Category: Fantasy Publisher: Double Dragon Publishing
ISBN-10: 1894841905
Type: Fiction
Pages: 305
Copyright: Jan 1 2002
Twilight Crossings .. four novellas that will transport you to dazzling new worlds ...
... ISADORA by Jeanne Allen: On an earth where nuclear war destroyed the old world, Isadora must fight for the freedom to explore truth.
... TWIN STAR by Jeanine Berry: Forced to marry against her will, Sonneret must hide the secret powers of her race from a man she is beginning to love ... a man who may destroy her people if he learns the truth.
... EIDOLON by Shannah Biondine: An unusual stranger comes to town in this fun tale about the old wild west with a devilish twist of humor...
...THIEF OF DREAMS by Sheri McGathy: Nerys found the man she could love with all her heart, only to lose him when he falls into a faery ring ... those who fall into the ring can never return to our world ... or can they?
Chapter One of Twin Star
A novella from the anthology Twilight Crossings
By Jeanine Berry
Sonneret woke in a cold sweat and flung the covers off her body. The dream was clear. She could still hear the stomp of booted feet as the soldiers came to her uncle's house to claim her. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the thudding of her heart. The time must be close at hand. The dream was growing more vivid—more real—every night. What was once a potential future was now almost certain.
There is still hope. She tried to hold on to the brave thought, but despair clawed at her heart. She was a true dreamer.
If only she could stop dreaming…With a shake of her head, Sonneret rose from the bed and crept to her second-story window, where a midnight-black sky glittered with a waterfall of stars. This world was located near the heart of a nebula. The red-tiled roofs and white stonewalls of the city of Lothar glowed beneath the brilliant starlight. From her window, she gazed out at the sleeping city, savoring the rare quiet. During the day, when Lothar lived, its pulse beat against her soul, and the air blazed with thought and emotion. But at this hour thoughts and feelings were shrouded by a blanket of sleep.
She was the one exception. Sleep betrayed her, filling her soul with raw emotion. She shuddered at the terrifying memory of the dream. Unbridled emotion was dangerous, forbidden. The Dorshan gift of sensitivity must be controlled or the mind would grow unstable.
She tucked a strand of long, blue-black hair behind one ear, her fingers brushing against the pointed tip. Her ears, her dark, slanted eyes, her golden skin, and her ebony fingernails and toenails marked her as an alien in this city of pale-skinned huymans with their round ears and eyes. On this Gateworld called Arth, her race only numbered a few thousand, barely noticed among the bustling hordes of huymans that filled the streets. Thank the gods for that, at least. The very fact that her people were so few helped protect them from attracting dangerous attention to their strange ways…or their even stranger gifts.
Sonneret felt a bitter smile tug at her lips. Dreaming of the future was a gift she would gladly refuse. She had never welcomed the dreams, especially during her cycles as a slave when it was better that the future stayed unknown. Most of her people had earned their freedom from slavery now—Lothar held many opportunities for the talented and the Dorshans were rich in talent.
But Sonneret was haunted by memories of those harsh times and—even worse—memories of the war that brought her people south to Lothar as prisoners. Some had learned to love this warm, lush land, but a bleak past had taught her not to trust in the future. And now her dark dreams enfolded her few remaining hopes in shadowy hands.
Sonneret pressed her nose against the thin pane of glass and searched for two bright jewels close together in the sky above her—the twin stars that shone on her home world. As always, she searched in vain. The gates had taken them halfway across the universe. The gods had commanded her family and clan to come here, to this world, when she was a babe in arms. She knew of the home world only through the stories her uncle told her. She would never see it, would never climb the rugged trail to the cloud-capped city where she belonged by birthright.
When her people first arrived on Arth, they staggered under the impact of the huymans' uncontrolled thoughts and emotions. To escape, they fled to a remote and rocky land in the far north. But even that desolate land was no protection from the vaunting ambitions of an Akhilesh with a dream of conquest. He made his dreams reality with a thunder of drums and the pounding hooves of a ruthless army.
That her people were peaceful and offered no resistance did not matter. The soldiers swept through the town, looting and raping. When husbands tried to defend their wives, the killing began.
Her father and mother were among the dead. The survivors were marched south and sold into slavery. She shuddered to think of that terrible journey, her bare feet bleeding on the rocky road, the merciless sun pounding down on the sick and wounded. Somehow her uncle Morweyen found her and claimed her as his own daughter. In the terrible cycles that followed, they were enslaved, but eventually her uncle earned their freedom. Morweyen was a gifted man who could fashion rare pots of exceptional beauty. Now Sonneret helped him each day in the small shop under her bedroom.
