Rapture's Etesian Read online

  “She’s a wolf!” Leksi repeated. “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  Kratos concentrated to make sure his aim was as sure as ever as he relieved himself. The old warrior prided himself in the fact that, unlike many men his age, he left no mess for the morning maid to clean. He glanced back over his shoulder, frowning. “Are you talking about the bothersome one?”

  “Aye!” Leksi agreed. “She came to fetch her horse but things got a bit off track. I’ll take the beast to her this evening.”

  Shaking his member, Kratos’ frown deepened. “She’s a changeling and you’re going to meet her at eventide? How stupid is that, brat? Why not in the full light of day?”

  “I don’t think she’s about in the daylight, Kratos,” Leksi explained. He puffed out his chest. “I am not afraid of her.”

  “Well, you’re not the brightest piece of material in the stack,” Kratos reminded his young friend.

  “Nor am I the dullest,” Leksi returned. He plopped down on Kratos’ bed, as the older warrior got dressed.

  “I’ve heard tell of a gray wolf haunting the hills beyond,” Kratos remarked. “Could be her.”

  “I hurt her,” Leksi admitted, and when his friend turned to give him a narrowed look, the younger warrior blushed. “Not on purpose, though.”

  “And she is willing to meet with you?” Kratos inquired as he pulled on his uniform tunic. “Either the girl is curious about you or she’s luring you to your death.” He took up his belt and dragged it around his ample waist. “Perhaps I should accompany you.”

  Leksi shook his head. “She’ll think it’s an ambush. I’ll go alone.”

  Kratos shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He sat down to pull on his boots. “You will no matter what I advise.”

  As the two friends made their way to the barracks to break their fast with the other soldiers, Kratos kept a surreptitious eye on the young warrior and plotted a way to follow Leksi to the meeting place that night.

  * * * * *

  Kynthia woke long before the sun was high in the sky. The sacks of flour were soft enough but the salt and sugar had gone lumpy and poked her in myriad places to deny her rest. Staring through the almost-dark room, she listened to the servants going about their midmorning chores and listened in on their conversations concerning their menfolk. It was at such times she learned more about males than she had at the knee of her aunt, as Galatea instructed her on the ways of life.

  As she had grown older, Kynthia had begun to feel an emptiness that at first merely annoyed her. She had tried to fill her waking moments with martial arts training, becoming the best horsewoman she could be, and learning strategy at the hands of the most knowledgeable warrioresses among the Amazeen. Despite grueling hours of training, the daylight hours were filled with loneliness and building restlessness. She was miserable most of the time and nothing she did seemed to alleviate the situation. The harder she worked, the more restless she became.

  Kynthia did not understand what ailed her and sought out her aunt’s counsel.

  “It’s not that your cycle is completely reversed from an ordinary woman’s,” her aunt had explained. “Training at night instead of during the day has its particular challenges but you will be the best night warrioress among all the tribes. As for the sleeplessness and discontent during the daylight hours, my guess is you are simply lonely, Kynni. You need a companion.”

  By companion, Kynthia knew her aunt meant of the male persuasion and such a thing was anathema to the young woman.

  “I have no need of a man to burden me!” she exclaimed. “Besides, men sleep at night and war during the day!”

  Well, men save the one who had purchased her from her father, and his was a different story…

  * * * * *

  “You want me for what?” Kynthia had shouted, backing away from the man who had bought her from her family.

  “Now, wait before you jump to the wrong conclusion!” the man had asked.

  “I might not want a man pawing me, but I sure as hell don’t want a woman to, either!”

  “That’s not going to happen. Let me explain.”

  Despite mistrust of the man across from her, Kynthia snapped her mouth shut and surreptitiously looked for a weapon should he decide to attack her.

  “There is a large rock just behind you, wench, but I warn you—before you could turn and reach for it, I would be on you like snow blanketing the highest alp.”

  Kynthia blinked. “You read minds?” she asked.

