Chapter 15: Ripples of the Vala

Smythe sighed luxuriously as he stepped into steamy water of the Chapel’s main bath. The fires were roaring at each end of the chamber, keeping out the evening chill. He waded to the middle of the bath – where it was deepest – and just stood for a moment, letting the heat soak into his muscles. As tall as he was, the water failed to cover his chest even in the deepest part, so he bent his knees and submerged himself up to his chin.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to relax for a time. It had been a trying few days, but the Chapel was now more or less organised. Ari had been instrumental in assigning tasks for everyone while Smythe was busy trying to turn farmers into soldiers. Kedron had been some help, there, but the lad needed to keep up with his own training, too, so Smythe had been dividing himself between the two, as well as teaching that new par’vala, Ostin.

Just when Smythe’s hands were full, Aros threw him another potato to juggle. Still, the more arohim could be found, the better for everyone. At this rate, Smythe was going to have to organise recruiting parties.

Thankfully, Kedron was a fast learner. Since recovering from his wounds, he’d taken back to his lessons like a duck to water, with perhaps more vigour than ever before. The death of his father appeared to have cleared some of his worries, in a strange way, allowing him to focus and dedicate himself more fully. Kedron was helping with Ostin where possible, showing the newer par’vala some of the basics when Smythe allowed it.

By a stroke of luck, Ostin had not accidentally melded with anyone yet, so that was something. It was a double-edged sword, that fact; Ostin was not vulnerable through a meldin, but his vala was not fully awakened yet, so his training would take longer. Oh, well. You had to cook with what was in the kitchen, not what you wished was in the pot.

More refugees were arriving, drifting down from the Sorral Plain. Things were bad enough out there between the Heralds and the storms and the earth tremors that folk were actually seeking shelter in the Emerin forest! A place that had been long feared by locals as haunted or some such nonsense.

Ari had quickly dispatched several small groups to search the northern woods for any such lost souls, and the Chapel’s numbers had swelled. Every room was now occupied, with two or three to a bed, and tents were starting to pop up on the grounds in small clusters where room could not be found inside. This was only a temporary solution, of course; Smythe had already been approached by several villagers requesting permission to erect more permanent housing, though he had not approved it, yet.

Conversely, nobody seemed to care how crowded it was anymore. In fact, the general sentiment was quite the opposite. Inhibitions had all but disappeared where the villagers were concerned, and Smythe had lost count of the cavorting he’d witnessed over the past few days, often out in the open.

A portion of the Chapel had been assigned to the children, and Ari had created a rotating roster to make sure there was always someone looking after them, so any promiscuous activity on behalf of the adults could not be accidentally witnessed by eyes too young for such things.

“I was hoping to find you here,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway. So immersed in his own thoughts was he, that Smythe had failed to detect her presence.

“Hello, Elsa,” he replied warmly, turning to face her and finding her wearing only a white towel. It was knotted between her prodigious breasts, and only covered her to just below her ample bottom. Elsa was not an overweight woman, but she made a bloody good armful. She and Smythe had grown close, of late. Her sandy hair fell loose about her shoulders, and her brown eyes watched him hungrily.

“Care for some company?” She asked coyly as she reached for the knot in the towel. When Smythe nodded, she pulled it loose and let it fall, showing him her voluptuous form.

“With an invitation like that, lass,” Smythe began. “A man can only find so many responses.” As she sauntered toward the steps that led down into the bath, he admired the way her breasts shifted back and forth. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk with you about, also.”

“Oh?” Elsa quirked an eyebrow as she entered the water and waded to him. “Can we talk and fuck at the same time? I don’t know what it is, but I just want you inside me every chance I get.” Her hands found his shoulders and she pressed her lush body into him as her smooth thighs enveloped his waist.

Smythe chuckled. “I don’t see why not.” His hands slid down her back to firmly squeeze her arse. A hot moan escaped her lips before Smythe covered them with his own, kissing her thoroughly. He hadn’t been completely sure, but holding her in his arms now was the deciding factor.