Bitterness welled up in her heart, enough bitterness to flood the room—such a small measure of happiness, but all hers. Why would the gods take it away?
"Wha—what?" Nayven, the cook and housekeeper of their small home, sat up in the bed she shared with Sonneret.
"Sorry," Sonneret whispered, turning from the window and starting back toward the older woman. Despite her haste, it was difficult to move. The room was awash in her emotions, a black tide of fear and bitterness. She felt as if she were struggling through dark waters. "I did not realize…"
Even in the shadowed room, she could see Nayven's frown, and as she got closer to the bed, she tasted her disgust and caught her unspoken thoughts. Revolting! To let your emotions loose to fly about like leaves in the wind—
"I-I'm sorry," Sonneret stammered again.
The old woman patted her thick gray braids as if to make sure they were still in place, then gestured for Sonneret to get back in bed. "This is the third night in a row you've jerked me awake, girl. I'm surprised you haven't woken your uncle, too. Feelings come because we fight our fate. You know that. Learn acceptance and serenity—those are the Dorshan traditions."
Sonneret bit back a sharp reply and forced her dread down into the hidden places of her heart. The old woman meant well, and it would be ill-mannered indeed to be rude to someone so dependent on her uncle's charity. Nor did she have the heart to tell Nayven that if her psi talents weren't so meager, she could protect her own mind from the thoughts and feelings of others.
After a moment, Sonneret felt her raging emotions begin to fade from the room. She crawled back into the bed and curled up into a tight ball.
The leather straps that supported the straw-stuffed mattress on its frame creaked as Nayven heaved her ample weight over to one side and sighed. "Staring out the window night after night will not change what is to come, girl. Why do you resist the wisdom of your elders? We must not fight our fate, but yield to it. Detachment and surrender—that is the way of our people."
"It is not my way," Sonneret muttered. "I will not believe my life is already done before I've even lived it."
"Whether you believe it or not, it's done and written down in the book of time." The old woman pulled her pillow under her head and shut her eyes. "Our lives are only a dream, and when we dream within our lives, we read the book that is already written…that is all. You cannot change what you find inscribed there."
Sonneret shivered and tugged the covers up around her shoulders. She knew from experience that Nayven would not stop her lecture until she did as she was told—and tonight that meant going back to sleep. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on drawing long, slow breaths. As the dark edges of sleep touched her mind, she mumbled a final prayer that she would not dream again of the shop below her bedroom.
The shop where the Akhilesh's soldiers would come for her…soon…if her dream held true.
* * *
Nayven was up with the first light of dawn, clattering the dishes together in the kitchen, waking Sonneret. As she sat up in bed, her lips curved in a rueful grin. How strange her people were. It was all right to slam doors and bang dishes on the table, as long as you kept what you were feeling locked deep inside.
Her eyes burning from a lack of sleep, she got up and stood at the window to brush her blue-black hair until it fell around her face in shining waves. Some of her weariness faded as she looked out at the city sprawled over five hills along the eastern shore of a great lake. She loved this hour when the air was fresh and clean, before the swollen sun of Arth rose to heat the sky and the smells from thousands of huymans tramping through the streets choked her nostrils.
The sound of Morweyen moving about came from the other bedroom on the top floor of the house. Then she heard the slap of his sandals as he descended the steep stone stairs. She left the window and pulled on a fresh tunic, slipped sandals on her feet and followed him down into the kitchen that served as their main living space. It was located at the rear of their dwelling and opened into the stonewalled courtyard where her uncle kept his kiln. Their washroom was just off the kitchen. In the front of the house were her uncle's workroom and the small room that served as their shop. The workroom held his clay and wheel, and the table where Sonneret mixed the glazes. The shop was packed to the roof with his pots and jars.
As Sonneret entered the kitchen, Nayven threw a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table. The warm aroma filled the room. As she pulled off her apron, the older woman darted an angry glance at her. "Did I wake you? I couldn't get back to sleep last night, so I got up early. Now I'm off to the market to buy some things for lunch."
"Sorry." Sonneret surveyed the pile of dirty dishes on the counter with a sinking heart. Obviously, Nayven expected her to do penance by cleaning up the mess.
