"No," Chlorien whispered again.
"And your greatdame? Did her words offer you no comfort?" Chlorien nodded but shivered at the same time.
"Mam -," she began, then her voice broke. Autoc held the twisting hands in a very firm grasp.
"So he showed you that, did he?" The mage didn't need an answer in words. "You weren't responsible for either her rape or death, Chlorien. Others bear that burden - you don't."
"You knew the woman with the green eyes, didn't you, Father?" A sad expression touched the mage's face.
"I knew her, little one, yes."
"What was her name, Father?"
"Cynthas." Chlorien considered that and her voice, when she spoke, was a little stronger.
"She says I'm like her."
"Oh, yes, lad, you are, very. Ask Jaim, because he constantly sees Cynthas in you." Surprise lit the violet eyes.
"Did he know her?"
"Very well."
"Does he know my greatsire?"
"He knows him very well too."
"Do you, Father?"
"Aye, little one, I do. I deeply revere your greatsire."
"I have a great deal to learn, haven't I, Father?"
"Yes, child you have, but you're young yet. You'll be surprised how quickly and easily you learn."
"The water frightened me. I thought I drowned."
"But you didn't, did you?"
"No." There was a long pause, then, "Father?" Autoc's head bent again, his eyes keen but kind. He nodded. "Did you know I had a dragonmark?" Autoc nodded again. "I didn't," murmured Chlorien drowsily. A twinkle came to the mage's eyes when she began again, "Father -."
"Yes, little one."
"Mam's an Ice Crystal dragon."
"I know, child. Amril tells me she's very beautiful." Chlorien digested that and then the look she gave the mage was challenging.
"Is there anything you don't know?" she demanded. There was the ghost of a laugh in the voice that answered her.
"Many, many things."
Chlorien lay still in the mage's arms, her eyes closing, though she didn't sleep. Presently she spoke once more.
"You love me, Father, don't you?"
"Yes, I care deeply for you, little one."
"I love you," she whispered. "And you truly care, even though I'm born of the dark?"
"That means nothing to me, Chlorien. You're yourself. Sleep now, there's a good lad." Chlorien tried to speak, but a hand touched her head, so quickly, she was asleep before her mouth moved.
~~~
When Chlorien woke for the second time, she found she lay in a thick bed of pampa with the smell of spring flowers and blossom thick in the air. She stretched and raised herself on an elbow, her eyes coming to rest on Autoc who leaned against a tree only a few feet from her. She sat abruptly, her tiredness gone. She walked across to the mage, saw he dozed and curled up carefully beside him, with her head rested on his shoulder. She stayed still, aware how quiet and peaceful it was. She relaxed and closed her eyes.
She wasn't deeply asleep, so roused immediately she heard a footfall. Cycles of being pursued made her quick. She was on her feet in an instant, her hand drawing a knife at incredible speed, her posture over the mage one of fierce defence. She didn't see Autoc's eyes open, or the surprise that shone in them when he took in her protective stance.
"Stay where you are," threatened Chlorien, in a voice gone very hard and cold.
"As you wish," said a deep voice in amusement.
"Who are you?" she snapped, her knife raised. "And what are you doing here?"
"I'm Jaim."
Chlorien stared at the short stocky figure. She was absolutely still and poised with menace, her gaze, the Gnosti thought, intense.
"No you're not," she stated bluntly. "I don't know where he is, but you aren't my uncle."
"Look at me closely, Chlorien," the small man advised, advancing a step that brought him very close to Chlorien.
"Don't move," warned Chlorien, her knife hand drawing back. "No one approaches my father!"
"But we're such old friends, little one," said a voice below her.
Chlorien was caught off guard, her glance flickering to the mage's laughing countenance. It was only for an instant, but it was enough time for Jaim to quickly disarm her. She stood bewildered and irritated.
"Father, that was unfair," she growled.
"Too easy to disarm, lad," said Jaim disapprovingly, shaking his head. He handed her the knife. "You forget your desert training." Chlorien muttered as she slammed home the knife in its sheath.
"And that's unfair," commented Autoc, getting languidly to his feet. "The lad didn't know where he was and you claimed to be someone he trusted."