  “I possess many talents and that is a minor one,” he admitted.

  “I will not be some woman’s plaything,” Kynthia stated. “Nor will I be someone’s slave!”

  The humor slipped slowly from the man’s face. “We are all slaves to something, wench. At the moment, your master is righteous anger and he rides you more cruelly than any human owner could.”

  “What does she want of me?” Kynthia shouted. She did not care for word games and she sensed such activity with a man like this would be a losing endeavor.

  “My sister was raped just as you were.”

  Kynthia sat down upon a large, flat rock. “She wants my help in slaying the man who attacked her?”

  He should his head. “No. He received his just punishment long ago and Callista, too, is long gone.”

  Suspicion narrowed Kynthia’s eyes. “She is dead?”

  “Aye, she is dead,” he said.

  Kynthia frowned. “I still don’t see how—”

  “My sister was considered to be the most beautiful girl child beneath the canopy of the heavens,” he continued. “She had thick brown curls that swept the ground as she walked. Her eyes were the color of lush green foliage and she possessed skin sun-kissed with perfection. Suitors came from all over the world to vie for her hand.”

  “But that ceased when she was raped, eh?” Kynthia asked in a bitter tone.

  His face became a mask of hatred. “She was a mere child when that Molossian bastard stole her from us. He used her like a common whore then cast her aside in search of his next victim.”

  “Molossian?” Kynthia repeated for it was a word she had never heard before.

  “I would have gelded the son-of-a-bitch had I not been off-world at that time.”

  “Off what?”

  “Never mind, just listen,” he had snapped.

  So she had paid attention to his tale, and when he was finished, she had stared at him. “Your sister must have been a very astute warrioress.”

  “What she knew, she learned from me and that by chance. On my world—”

  “That’s it,” Kynthia grumbled, throwing up her hands. “I don’t know what world you live in, milord, but apparently it isn’t the one where the rest of us reside.” She started to get up but he was so quick, she never saw him move until he was right beside her, his heavy hand on her shoulder. He kept her from rising and the strength in that one hand made it impossible for her to shake it off.

  “You are right, Kynthia Ancaeus, I am not of your world. I am a Reaper. My name is Cainer Cree and I am from a place millions of miles from here called Ghaoithe. I have been here now for over seventy-five years and have not aged one day in all that time. I never get sick and if I accidentally cut myself, I heal in the blink of an eye. I have the strength of ten men along with the ability to read minds and…” He raised one thick dark brow. “If I could leave this island, I can fly.”

  Kynthia stared at him. Her expression left little doubt that she thought the man standing above her was a lunatic. She reached up to pry his fingers from her shoulder but she might as well have tried to pry a rock from cliff beyond.

  “Callista took matters into her own hands and slit the throat of the bastard who brutalized her,” Cree continued. “Instead of a dagger, you used a rock on Minos Daedalun. You had your revenge but that hasn’t given you any satisfaction, has it?”

  “Hell, no, it hasn’t!” she threw at him. “If I could, I would go after every pervert I could find and rid the world of th
em! That would bring me great satisfaction!”

  Cree shook his head. “No, Sweeting, it wouldn’t, but it would go a long way in easing the pain you feel. Only finding your soul-mate will give you the true satisfaction you crave.”

  Kynthia struck at his hand with her fist but the hits had no effect on the man. He stood where he was and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I…don’t…want…a…gods-be-damned…man!” she shouted.

  “Perhaps not at this moment in time, but time has a way of moving on, Kynni, and loneliness is a terrible road to walk,” he said quietly.

  The softness of his words, the gentle look in his eyes brought the tears from Kynthia’s eyes and she covered her face with her hands and sobbed violently, her shoulders shaking, her moans of grief pitiful to hear. She leaned into his hard chest when he hunkered down before her and pulled her into his brawny arms.

  “Let it out, Sweeting,” he whispered. “Let it all out and the wound will begin to heal.”