"Get me some of that raram cheese if you will," her uncle said from where he sat at the table, spreading honey on his bread. He shared Sonneret's dark hair and slanted eyes, but his golden skin had faded with age to a pale yellow. It was marked with worry lines now, and his shoulders were hunched from the hours he spent bending over his potter's wheel.
Sonneret wrinkled her nose. Raram cheese had a pungent, ripe smell that stank up the kitchen for days. But Morweyen liked it.
"I will." Nayven vanished out the door with a clatter, and a dark cloud seemed to leave with her. Sonneret sighed and sat down to have a slice of bread before starting to clean.
After her uncle disappeared into his pottery shop, Sonneret took her time in cleaning the kitchen. She enjoyed caring for things, and it irritated her that Nayven was such a slovenly housekeeper. It was good of her uncle to be so kind to the old woman, who was a distant relative through marriage, but really, she barely earned her keep.
Sonneret washed the dishes, swept the stone-flagged floor, and wiped down the counters. Then she began to rearrange the stacks of colorful dishes—fired in their own kiln by her uncle—on the open shelves over the sink. Nayven burst back through the door like a sudden storm.
"Have you heard the news?" She threw her sack of goods from the marketplace on the table.
Sonneret forced a smile to her lips. "No. Since you left, I've been busy cleaning."
"Ha! I thought a customer might have come in and told you something. Well, it is all over the city this morning. The Akhilesh is divorcing his Lifemate!"
"Really." Sonneret tilted the cup she held in her hand, admiring the way the glaze picked up the light from the rear window of the kitchen.
Nayven opened her sack and pulled out a bunch of onions, a bundle of tyber roots, and a block of raram. A rancid odor filled the room as she put the blue-gray cheese on a plate. "Bardora told me the Akhilesh gave a marvelous banquet last night in the palace gardens. She says it looked like a magical fairyland with lanterns hung in all the trees and tables sparkling with gold plate. Bardora said—"
Sonneret lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Who is this Bardora?"
"Why, my friend. Her husband works at the palace." Nayven tilted her chin upward, as if this association increased her status. "She heard about the banquet firsthand. The Akhilesh was celebrating the start of the third cycle of his reign, and all the nobles of the city and the governors from the one hundred and twenty-seven provinces were invited."
Despite her reluctance to share in Nayven's gossip, Sonneret could picture the scene. She'd helped prepare the food for enough banquets in the palace of the nobleman who once owned her and her uncle. The banquet would be a male-only affair, as was the custom in this culture, and the men would be sprawled on couches, each with its own small table at its side to hold their food and drink. The Akhilesh and his favored guests would be on a separate dais, surrounded by half-naked female slaves. The women would offer them rare delicacies and cups of sweet aged wine imported from the rich grape-growing regions by the sea. The wine would flow like water and the men would soon be drunk, laughing, telling ribald jokes and boasting of their exploits in war.
Nayven plopped down on a chair, picked up a small knife and began peeling the tyber roots. "Bardora says he must have spent fifty thousand solus last night on the food and wine alone. Not that he would notice. The treasury coffers must still be full of the loot his father brought home from his conquests. With the kingdom at peace now, Akhilesh Ehereon does nothing but bask in the sun and enjoy the women of his harem. I hear he cares not a whit about the government and lets his trusted councilors tend to any problems."
"Since he is so young and inexperienced, that might be a wise course," Sonneret ventured.
"He's three cycles older than you, girl."
"So he is." Sonneret shook her head but refused to be drawn into an argument. Her memory of Ehereon was almost six cycles old. She'd seen him once as she put the final touches on a tray of food for another banquet where the Akhilesh—his father Thermenon—was an honored guest. She remembered a tall, strong boy with wheat-gold hair and eyes that were a startlingly deep blue. He would be a man by now and a handsome one at that.
"Bardora says he's a handsome brute of a man." Nayven unconsciously echoed her thoughts as was often the way with their people. Mental shields were supposed to protect the privacy of their minds, but there was always some seepage. "Spends his days swimming, gaming, and hunting and his nights bedding women."
Sonneret frowned, drawn into the conversation against her will. "That's a puzzle. He can have any woman he wants. So why should he bother to divorce his Lifemate?"
"She offended him last night—embarrassed him in front of his guests. He was displaying his riches and his power to earn the respect and allegiance of his subjects—as the Akhilesh must do like any man—and she refused to obey an order from him."
"Was it a reasonable order?"