"True," murmured Jaim, looking up at the tall boy facing him. "But even so, the lad shouldn't let himself be surprised like that."
"He's right, Father," admitted Chlorien, looking fleetingly up at the mage.
"Perhaps," said Autoc quietly. "And it is Jaim, little one. Show him, my friend, so the lad can see for himself." Obligingly, Jaim became a tall thin, old man, then he came back as himself. Chlorien's eyes lit up.
"You're a Gnosti!" she exclaimed.
"That's so, lad."
"Your eyes are the same in both forms." Chlorien looked respectfully at the large battleaxe he wore. "Can you use that?"
"Aye, lad, easily." Chlorien's respect deepened.
"Why did you come as an old man?" she asked with interest. Jaim looked over at the mage with a lift to his eyebrows.
"It was thought unwise for a race, largely unknown in the east, to suddenly appear. Now we're closer to Gnosti land, it matters less." Autoc paused. "Enough questions. Are you hungry, lad?"
"Very," responded Chlorien.
When Jaim turned and walked away, Autoc put an arm round Chlorien's shoulders and led her back to their small camp. She ate well, Jaim's food always appetising, then she gave a deep sigh and settled against the slender trunk of a gnarlwood. As soon as she relaxed, though, memories flooded back and Autoc, glancing briefly at her, saw pain in big eyes that stared out at nothing in particular. He did and said nothing, merely raising a tankard to his mouth and drinking thoughtfully.
Jaim eyed Chlorien as much as she studied him, their eyes meeting several times. Jaim's eyes twinkled at her and she grinned back. Chlorien looked across at the resting mage.
"Where are we, Father?" she asked, absently chewing on a blade of the spiky pampa.
"Thirty miles or so west of Ice Isle, child."
When Autoc caught the shiver that shook Chlorien, he rose in a leisurely way and beckoned her. She scrambled over to him, but her expression was one of extreme trepidation and when Jaim saw the deeper fear beyond that, he looked away. The mage took Chlorien's hand firmly in his.
"Chlorien," he began very gently, "Such a cruel trial as you've had needs to be explained and understood, little one." Chlorien stood still. "Do you fully understand what's happened to you?" She shook her head. "Do you realise that you must understand if your experience is to have any value for you?" She nodded. "Can you undertake a journey back so soon?" Chlorien put a hand to her mouth, licked her lips and lifted her head, depths of despair in her lovely eyes. The mage knew she needed help and that it couldn't be delayed. "Can you, little one?"
"Must I, Father?"
"Jaim and I'll be there, every step of the way, child. You won't be alone this time."
"He'll be there," she said desperately, her throat dry.
"Aye, little one, but so will I."
Autoc held up his hand that she took so he could draw her down next to him.
"I have to, Father, don't I?" Autoc's touch was very gentle.
"Come with me, little one, and hold to me. You'll be quite safe." Before the mage linked with Chlorien, he turned quickly to the Gnosti. "There's no time to explain, Jaim, but you'll get a shock. Try not to let her sense this." Jaim nodded, his mind already reaching out to Autoc and Chlorien. "Jaim," murmured the mage. "Join with
me." Autoc lifted Chlorien's chin. "Look at me, child," he said softly. Chlorien's eyes met his.
Chlorien's journey back terrified her. It took considerable effort and reassurance to stabilise her. She immediately sensed Jaim's strength, his the dominant mind in hers. She finally responded to them both as she went back to the beginning of her journey and her meeting with Malekim. Their calm lack of alarm gave her security when she was confronted by the mage, and even though Autoc felt Jaim's flinch when the Gnosti realised who Chlorien was, it was rapidly gone and he stayed close.
When Malekim tried to whirl the fragile young mind into a total and all-absorbing meld with his, Chlorien felt a powerful surge that blunted the edge of her terror and desolation. When she re-lived her screaming denial of Malekim, a warm, sensitive mind rocked her gently, and quietly and firmly eased her distress. When she cowered to the ground, her mind rejecting who she was, this same mind changed despair to hope.