  Kynthia had shed no tears when Minos had savaged her. Nor had one teardrop fallen when she had begged and pleaded with her father not to bring her to the Isle of Uaigneas and sell her to the stranger who lived there. Now, the tears flowed like a river overflowing its banks and she clung to the man holding her as though he were a life raft.

  “I know what it is like to be at the mercy of those who would rule your life, Kynni,” he crooned to her. “I, too, know the frustration of not being in control of my own destiny, but I am offering you the means to live your life the way you see fit and be beholden to no one.”

  “N-no man will e-ever want m-me,” she cried. “And I w-want n-no m-man!”

  “Perhaps not at this moment in time,” he repeated as he stroked the damp hair back from her forehead, “but you are young and beautiful and—”

  She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy, and her nose running. “You think I am beautiful?” she asked.

  He put his hands on her cheeks and stared into her swollen eyes. “You are as lovely as a spring morning,” he replied.

  When he released her, she ran the back of her hand under her nose. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  For the first time, she really looked at Cainer Cree. So frightened had she been—and angry with her father and brother—she had paid no attention to the man who had bought her. Now, her face was only ten or so inches from his and she was staring into eyes the color of freshly drawn honey.

  He was as handsome a man as any she had ever seen. Truth be told, his male beauty might well rival even the gods for he was tall with a flat belly and well-muscled arms. His hair was thick and curly, and as brown and as dark as a sparrow’s wing. A soft, deep voice that commanded attention yet was very pleasant on the ear came from lips that were finely chiseled—pleasingly full, as her Aunt Galatea would say—and through teeth as white as the snow on the highest alpine mountain.

  “You find me attractive, Kynthia?” he asked.

  She nodded, her cheeks stained bright red, and tore her gaze from him.

  “What would you say if I told you the man to whom you will one day give your heart would put my poor features to shame?” he inquired.

  “Huh,” Kynthia grunted. “You read the future, too, milord?”

  “No, but someone who visited me not long ago can and she told me all about him.”

  Kynthia looked up. “Who is he? What is his name?”

  Cree grinned. “Now, that wouldn’t be fair, now, would it, if I told you?” When she started to protest, he held up his hand. “Besides, if I told you his name, you would seek him out and that is not what the Fates have in mind.”

  “The Fates don’t always play fair either,” she grated.

  “They do what they feel is best for us, Kynthia.”

  “They wanted me to be raped by that bastard, Minos?” she challenged.

  “No,” he said, the smile slipping from his lips. “Sometimes evil slips into our lives. It is how we handle the adversity and sorrow that prompt the Fates to either reward or punish us.”

  “What was your evil’s name?” she asked, sensing a tale in the sad depths of his golden eyes.

  “Zenia,” he replied. “But I will speak no more of that witch.”

  “Did you love or hate her?”

  He scowled at her, and she caught a glimpse of the powerful man she understood he could be. “I despised her for she took me from the woman I loved. Ask me no more about that bitch for the mere thought of her drives me this close to Transition,” he said, holding his thumb and index finger a hairsbreadth apart.

  “Transition?” she asked with a sigh. “You speak in riddles, milord.”

  “You’ll understand it all in good time, but for now, let’s take a walk. There is something I would like to show you.” He got to his feet and held his hand out to her.

  Though she had vowed to hate every man who drew breath between then and Doomsday, she took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Once more, she marveled at the strength in his fingers and when he threaded his fingers through hers, she knew it would be senseless to try to pull free.

  “I have no designs on you save to help you be the woman you want to be,” he said as they started walking up a steady incline. His hut was off to one side and she asked him why the door was closed for it was a stifling hot day.

  “I spend most of my time outside,” he answered. “I find I no longer care to be cooped up.”

  They walked through a thick stand of trees with low-hanging branches until they came to what must have been the highest point on the island. Ahead and to her left, she could hear waves crashing and a soft, fine mist struck her face gently.