Aran was right. It was time to meld again.

“Elsa,” he began a little raggedly once the kiss broke. She looked back at him hungrily. “I want us to be meldir, if you’ll have me.” She eyed him curiously, not understanding the word. When Smythe explained it, she beamed a magnificent smile.

“You want me?” She asked, unbelieving. “But I’m just a lowly village woman, and you’re a ... a bloody arohim warrior from the stories!”

Smythe chuckled. “Of course, I want you, woman! You’ve been the high point of my day enough times for me to know I want you around as long as I can have you. I think you’ll make a wonderful arondur, too, if you’re interested.”

Elsa’s lips finding his again was all the answer Smythe needed. Opening his vala, he performed the melding. They gasped as one as it took hold, and Smythe smiled as he once again felt what it was like to share his soul with another after so many years.

“It’s incredible!” Elsa breathed. Her eyes scanned his face as if seeing him for the first time. “I can feel every part of you!”

And I, you,” Smythe replied, touching her face. “It gets better, too.” At that, he adjusted his hips and slipped inside her. Without any further help from Smythe’s powers, Elsa immediately fell into a shuddering climax. Her inner walls gripped him like a vice as she held onto him for dear life.

In the way of the melda, Smythe felt her pleasure as if it were his own; wave upon wave of hot, melting bliss crashing through him. With no more need for words, he stayed like that with Elsa for a long time.

CHAPTER 15.1: A Beacon of Hope

“I can’t believe you’re being so calm!” Elaina said for the tenth time that afternoon as she paced back and forth across the expensive-looking red-and-gold patterned rug in the spacious quarters that had been assigned to Aran and herself, deep inside Dun’Arghol’s palace.

“I am calm because it would not serve any purpose to feel otherwise, right now,” Aran replied evenly from where he sat cross-legged on the huge four-poster bed in the middle of the bed chamber. The frame was made entirely from stone and appeared to be of one piece with the walls, floor and ceiling, as was the rest of the furniture in the room.

He watched Elaina stride the length of the big room. Even in her current state of stubborn determination, she couldn’t keep that seductive sway out of her hips. Her natural allure was a part of who she was. She wore only a loosely-buttoned shirt that ended just below her bottom, leaving her creamy legs bare for Aran to admire. She spun to face him, her eyes narrowing. “How can you think of sex at a time like this?”

She hadn’t seen him looking, but she would have sensed his appreciation through the melda. Aran chuckled softly. “Have you seen what you look like, my love? I would have to be dead not to.”

With an infuriated growl, she resumed pacing, heading to Aran’s left past the tall stone dresser before spinning on her heel to go back again, past the carved archway that led out into the sitting room, to the opposite wall where a floor-to-ceiling painting hung depicting a brawny Dwarf dressed in hunting leathers and standing over a dead tiger, one boot on the corpse.

Where this particular Dwarf had found a tiger in these parts, Aran was unsure. Unless it was not a tiger at all, but a mor’laman’gul. Aran grimaced at the thought. With everything happening in the world, the Druids had not resurfaced. Where had they gone? Knowing Aran’s luck, they would spring out of the dresser any second, right when he needed to focus on Burin.

The Dwarven king was what had Elaina in such a tizzy. When Captain Finya had delivered Aran, Elaina and Liddea to the palace in the heart of the mountain city late yesterday, the request for an audience with Burin had been denied. Not the presence of two arohim, nor Finya’s authority as a captain had changed that.

The Dwarves had not been rude. In fact, they’d been decidedly hospitable, providing comfortable rooms as a sign of respect for their guests, and offering any service that might be required during their stay. Liddea had been given rooms nearby. Aran could feel her presence a short distance away. She was sleeping peacefully; the journey to Dun’Arghol had been hard on her.

