Iris Johansen - Everlasting

Marna shook her head. “This is the mondava . It is a very private thing. There will be just Paulo and I at the saldana , and then we'll leave and there will be just the two of you.” Marna lowered the mirror and bent to lean it against the wheel of the wagon. “It is time. Are you ready?”

Kira drew a deep, shaky breath. She hadn't expected to be this nervous. “Yes.”

The next hour was strangely hazy and remote, as if viewed in the center of a dark crystal that misted and cleared and misted again. The silent walk through the autumn woods, then her first sight of the wagon in the little glade of pines. The wagon was painted a brilliant scarlet and a camp-fire crackled before it, sending sparks up into the darkness.

Zack was standing in front of the wagon with an expression on his face that was more grim than serious. He was dressed in the same gray cords he had worn last night, but evidently Paulo had found him another shirt and a pair of knee-length black boots. The shirt was deep burgundy, with long full sleeves, and the rich color set off his darkness like a flame. He had left the first few buttons undone and she could see the heavy muscles that corded his chest and the beginning of the dark wedge of hair that roughened it. The cool breeze stirred the hair on his forehead, giving him the reckless and romantic appeal of Byron. Lord, he was stunning. She found herself staring up at him with the dreamy-eyed lovesickness of a teenager.

He frowned. “Why the devil are you looking at me like that? Have I grown two heads or something?”

She smiled bemusedly. “You're definitely not Quasimodo.”

“What?”

Marna stepped forward. “It is nothing. Kira is a bit fey tonight. Where is Paulo?”

“Here.” Paulo stepped from the shadows behind the wagon. “We begin?”

Marna nodded. “We begin.”

The crystal misted again as she and Zack knelt on the white sheepskin pallet before the fire. How beautiful to see things with perfect clarity and yet enhanced by this diamanté veil.

The ceremony was not long. Rich red wine was sipped from a single goblet. Marna murmured a Tamrovian blessing as she stood before them. The halves of an ancient coin that had been severed glittered in the firelight on two separate golden chains. The first talisman was slipped over Zack's head and the second around her own neck. Then Marna stepped back and there was silence for a long moment.

Kira looked up at her inquiringly. Was it over?

Marna shook her head. “Face each other and put your left hands palm to palm.”

Her hand felt small and helpless as it pressed against his large palm. Fair against his darkness. Woman against man. Against? No. Merging, blending, bonding. Her startled eyes lifted to Zack's.

“Yes, I felt it too. Mondava.” His fingers slowly threaded through her own. “Mine.”

“Mine,” she repeated softly. Together. The current flowing between them was as deep and timeless as it had always been. How many times, how many moments, how many mondavas? It didn't matter. There was only now, only Zack looking down at her.

She was barely aware that Marna was backing away from the fire, leaving them alone in the circle of intimacy she had helped to weave about them. “Paulo,” Marna prompted. Like a giant shadow, Paulo crossed to stand beside her. Kira could feel Marna's gaze on them. Love, loneliness, sadness, resignation. The emotions flowed from her in a sweeping tide that Kira felt with a poignant sensitivity she had never known before.

“Joy,” Marna whispered.

The next moment Marna and Paulo were gone. The only sign of their passing was the crisp crunch of the leaves beneath their feet as they disappeared into the woods on their way back to the encampment.

Kira couldn't seem to move her gaze away from Zack's. “What are we supposed to do now?” The words were a breathless whisper.

“I think we're on our own.” He smiled gently. “I know what I want to do.”

“What?”

“I want to lie here beside the fire and hold you in my arms.”

“That sounds like a very good idea.” Each nerve and muscle in her body seemed to melt toward him. But it didn't seem all that unusual when every particle of her being was flowing into him anyway. His arms were around her and he was turning her spoon-fashion so that her head was pillowed on his arm. He hadn't released her hand and she could see their fingers still entwined in the flickering light of the fire.

His voice was low and thoughtful. “I've been in a fever for you since I left you this morning. I thought I'd be wanting you too much ever to hold you like this without making love to you.”

Her eyes were fixed dreamily on the orange-gold flames of the fire. “You are making love to me.”

He was silent a moment and then he kissed the tip of her ear. “Yes, I am. How perceptive of you to notice.” He settled down beside her in a silence filled with companionship, beauty, and a closeness that was, at this moment, even stronger than desire. How magical to know there would still be moments like this when passion had faded.

“You're not angry with me any longer.”

“I wasn't angry, I was…” His words trailed off. “It doesn't matter now, does it?”

No, it didn't matter now. She rubbed her cheek against the hard muscles of his arm. Contentment was a clear golden bell ringing through her-the scent of burning logs, the crisp autumn leaves, and Zack. She was perfectly relaxed but wide-awake. She had no desire to go to sleep and miss even an instant of this special time. She would lie here and enjoy the heat of the crackling fire and the warmth and security that was Zack.

“Why did you come to Tamrovia?” she asked softly. “Not this time. When you were a boy, I mean.” The fire had burned low, but neither of them had wanted to stir to add another log and stoke the flames.

“I needed to get away. My grandfather had died the winter before and I had to come to terms with losing him.” His lips twisted. “And I was a half-breed in a time when many southwesterners thought Indians were drunks or bums. I'd had a few experiences that year that had left me raw, and I needed to find myself. Or at least my sense of self-worth and a goal in life. I had backpacked around Italy and Switzerland for a few weeks and then crossed into Tamrovia.” His gaze was fixed on the fire, but he wasn't really seeing it. “I ran into Paulo in a village in the hills and we struck up a friendship. He took me back to the encampment with him.”

“And you traveled the rest of the summer with them,” she finished for him. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yes.” His lips moved against her ear in a gossamer-light caress. “In some ways it was like being with my grandfather again. He hated to stay in one place, too, and was never happier than when he was wandering in the hills.”

“Was he a hunter like you and Paulo?”

“No, he believed in being one with nature. He was a very gentle man.” There was a long silence. “I loved him very much. I couldn't be like him. There was too much violence, too much hunger in me. Yet, when I was a child, I wanted to grow up to have that gentleness and serenity more than anything in the world. He was a very happy man.”

And Zack hadn't been happy. The revelation was sudden, poignant for her. Understated though Zack's admission had been, it was still painfully clear what mental and emotional hardships the little boy from two worlds had undergone. Her hand unconsciously tightened on his in silent support. “I wish I could have met your grandfather.”

“He would have liked you.” His eyes were suddenly twinkling. “He would have approved of your shooting pictures instead of game, even if Paulo doesn't.”