passion. “Prove you mean what you say. Show me how you really feel. How genuine you are. Do you honestly care for me? Want me? Need me?”
“Yes, Nada, I do.” His hands rose to caress her hair.
“I need you more than I can say.”
“Earl!”
The robe fell as she reached towards him, her arms closing about him, her lips seeking his own, finding them, pressing with an avid hunger as the heat of her naked flesh burned against his own.
“Earl! I want you! I need you! Take me! Earl! Earl!”
The room was the same but a subtle magic had touched the moldering plaster and stained woodwork so they seemed gifted with a new brightness; a shimmering patina as of things remade and reborn. As the bed was softer than he remembered, seeming larger, as the light was even more enticing as it streamed through the window. At his side Nada moved a little, her hand caressing his torso, the fingers tracing the scars of old wounds.
“I love you, my darling,” she whispered. “I shall always love you.”
Her voice was a sleepy murmur, her face lax with satiated passion, her hair a sprawl on the pillow, her skin a softly yielding velvet delight. On her throat the wound he had made rested like the badge of another kind of passion. One that had given him the cicatrices he bore. The fruit of emotions she should never have known.
On impulse he stooped and kissed it.
“Darling.” Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Kiss me again. Heal me. Please, Earl.”
He obeyed and looked down at the unbroken skin of her throat. The wound he had made had vanished without trace.
“You have the power, darling.” Her hands moved, questing, her smile widening as she felt his response. “You will always have power over me. I am yours when you need me. Just need me. Never stop needing me. Earl! Please! Earl!”
Again they lost themselves in an ancient rite, Nada clinging to him with a desperate intensity as if afraid of losing a newly found pleasure. Only when they lay exhausted did she run her hands over his torso again her fingers following the pattern of his scars.
Fingers with the delicate impact of insect wings, touching, tracing, covering more than flesh. Creating a pattern that transcended space and time to waken ancient memories of things learned and events almost forgotten on the backward world of Deratai.
“Relax, my darling,” she murmured. “You are safe in my arms. Relax.”
Dumarest sighed and obeyed and inhaled the vapor of her perfume which changed in a subtle manner so that he smelt again the oddly pungent odor of a shabby chamber, saw again the tall, shrouded figure of the man to whom it belonged. The bland face with the shrewd almond eyes, the lipless mouth, the high-arched brows. Hsi Wei-master of the subtle art of survival.
His voice was the thin keening of wind through reeds as he addressed his attentive pupils. A small circle patiently listening to hours of instruction and advice. All young, each hoping they would learn how to enhance their status and prosper and escape the poverty that held them in its grasp.
“You have been taught the five basic laws of survival. The first is self preservation. The second is to be aware at all times. The third is always to expect the unexpected. The fourth is never to underestimate anyone. The fifth is to respect all that exists in life.” Hsi Wei showed no signs of fatigue. “To simplify; always avoid trouble, always be alert, take nothing for granted, never trust another, always anticipate the worst.”
Words to add to those already spoken their cadences inducing a somnolence which Dumarest remembered too well. An aggravation to add to the rest. To nod would be to signal a lack of interest, to be inattentive the same.
“Every world, every city, every village is a jungle thick with predators who have no mercy for the weak. In order to survive you must learn many skills. Adopt many habits. Watch where you walk. Note those who stand near or follow too close. Never arouse antagonism. Above all always mistrust beauty. A pleasing exterior can shield a venomous nature. Think of a snake, a lethal fungi, the shimmering loveliness of exotic creatures whose sting can fill your blood with a host of eggs to travel through your system each to grow and eat and bring an agonizing death. And, as with those creatures, so it is with those of your own kind. Treat all with caution. Never trust a beautiful visage or an appealing figure. Remember that you are the victim of your own heritage. Your own needs make you vulnerable.”
The sharp slap of his palms ended the session.
“Dwell on what I have told you until we meet again.”
Then, to Dumarest, “Please wait. I have a matter to discuss which you may find of interest.”
Dumarest obeyed, remaining silent as a flask was produced and glasses set on a small table together with a tray of small cakes. Incense smoldered to fill the air with a sweet and pleasing odor. The wine held a trace of astringency. Dumarest sipped then gulped the contents of the goblet. Reaching for a cake he devoured it with avid hunger.
The thin lips of Hsi Wei pursed with annoyance.
“You disappoint me. Have I taught you so little?”
“Master?”
“You drank without hesitation and ate without thought. The wine and cakes could have been drugged. Now you could be unconscious or dead. To say you trust me is no excuse for your carelessness. To survive you must trust nothing and no one. Appearances can be deceptive. Tell me what you should have done?” Hsi Wei listened as Dumarest obeyed. “To sip, better still just to lift the wine to your lips and pretend to swallow. Not to drink until your companion has done so before you. Even that entails a risk-the drug could have been placed in your goblet so change it for another if you can. Do not eat until your host has eaten. Caution that can be manipulated to appear as deference. Understand?”
The sharp voice softening a little as Dumarest nodded.
“Good. Now give me your hand.” Hsi Wei brooded over the proffered palm. “Much travelled,” he murmured. “The product of hardship. No stranger to blood.” His thin fingers tightened.
“No stranger at all.” Then, without change of tone, “You know why the others come to be taught by me. What they hope to gain. What the majority of them never will. You are not as they, which is why you have aroused my interest. But is your motivation the same? Are you willing to place yourself in my hands and allow me to guide your fate? How much are you prepared to sacrifice in order to survive? How much? How much? How much…”
The old face swirled, the almond eyes turning into fading stars, the thin figure vanishing as did the chamber. But memories remained; the tuition paid for by arduous labor, the lessons, the anguish, the advice.
Then the time of parting. The moving on. The beginning of a life based on violence, blood, pain and death.
“Earl!” Beside him Nada stirred, the touch of her fingers warm against his flesh. The scent of her perfume banishing the memory of fuming incense, of oil and sweat, blood and fear. “Come back to me, darling.”
“Sorry.” He turned to face her. “I was drifting, remembering a time long ago when I had to learn a new trade.”
“I thought so.” She traced the scars. “Earl! How-”
“The past wasn’t gentle.”
“But these scars are from wounds. Why don’t you heal yourself?”
“Kiss them and make them go away?” He gently shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Do you think I am foolish?”
“For suggesting I cure myself? No. Why should I? It worked on you. I don’t know why but it did.” Dumarest moved from her embrace and raised himself in order to look down at her. Some memories still lingered. Some advice remained strong. Never to trust. Never to be weakened by the temptation of beauty. Had the time of memory been a subconscious warning?
His hand lifted to caress her hair.
“Do you remember when I told you that, when I looked at you, I saw something other than an ordinary woman.”
“You said I was a beautiful one.”
“You are, but you are not an ordinary woman. You are a mystery. I tried an experiment. I was lost in a realm of mists and shadows where nothing made sense. I remembered a room I had known. This room.” He gestured at