“Why did you stop me when I tried to align with them?” Elaina asked him, not slowing her pacing. “A few seconds and I would have had them falling over me and carrying us to Burin physically to save us the trouble of walking!”

Aran smiled. “Because the audience was secondary to the more important goal, my love, which was simply to get inside the palace.”

Elaina stopped dead and turned to face him. In two strides she was standing inches away with her arms folded beneath her spectacular breasts, looking down at him curiously. “I know that tone. What are you planning?”

“When I am done,” Aran said smoothly. “It will be Burin who requests an audience with us.” Saying no more, he closed his eyes and allowed his vala to rise.

Elaina gasped involuntarily as Aran began to glow like the sun where he was sitting on the bed. His vala grew, surrounding and suffusing her, carrying her along in its gentle yet powerful eddies like a leaf swirling in a stream. She had felt this power before, this strength, but never from so close.

Dimly, she realised she was sitting on the floor, no longer able to stand. How was he this strong? She felt his love through the melda, his courage, his determination. Opening her eyes, she squinted through the brilliance and looked up at the bed to see him smiling calmly.

He was different, now. Before, his power had raged wildly, a tempest that threatened to sweep aside any who stood in its path. Now, it was peaceful, soothing, and in its own way, much, much more powerful. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but she didn’t want to disturb him, so she just watched.

“There are many Dwarves, here,” he said suddenly, his expression unchanged. “Thousands upon thousands, and the city runs deep, many miles down.”

Elaina remained silent, and after a moment, Aran continued. “They are scared. The earth shakes, the skies rage, and their king grows ever darker. They whisper of the end times, but there is still hope. They are a strong people.” He went silent for a bit, then asked, “Would you like to feel them?”

Elaina wasn’t sure if she did or not. What would it be like to feel thousands of souls all at once? Their hopes and fears and dreams? She found herself rising to her feet and moving to the edge of the bed to stand before Aran. Her stomach fluttered nervously. Would she even be able to feel anything? Aran was so far past her own ability that maybe she-

Her thoughts fled as Aran’s palm came to lay on her chest, and her vision vanished, pushed aside by an enormous void filled with a myriad of tiny lights, pulsing and dancing like fireflies under a moonless sky. The void stretched on in each direction for an eternity, the lights vanishing in the distance. “So many!” She breathed. “This is the entire city?”

“More,” Aran replied. “This is as far as I’ve ever gone with my vala. I think we might be out as far as two or three hundred miles. Some of those souls are not Dwarves, the ones furthest away, to the east. I think they are Noroth.”

“There are Noroth in Ekistair?” Elaina asked incredulously. If it were true, the Giants had hidden themselves remarkably well for a thousand years.

“I believe so,” Aran answered, his voice never changing, never hinting at strain or stress. “I think I can go further, too.” There was a surging sensation, and suddenly the void seemed to get larger, though the edges of it were already lost to Elaina.

A familiar resonance winked at her amid the pinpoints of light, followed by another, lesser one, both to the northeast of here. “I can feel Henley! And Kedron!”

“Yes,” Aran confirmed. “The Chapel is close enough that we can feel it. There is another arohim there, too, though his vala is new, yet. Untrained.”

Concentrating, Elaina searched and found it. One of the refugees, perhaps? “Aran,” Elaina said cautiously. “Are we not creating a beacon for ulunn by doing this? Or the Heralds?”

Aran shook his head. “The ulunn will not come near me now unless they are driven to. As for the Heralds ... The next time they come for an arohim it will be their ending.”

Something in Aran’s voice – and his amazing vala – made Elaina believe it. Long minutes stretched on as Aran began to work, deftly handling his power in a way that made Elaina’s mind spin.

Throughout the city of Dun’Arghol, from the deepest caverns to the highest towers, Elaina felt the Dwarves stop as one, as if they were operated by a single mind. Pickaxes halted in the mines, hammers went still in the forges, the clamour and din in the markets cut as if by a knife of silence. Mugs froze halfway to mouths in the taverns. Swords and axes stopped in mid-swing in the barracks.

