remove it as he explored the exposed chest.
Warm lips touched Damon everywhere, devouring his sensitive flesh and he suppressed a whimper. Biting his lower lip until it bled, closing his eyes as tears ran down into his hair, he lay passively under the strong hands. Wanting, needing everything Brianhet could give, he raised his hands, resting them above his head, basking in the knowledge of his lover's possession.
Sensing the slight withdrawal, Brianhet lifted his head and skimmed a hand up the silky chest. The Atlantean was quivering and he suddenly realized it might not be from repressed passion and desire but from grief.
Quickly moving up, he clasped the round face between his own trembling hands, wishing fervently that he could see to read the distress on his lover's face.
"Damon?"
Blinking up at the open worry in the pale features, Damon bit his lip harder, unaware of the pain. Brianhet's beautifully slanted brows were drawn together as the bright sapphire eyes struggled to see him. Gentle thumbs stroked the side of his face, noting the moisture and the brows drew closer together.
"Please. Talk to me."
"I..." Damon sucked in a short breath, eyes watering again, feeling he would burst with the joy and love he felt for this Egyptian.
"...just love you, that's all." His voice was croaky and sounded lame but he saw relief flood the other man's face.
"Oh, Damon, of all the fools, I thought I'd hurt you." Relief and exasperation colored Brianhet's voice as the simple reason sank in.
"You could never do that." The admission was quiet and sincere. Placing a gentle but firm hand over the back of the bandaged head, Damon encouraged the larger man closer, resuming the exploration. Their lips met, the contact tender, urgency gone as Brianhet tasted the blood, careful not to damage the lip any further.
"You're bleeding," he whispered into the open mouth.
"It will stop. Love me, Brin't."
Sitting up, Brianhet drew Damon with him, removing the torn tunic and underclothes, gliding his hands over well remembered and loved contours.