"Reasonable!" Nayven snorted. "What do nobles care about that?"
Sonneret sighed and stacked the last plate on the pile. How easy it was to forget the many humiliations of being a slave. Thank the gods, her uncle had won their freedom before she grew into the woman she was now, or she would have experienced the ultimate debasement at her master's hands.
"According to Bardora, Ehereon and his favorite companion Caemer were watching a slave girl dance and comparing her beauty to that of various other women they knew. They were both drunk, of course."
Sonneret got the broom and swept up the peelings that had dropped off the table onto the floor. Nayven gossiped on, unaware of the mess she was making.
"Ehereon granted his guests the liberty to eat and drink as they pleased instead of only partaking when he did. It's said he fancies himself more lenient than his father—may the war-mongering tyrant rest in peace." Nayven dropped her voice to a whisper as she uttered the last phrase and looked nervously about her. "So it may be Caemer was far more drunk than he usually would be in the presence of the Akhilesh. Or perhaps he was feeling daring. Bardora believes that he lusts after Ehereon's royal sister, Diamani, but that Ehereon will not approve the match because Caemer is not of noble blood. His mother was a concubine, although his father is a great general."
Sonneret put the broom away and sank into a chair by the table. It was obvious Nayven was enjoying this small drama and wanted to drag the story out as long as she could. "So what happened? How did Ehereon come to divorce his Lifemate?"
"As I was saying, they were discussing the dancing girl's beauty, and Ehereon offered her to Caemer since he seemed to find her attractive. But Caemer fancies himself worthy of a royal female in his bed. He's ambitious, that one. So he puffed out his chest and told Ehereon his heart loved another. Of course, it's not wise to refuse a royal gift. The Akhilesh replied that the slave woman was every bit as beautiful as his own Lifemate, Rashmeru. That should have been the end of it, but Caemer had the insolence to say that the Akhilesh was wrong, that Rashmeru is far more beautiful."
Sonneret drew her breath in with a sharp hiss. "He is lucky the Akhilesh did not order him run through for daring to contradict him."
"Well, they grew up together. Seems Lord Caemer's father fancied the boy despite his common mother and brought him to the palace so he'd have a chance to advance in the world. And Thermenon was willing to do a favor for his best general."
"Really, Nayven, you know more about the history of these huymans than you do about our own people."
Nayven chuckled. "My survival does not depend on knowing the history of my own people. You would be wise to realize the same thing."
Sonneret shrugged off the lecture. "What did the Akhilesh do?"
"Why, he sent for his Lifemate so they could compare the two women side by side. But as the fates would have it, she was busy hosting a banquet for the women—and maybe a bit deep into her cups herself—and she refused to come. Can't say that I blame her, either. I wouldn't fancy being displayed like a piece of meat before all those drunken men. Still, you don't refuse the Akhilesh, even if you are the Lifemate. He fell into a rage and summoned his advisor Pethram to tell him what to do."
"Couldn't he decide for himself?"
Nayven looked at her in amazement. "You spend far too much time hunched over those pots in your uncle's shop. His marriage to Rashmeru was a political one. As angry as he was, he did not dare to strike back at her without first consulting his advisors. Lucky for him, Pethram agreed the insult to his royal authority was beyond forgiveness and advised him to divorce her at once. She is being sent home. In addition, she is forbidden to marry ever again. She will die childless." Nayven fell silent.
"How cruel!" Sonneret felt a wave of pity wash over her. To spend your life alone, without husband or family, to grow old without your children and grandchildren around you. Nayven was alone like that, but at least she'd had a husband and two sons and many happy years before death took them all.
Nayven sighed and resumed her gossip. "Pethram urged that last detail on him. He said if the Akhilesh did not punish her severely he would become the laughingstock of the kingdom—a man who could not control his own wife—and all women everywhere would be tempted to rebel against their husbands."
"What nonsense." Sonneret pressed her lips together in a thin line of disapproval. This Akhilesh must be a cruel man despite his claims of leniency.
Nayven dropped her voice to a whisper again. "Bardora told me something else. It seems Pethram advised the Akhilesh he must not allow any deviation among his own people, because there are already too many dangerous ideas floating around the city—brought here by aliens whose ways are contrary to huyman tradition."
Fear stabbed at Sonneret's heart, and for a moment she heard again the stomp of soldiers' feet. "They blame us, or the other star-born, for everything that goes wrong in the land."