Every eye in Dun’Arghol turned to look directly at where Aran sat in his room, pulled by a force they could not place or understand. One by one, they began to move toward the palace, forgetting whatever task they had been about moments ago.

CHAPTER 15.2: Val’thaniel

“Good,” Amina said encouragingly to Ayla and Tavish as they practiced accessing their vala. The dark-haired twins sat naked and cross-legged on the soft grass with their eyes closed in concentration. Amina had chosen to conduct this lesson outside, in the secret valley nestled in the mountains just behind the Temple. Being close to nature often helped new par’vala focus their minds.

It was a sunny morning, and the valley was pleasantly warm. The pool lay just behind the twins, and the waterfall cascading from the northern end of the valley sent mist into the air which caught the sun in an array of pretty colours, like a shifting rainbow.

Tavish was coming along nicely. His body was shaping itself rapidly, and he was learning quickly. He had a keen mind, and never made the same mistake twice. A flickering glow appeared around him from time to time as the vala came to him and then slipped away again. It would be like this for the boy for some time, yet.

Ayla, on the other hand, had yet to feel her vala at all, at least consciously. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pursed, and her hands had the unfortunate habit of clenching instead of remaining relaxed on her knees.

“You cannot force it, Ayla,” Amina repeated. “Only a peaceful mind may find the vala. Empty your mind and drift. Listen to the waterfall. Relax.” The girl’s forehead smoothed some, but she was still a far cry from relaxed and centred.

“I can’t do it!” The girl burst out suddenly. Her eyes came open and she glared at her brother seated beside her, as if it were all his fault. “It’s too hard! It keeps slipping through my fingers like a greased minnow!”

Amina wanted to smile at Ayla’s frustration – not in derision, but amused understanding – but she kept her face smooth. The last thing the girl needed was further cause for vexation. Tavish, however, appeared to miss this idea completely.

“Patience, sister,” he said calmly as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You will get it. I know you will.”

An exasperated growl rumbled in Ayla’s throat as she knocked her brother’s hand away and got to her feet with her pretty face drawn into a frown. Though she was of age, the baby fat on her cheeks made her look like a petulant child when she pulled that expression. She stalked off a short distance to stand at the pool with her back to Amina and Tavish, arms folded beneath her breasts.

Tavish looked to Amina, the look on his face saying he was unsure what to do. After a moment, though, Ayla whirled back around.

“It’s embarrassing!” She grated, putting her hands on her hips. The girl had grown much more comfortable with her own nudity of late, and she did nothing to attempt to conceal herself from their eyes. The sun illuminated her creamy skin and her hair glinted occasionally as it shifted in the light.

That was new. It was a common trait for arohim to have a gloss, an attractive shine to their hair, though Amina hadn’t noticed it in Ayla until now. She wondered if the girl was aware of the small but significant change. Probably not. She seemed only aware of her failures, especially at this present moment.

“Tavish is so far ahead of me and he makes it look so easy!” Ayla went on, flinging a hand toward Tavish, who was getting to his feet. “It’s not fair! I was always the smart one!”

“Girl,” Amina warned. That was all she said, but the par’vala’s mouth snapped shut. Tavish’s expression had become hurt at that last remark. He said nothing, just stared at the grass in front of his feet rather than look at his sister.

Ayla seemed to realise what she’d done, for her demeanour softened instantly. Her mouth was still set, though, as if she were unwilling to let go of her anger. There was a real fire in Ayla, one that Amina thought would be a great source of strength for the girl if it could be tempered and shaped.

“You would bring your brother down to lessen your own perceived failures?” Amina said, moving to Ayla and eyeing her sternly. Ayla dropped her gaze away from Amina’s stare, which put her eyes on Amina’s breasts. Reddening, she closed them, unsure where to look. Momentarily, Amina wanted to chuckle, though her mirth was stunted by the matter at hand.