  “I love the sea,” she said, feeling the need to break the silence between them.

  “I used to,” he said. “And I still like to watch the tide coming in.”

  “You don’t swim?” she asked.

  A muscle ground in his lean jaw. “Not anymore.”

  It was to a tall cliff overlooking the ocean that he took her. The rocky prominence had a natural railing made of rock that rose up to waist height on Kynthia. When he released his grip on her hand, she strode forward and braced her hands on the top of the railing, and looked down.

  Far below, the white-sand beach curled in a crescent shape around the base of the rugged cliff. Huge, jagged rocks were being assaulted by powerful waves and spray flew upward in a salty mist that looked almost like fog. Overhead, seagulls called to one another and rode the high currents, sailing past with graceful maneuvers that drew Cree’s gaze.

  “I miss that most of all,” he said quietly.

  Kynthia looked at him, remembering his boast that he could fly. “You weren’t serious,” she said, sensing a great sadness in the man beside her.

  “Aye, I was very serious, Sweeting. Look there.”

  He pointed to an island just off the coast and Kynthia stared at the massive black bird that perched upon the spit of land.

  “What is it?” she whispered, her words little more than puffs of breath.

  “The Levant,” he replied. “My ship.”

  Kynthia slowly turned her eyes to him. “Your ship?” she said, letting the words drop like heavy stones.

  “My flying ship,” he told her. “It is a machine from my world, from my time.” His gaze grew wistful.

  “Once I flew her to worlds far beyond my own. I soared higher than any eagle of this world has ever flown. In her, I had a freedom unlike anything you could ever imagine.”

  “What happened?” Kynthia asked.

  Cainer was quiet for a moment. His gaze was dark and his wide shoulders slumped. He appeared to be weighing his words carefully before he spoke. When at last he did, his voice was low and devoid of emotion.

  “On my world, a female who kills a male—no matter the reason—has no recourse under the law. She cannot plead self-defense if that was her motivation. She will not be afforded the use of a lawyer to argue her case. Her sentence will have been decid
ed before she ever steps before the Tribunal and for her crime, her life is forfeit.”

  “That is a terrible system of justice,” Kynthia commented.

  Her companion snorted softly. “Justice? There is no Justice under Tribunal Law for a female. Her lot—be she peasant or princess—is that of chattel to be sold to the highest bidder. Depending upon her station in life, her value is the deciding factor in such matters.”

  “Your sister,” Kynthia said. “She was executed?”

  Cainer nodded. “While I was flying maneuvers near Oceania.” He closed his eyes for a second or two and when he opened them, there was moisture rimming the golden orbs. “By the time I returned, she had been in her grave for nearly a week.”

  “Did no one tell you what was happening?” she asked, shock in her tone.

  “My father would not allow me to be informed of Callista’s fate.” He smiled sadly. “She was my little sister and I loved her dearly. He knew I would have tried to save her if I had been told she was to be hanged.”

  Kynthia winced and put a hand to her throat. “And he couldn’t save her?”

  “He didn’t want to,” her companion answered. “To him, she was nothing more than a nuisance, a female to be auctioned off when the time came. Had she not killed the man who had raped her, she would not have received a decent bride price, for she was damaged goods.”

  “Like me,” Kynthia mumbled.

  “On Ghaoithe, such women are handed over to the brothels so in a way, it was best Callista met her fate at the executioner’s hands. Had my father turned her over to such a place, I would have gone berserk and he knew it.”

  “But couldn’t he have gone to your King and—”

  “He was the King,” Cainer stated.

  “Oh.”

  “I came home to find my mother and father on holiday in the mountains. They had taken my younger brother with them. My older brother—the Prince Regent—stayed behind as token head of the State. It was he who told me about Callista.”

  “How did he feel about her death?”

  Cainer shrugged. “No one loved her save me and…” He smiled sadly. “…and Aisling.”