"So they do. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that we somehow contaminated Rashmeru's mind with our alien idea that women are the equals of men." Nayven's face looked tired in the bright morning light. "As if one of us would ever talk freely to a lady of such high station."
"Well, then, they can hardly blame us, can they?" At the sound of voices in the small shop off the kitchen, Sonneret rose to her feet. Their first customers of the day had arrived. Any more gossip would have to wait until later.
As she entered the shop, she noticed the surprised looks that flickered across the faces of the two huyman women who stood there. Obviously, they hadn't known aliens owned this shop. Sonneret froze as their disgust flooded the room and pressed against her mental shields. With an effort, she shut out their strong emotion, clasped her hands together at her chin, and bowed.
Every day she faced this reaction and every day it sickened her. Only the stunning beauty of her uncle's pots enabled them to eke out a living. Why must the huymans hate the alien races? Shouldn't they welcome those sent by the gods? Would they really dare to blame Rashmeru's rebellion on the Dorshans?
While waiting on the women, Sonneret felt an uneasy premonition that she had not heard the last of the incident at the palace. As soon as they left, she joined her uncle in his workshop.
He looked up. "I don't like those dark shadows under your eyes. Another dream?"
Sonneret nodded. Morweyen was seated at his potter's wheel, his foot never pausing in its steady rhythm as his hands molded the clay, but his keen glance missed nothing in the small room.
Sonneret sat at her own worktable and ran a finger around the rim of a bowl. It was ready for glazing, and her jars of minerals were set on the table at her side. But neither the sunlight falling through the open window nor the bright colors of the pots all around her could lift her mood. She set the bowl aside and spoke.
"It was the same dream I have every night now. I dreamed of the soldiers again."
"They were coming for you, like before?"
"Yes." She shuddered. "They came to the shop at midday and took me away—dragged me off with nothing but the clothes on my back." She struggled to keep back the tears but the dream brought back too many memories of that terrible day fifteen cycles ago when her town was destroyed and her people enslaved. The soldiers had dragged her off that day, too, before setting fire to the cottage where her parents lay dead. Sonneret could still remember the smoke choking her as she staggered from the burning village.
"They hate us, you know," she whispered, staring down at her hands. "They hate us because we are not huyman. If they knew of our mental abilities, they would kill us all. Our gifts are more a curse than a blessing—"
"I must agree with you," her uncle sighed. "Our gifts are dangerous here. Even on our home world, our ability to feel the emotions of those around us only led to our denial of all emotion. Only in our art do we dare to express what we feel. Still, I believe there is a reason for every gift. If you are indeed a true dreamer, the dreams will guide you to your purpose. The gods brought us to this world because they believed there was something in our race worth saving. There are other alien races here too. We are not alone in our struggle to find a place among the huymans."
Sonneret shrugged, not wanting to add an argument with her uncle to the burdens of the day.
He still believed in the old gods…the gods who led them to Arth…still believed in a reason for all her people had suffered on this world. But Sonneret did not. They were outcasts here and lived under a dark cloud of suspicion.
So far, the Dorshans had kept their ability to read emotions—sometimes even thoughts—hidden from the huymans. It was bad enough that their more ordinary talents for art and literature sometimes drew unwanted attention and that their freedom-loving culture was so different from the strict obedience demanded by the Akhilesh. If the huymans discovered their mental powers, it would only bring more hatred and fear down on their heads. The secret had been safe when her people lived in a secluded village at the northernmost reaches of the world, but thanks to a powerful man's ambitions for conquest, they were now in the heart of Lothar, surrounded by huymans. Every day emotions battered them, and every day they must hide the knowledge those emotions brought.
Secret or not, the gifts still haunted their lives. Sonneret knew the dream was destined to come true, and there was no one who could deliver her from that day.
Copyright 2003 by Jeanine Berry. All rights reserved
A world of steam and springs. A breakneck race for power. Will one woman's defiance topple a kingdom? If you like feisty heroines, fearsome dragons, and fast-paced action, then you'll savor this steam-powered thrill-ride.
Lord Belmundus – The Omnibus One is a compilation of Books 1 through 5 of The Adventures of Lord Belmundus, a remarkable tale of other worlds, strange customs, beauty and warfare; and, in its grips, lands a young celebrity, who has the chaps to play
What if all objects had a "consciousness" and were aware of the world around them? What if they could talk to each other? Award-winning author Deborah K. Frontiera answers this hypothetical what-if in an intriguing way as the items in a pawnshop come