“Open your eyes, par’vala,” she ordered. Ayla obeyed immediately and forced herself to meet Amina’s gaze. “This attitude will not be tolerated in my Temple, understood?” Ayla nodded meekly, and any vestige of stubbornness melted. Amina considered herself a lenient teacher, most times, but if tantrums like this were not stamped out, they could become habits.

“I am sorry, Priestess,” the girl mumbled, dropping her eyes again, this time in shame. “For my rudeness.”

“You focus so hard on what is not working,” Amina began in a softer tone. “That you miss what is. You think Tavish is having an easier time of things? He may be now, but his road is far more difficult. Your challenge is to embrace your vala. His will be to control it once it is in his grasp.” The difference in their powers would have made Amina teach them separately, but she suspected that Ayla – deep down – was spurred on by her brother’s successes, no matter how she griped about it.

Ayla looked up then, a spark of hope in her chestnut eyes. “I should apologise to him,” she said quietly. “He was just trying to help.”

Amina moved to the side so the twins could see each other. When Ayla said sorry, Tavish waved it off. “It’s alright. You just want to do better. There’s no harm in that.” After a moment, he added with a smile; “You were always the smart one, too, and that’s the truth.”

The par’vali seemed happy with that, but Amina was not. “No, Tavish,” she began as sternly as she had with Ayla. “Receive her apology. Own it. You dishonour both her and yourself by not allowing her to atone. She was wrong, and she has admitted it. Now you must.”

Tavish shifted uncomfortably. Was it so difficult for him to allow his sister to be wrong? Even after she’d insulted his intelligence? What had happened to the world in the last millennium? If you truly cared about someone, you let them learn, no matter how hard the lesson.

Eventually, Tavish firmed up and owned Ayla’s apology. For the briefest moment, Amina got a glimpse of the man he would become. With raised chin and level eye, he regarded his sister straight-backed and proud as he inclined his head in wordless acceptance of her remorse. This new bearing came not from arrogance, but from love. Pride swelled in Amina’s chest, and she permitted herself a small smile as she watched the silent exchange between the par’vali.

Twins among arohim were rare – Amina had known only one other pair in the old world – and this moment had her wondering just how great their destiny would be. As one, they resumed their seated position on the grass and closed their eyes, ready for further instruction.

A rising vala far to the east pulled Amina’s head in that direction, directly behind her. “Aros orava messe,” she breathed in prayer as she stared through the waterfall. That was Aran’s vala! Dimly, she was aware of Tavish exclaiming as he, too, felt Aran’s power. For Tavish to be sensing him at this distance was even more amazing.

What was Aran doing? He would bring every enemy within a thousand leagues down upon his head! Amina wished she possessed the far sight. The a’haiya would come in most useful at this moment, but alas, it was not among her abilities.

Unable to do naught else, Amina ushered the twins inside – despite their protests and questions as to what was happening – and stood in the valley alone, watching to the east.

Sara sat on the small but comfortable bed in her quarters, legs folded beneath her and hands on her knees. This deep in her vala, she was aware of every sensation in minute detail. The gentle whisper of air through her nostrils as she breathed. Each individual strand of fur on the plush bearskin rug beneath her. The strands of her own hair as it shifted infinitesimally on her back and shoulders with the rising and falling of her lungs.

The other people in the Temple appeared as shapes of light in her mind’s eye. Sorla, Jeira, Rayna, Bella, all busy with various chores. Lynelle, reading quietly before the hearth in her chambers. Amina outside in the valley with Ayla and Tavish. Sara could tell that Ayla would be troublesome, from time to time. Her spirit was disquiet, unsettled. Sara knew that feeling all too well.

