Glenda Larke - The Heart of the mirage

When Temellin reached us he lifted a hand to Garis and Brand, then touched my shoulder in greeting, unstrapped his sword and sat down. Someone produced some food for him and he accepted gratefully.

'Everything all right?' he asked Garis, but didn't wait for an answer. 'Brand, you must be the only person here who is still wearing a slave collar; let's get rid of that, shall we?' He unsheathed his weapon,

touched it to the collar and in a brief flash of light the bronze circlet dropped away just as mine had.

Brand picked up the pieces, held them in his hands for a moment, his knuckles white, then flung them into the heart of the fire. 'Thank you,' he said quietly. 'A little earlier than I anticipated, but why the turd not?' He looked up and grinned at us all. 'Goddess, that feels good. Can I assume I am going to be allowed to keep my head on my shoulders?'

'If Derya trusts you,' Temellin said between mouthfuls of bread and beans.

'I do. And I have known Brand since he was twelve.'

'Then that is good enough for me.' Temellin looked at me. 'Derya, I'm sorry I've had to neglect you; there has been much to do.'

I smiled at him, surprised by the amount of pleasure I took in knowing he felt there was a need to apologise. 'That's all right,' I said. 'But I do have a great many questions.'

He stood, brushing the last of the crumbs from his trousers. 'Come for a walk with me.' I jumped up with alacrity and he handed me my travelling cloak. 'Take this; it's always cold out here at night.'

We walked away from the campfires down towards the water's edge. In the darkness the lake was a purple sheet, the only noise the occasional burp of frogs. 'It's beautiful, isn't it?' he asked. 'These vales, they are all part of what we are. We don't believe in Tyranian gods. We believe that every living thing has a life-force we call the essensa, a sort of personal spirit, or personality. Therefore we must treat every living thing with respect.'

I almost snorted. 'You cut the reeds. You kill to eat. Is that respectful?'

He laughed. 'Maybe not. We are also very pragmatic in our faith. But it's a pleasing belief anyway, because

» it stops us from waste, or taking life unnecessarily. It's

better than having a god of war in the pantheon, surely! And to be respectful to a living being seems better than kissing the feet of a marble statue and praying for selfish desires to be granted, doesn't it?' It crossed my mind that this man had been well schooled, and back in Tyr he would have made a fine orator.

'I suppose so. I've never been much of a one for worshipping Melete. Or any other deity.'

Now that we were away from the light of the fires, he put his arm around my shoulders. 'It seems a year since yesterday,' he said. He touched his left palm to mine and I was awash with knowledge of his desire for me.

'Tem -' I tried to remain detached. 'Is it always like it was yesterday?'

'Between those of the Magor? Yes, it can be. But yesterday, yesterday was – I've never felt quite that way' He ran a hand through his hair. 'I've never behaved quite like that before. I've never met anyone who had such an immediate physical effect on me.'

Neither had I. I was silent, aware of his bemused embarrassment seeping into the air around me.

'Derya,' he said finally. 'I think we were both taken by surprise. The Magor are drawn – physically drawn.- to one another through the power of their cabochons. Usually we keep.., well, we keep an almost unconscious rein on that kind of desire. But you knew nothing of that, and I responded to what I felt from you without thought. Next time, if there is a next time, I want it to be a conscious decision on your part, not just a gut reaction to a stimulus. Besides, there are some things you should know before you tie yourself to me, to anyone of us, with those kind of ties.'

"What sort of things?'

The hesitation before he spoke was telling. 'I am a Magori. After the invasion, there were only ten of the Magoroth left – all children, of whom Korden was the oldest. It is imperative more such are born, but the only way we can be sure that will happen is for a Magoria to have children by a Magori. In any combination of ranks, the children are more likely to be of the lesser rank. But we need the golds, the Magoroth. We need them desperately, Derya, because they are the ones who have the real power.'

'And you think I am not a Magoria? How can you know that?'

'I don't think it's possible. There weren't all that many Magoroth children even at the time of the invasion. We know who they were, and how they died, if they did indeed die. As for those who lived, well, we know where they are, too.'

I was flooded with disappointment; it would have been advantageous to have as much power as they did. Then I woke up to the significance of what he'd said, and almost laughed. The man was worried about me forming an attachment to him. Me – a Compeer of the Brotherhood! The idea of losing my heart to him, to any of them, was ludicrous. I kept a straight face. 'So what you are saying is that our, um, union has no future. That sooner or later you will choose a life-mate from the Magorias.' As if I cared.

His lips twisted. 'There's not all that much choice. There's only one unmarried Magoria who's more than twenty years old.' He bent to pick up a stone and then flipped it away across the water, where it bounced several times before disappearing into the darkness. 'We – those of the Ten – we lead these people, Derya. One day we will lead this country.

None of us get to have that many choices.' He turned towards me, his face shadowed and emotions concealed.

In spite of my amusement, I felt an unexpected lurch of regret at the loss of what might have been. What I had felt in his arms had been physically wondrous, and I was sorry I might never know it again. Still, I hardly knew this man, certainly wasn't contemplating a lifetime commitment, was even intending to betray all he held dear: so why did what he was telling me matter? 'Never mind. I can live for the present and face the future when it comes.' I looked down at my palm. 'We're not born with these things implanted, are we? You said something about mine having been in my palm since just after I was born.' Tell me I am not a god, or an immortal. Tell me this is something done to me, by ordinary men.

'Yes. Our powers are usually latent or hard to access; it is the implanting of the cabochon, the sooner the better, that allows the powers to reach their potential. Children are later trained to use those powers. I'm not going to tell you right now about how the cabochons are implanted, or how the colour of the cabochon is decided upon. The cabochons are what make the Magor what we are; without them, we would be mere shadows of what is possible.'

'At death, what happens to the cabochon?'

'It falls to powder. It can never be used again. And if it is removed while you live, your death follows. If it is accidentally cracked, then your powers leak away.'

I changed the subject. 'Korden doesn't like me. But you said he would be delighted to see me -'

He was puzzled. 'No, I don't remember saying that. «»* Whatever gave you that idea?'

'You said the Mirager would -'

'The – oh!' He laughed. 'Korden is not the Mirager, Derya.'

'He's not? Then who is?' But I knew already. 'Oh, sweet Melete – you7. You're the -?' The one they couldn't torture, the one they couldn't burn. He was the man I was sent to capture. I was so shocked at my error, my knees buckled and he had to put out a hand to hold me. How could I have made such an elementary mistake? Stupidity like that could cost me my life. I felt a numbing shame. Where in all the mists had I laid my commonsense? Between my legs, for me to have been so easily overwhelmed by my physical response to a handsome man?