The torment she endured was taken and put beyond her, where she could look at it dispassionately, analyse the emotion and accept it. She rejected self-disgust. It faded. She knew the powerful minds melded with hers didn't lie, her trust in them implicit.
They took her back to Malekim and made her experience it again, only this time objectively. There was no anger, fear or raging despair, Chlorien submitting to the reality of herself in a resigned way, even able to look at Malekim without alarmed dread. All hostile emotion was removed. In time, she'd become almost philosophical about her origins, but not yet. It was too soon.
She was swept next to Cynthas, where she was held very firmly, and, even though she assured the minds holding hers that she didn't care what Bene and Cynthas had done, they refused to let her move forward. They clearly recognised the depth of anger and resentment which she didn't. Autoc held her while Jaim again took her emotions beyond her so she faced them. She vividly saw bitterness and how she blamed them both for what happened to her mother, her brothers and herself.
She tried to deny this. Jaim was firm. He repeatedly took her back until, finally, in tears, she capitulated. She surrendered to heartache and acceptance. Jaim wouldn't accept that either. He made her understand what Bene and Cynthas meant to each other, until Chlorien saw what Jaim wanted her to see - though she was very young, she learned to recognise that some emotions transcended all else. Jaim was patient but inflexible. Chlorien was allowed to move forward.
Chlorien struggled within the meld while her mother was so callously raped. Her misery and wretchedness wouldn't yield. It took all Jaim's skill to make her realise she wasn't responsible for her mother's suffering and was made to see beyond it to the joy she brought her mother. She learned, too, that sometimes out of suffering comes happiness. Autoc let Jaim work alone.
She went back to Ortok, to the pleasures of their home and to the comfort she and her siblings brought her mother and she knew she was cherished by them all. She started to understand that suffering and pain shaped individuals but was, in a cosmic sense, transitory. She accepted what she was shown and moved, sadly, on.
Jaim rested when Autoc took Chlorien to the dragons, though he stayed close. In the bowl, Chlorien's mind spun with the effort to interpret and comprehend. It was the mage who calmed and steadied her and eased bewilderment, so she could piece together, for herself, some of what happened. He answered her questions. His placidity acted as her anchor.
When Jaim and Autoc withdrew from the mindmeld, Chlorien felt only a desire for rest. She was barely conscious the mage lifted and carried her into a tent where she was carefully laid to sleep, furs tucked around her. She curled herself and went into a dreamless and peaceful sleep. Autoc lightly touched her head, then stooped to leave.
He found Jaim contemplating a flower he'd just plucked. He still held it in one hand. The mage lounged down beside him with a yawn, though he sensed tawny eyes regarded him.
"There's much you didn't tell me, mage," came the deep, measured voice. Helplessly, Autoc raised his hands, though a smile hovered about his mouth.
"I was bound by what I could do or say," he explained. A shrewd look came into the tawny eyes at that.
"Perhaps," Jaim said quietly, "it's a wise man who keeps his own counsel, mage."
Autoc gave a reluctant laugh, saying, "You put me in my place, Jaim. I accept your rebuke." Jaim pulled his pipe from his pocket.
"No rebuke, my friend, just an observation." He added with a rueful smile, "I would've done the same. Ambros is delicately poised." He reflectively lit his pipe and puffed at it.
"Are you weary, Jaim?"
"Yes, but also wondering a great deal," came the reply.
"Aye, I can imagine."
"There are depths of talent in that child, aren't there?" Autoc stretched and yawned.
"And most of it's still untapped," he agreed, on an even deeper yawn.
"In Malekim's hands..." Jaim's voice trailed off and his expression was forbidding.
"In his hands, my friend, Chlorien would be the end of Ambros as we know it." When he spoke there was no smile on Autoc's face and only bleakness in his eyes. "All Melas' children are very important but Chlorien has a link the others don't – Malekim."
"I think," suggested Jaim quietly, "we should try to rest. There's much to discuss at a later time, isn't there?"
"Aye."
"Do you sense anyone near, mage?" Autoc shook his head.
"You rest, Jaim. I'll watch over you both."
"Kind of you," murmured Jaim, his eyes already closing. They opened briefly. "Will the lad begin to heal now?" A flicker of a smile touched the mage's face.
"Thanks to your help, Jaim, that's so. He heals already and sleeps at ease."
"Good," came the faint comment as the Gnosti's eyes shut and his pipe, that had replaced the flower, fell from slack fingers. Autoc picked it up and placed it next to the small solid figure.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Goldlas rested beside Estbane. Their eyes briefly met, hers whirling in agitation and his thoughtfully. It was the young dragon who quickly broke the visual contact, her mind in turmoil, thoughts and memories tumbling in uncoordinated patterns and shifts that left her bewildered, and, at times, deeply angry. She'd been this way for many Ambrosian days since she'd melded with her daughter. Estbane continued to watch her, his voice in her mind both kind and concerned.
"Little dragon, your distress stays profound. You must try to let me help you until you begin to find yourself and reconcile your identities." Goldlas turned her head on a disconsolate hiss.
"I know who and what I am. I have memory that conflicts with my dragon being."
"That's so."
"I'm Ambrosian, Respected Elder. There can be no doubt of that?"
"None at all, dragon child. Why does this so disturb you, young one?"
"I was Melas, mate of Alfar. I've seen my child, now mature rather than as the girl she was, and I've lost both her and other children so very dear to me. Their images constantly come and disturb me, because I was torn from them so abruptly and it left them prey to cruelty. While I grieve their loss, my dragon consciousness can't understand my Ambrosian identity, because to it such things are ephemeral and even insignificant. It's too alien. They aren't to Melas."
"No," sent Estbane very gently. "No, little Ice Crystal, that's not so. You're deeply confused. It's all been too sudden. You're young and the mind is raw with transition from one state to another. The dragon consciousness doesn't dismiss your other identity or consider it less than itself. It respects that part of you because it makes up the dragon you are." He watched the young head turn from him again. "It's just that the knowledge you now have, along with the Ambrosian emotions, are new. Your dragonet consciousness also struggles to comprehend. Give yourself time to reconcile your two unique essences."
"Can they ever be reconciled?" There was a note of despair in the young voice that touched the older dragon. Estbane tilted his head. Steam issued from his mouth.
"Yes, of course, little dragon. You're anoth
er essence as well, aren't you? Does that, too, trouble you?"
"No. I'm my second Ambrosian mate, Respected Elder. He's deeply part of me."
"You now understand that. At first you didn't. He was called Bruno."
"Yes."
"He causes you no anxiety?"
"No. He's become part of my dragon consciousness in a different way. I've only come to understand that."
"It's all so soon for such a young mind as yours, little dragon. Don't be so harsh on who and what you've become." There was a long pause in Estbane's mind.
"I'll translate, won't I?"
"Yes, rare Crystal that you are. You can translate to whoever or whatever you wish to be."
"But not to who I was?"
"No, child."
"When will I know I can do this?" There was gentle mirth in the very deep, teasing voice in Goldlas' mind. She turned her head.
"Ah, little dragon, how can you ask that with the knowledge you now possess? It'll happen, as has everything else."
"Who dragon-marked me and my child?"
"That, Ice Crystal, we don't know, though we can guess. We've also established what your link is with the nymphs of northern Ambros, even if the link is both ancient and unexpected. You're a fascinating mix."
"Cynthas, my Ambrosian mother."
"Indeed. We can only guess those to whom we respond clearly saw your future and blessed you."
"It wasn't a pleasant way for us to die," sent Goldlas wistfully, flexing a wing tiredly.
"No," sent Estbane quietly. "It continues to cause you anguish, little dragonet. Let go the pain of that experience – to reconcile your two beings you must, though it is very hard for you. There'll be no inner calm until there's full acceptance. How can you expect your dragon mind to comprehend, when your Ambrosian essence is in such turbulence? Try for the balance we're trying to teach you."
"Who am I, Respected Elder?" The answer was immediate.
"You're Goldlas, Ice Crystal. You're rare and deeply cherished, just as you were on Ambros. As you continue to mature, you'll do so as Goldlas."
"I belong here?"
"You belong here, little dragon, yes. You're among your own kind."
"Will I ever bond with a Yarilan mage?" There was no hesitation.