It was good that Ayla had Tavish there to ground her. Sara had watched the twins often since they’d arrived at the Temple. It had been Tavish that concerned her, at first, with his deep thirst for revenge against the Heralds for what they’d done to him and his sister, but the more he learned about his vala, the more peaceful his heart became.

Sara felt the seductive tug of the young man’s vala even from all the way down here, in the bowels of the mountain. She had not lain in a man’s arms since before she’d met Aran, and according to Amina, would not until Erik returned from his journey to Suravale with Sylvia. Tavish was in training and therefore off-limits, and Aran was away, which left Erik as the only suitable sexual partner.

He was not a bad choice by any stretch; with that strong jaw, deep chest and that salt-and-pepper hair, he was far better looking than any of the men Sara had slept with in Maralon in order to find a warm bed or a hot meal. And he was kind and strong, to boot.

When Erik returned to the Temple, Sara intended on tripping him into bed the first chance she got. And I won’t let him leave for at least three days, either. She thought with a smile.

While her thoughts drifted over Erik’s shoulders and well-muscled arms, something idly nudged at Sara’s mind as she allowed her vala to wash over the valley outside. There was something nagging her about Ayla, and it eventually pushed itself to the front of her awareness.

Where Tavish’s vala was still weak and undeveloped, Sara could feel his potential, as if his power was a sporadic trickle of water coursing through a wide stormwater pipe, which it would one day fill with its torrents.

In Amina, Sara could sense the pipe, too – though it was much wider than Tavish’s. That suggested that Tavish would not grow as strong as Amina. No surprises, there. The woman was a walking legend, capable of things that boggled Sara’s mind.

Where Ayla was different was that Sara couldn’t sense the pipe at all. Honing in on the girl, she concentrated, trying to find an answer. Sara had discovered something about herself since coming to the Temple; she loved solving problems. In fact, it’s what she’d spend most of her early years doing.

Countless times, she’d solved the problem of starvation by finding food. Solved being cold by finding warmth. Solved being preyed upon by street toughs and starving dogs by outsmarting them. These situations made a woman very good at thinking outside the box, sometimes quickly.

A sudden and tremendous force shoved its way into her mind, then, pushing all else out of its path. Sara gasped at the enormity of it. Aran? His vala felt far, far away, but enormous! She was having trouble wrapping her head around its immensity.

An answering pull came from inside Sara, as if responding to Aran. It was more of a hard yank, really. She was surprised she wasn’t dragged bodily from the bed by the force of it. She’d never felt it’s like before, but she knew what it meant.

Aran needed her.

Wasting no time, she leapt from the bed and rushed to the open stone robe built into the wall. Snatching up a leather satchel from its bottom shelf, she hurriedly began to pack.

Sara scurried through the Temple’s corridors and passages, her vala suppressed as far as it could go. Even so, Amina would be able to sense her, if she tried, but Sara was hoping the Priestess was too preoccupied with whatever Aran was doing to notice.

With her vala so low, Sara had lost most of her perceptive abilities, which is why she didn’t see Ayla coming around the next corner. The two women almost collided at a connecting passage near a collection of the Temple’s many sleeping quarters – those that were fit to be occupied, anyway – and Ayla jumped back with a squeak.

“Sara!” She gasped, putting a hand to her throat. “You scared me! I am terribly sorry. I was rushing and not looking where I was going.”

Ayla still had not donned any clothing, and Sara noted the subtle changes in the slightly younger woman. Her walnut-brown hair had a sheen, now, and her cheeks carried less baby fat, as did her thighs and waist. Her breasts were still plump; they would be an asset for the par’vala once she was at her peak. The triangle of dark hair between her legs looked smaller than it had, though Sara suspected Ayla had been trimming it; body hair didn’t vanish until one had more access to the vala than Ayla did presently.

“Relax, par’vala,” Sara soothed. “You have done no harm.” Sara had been making a conscious effort – after repeated scoldings from Amina – to speak as a Priestess should. ‘Eloquently,’ as Amina put it. When Ayla thanked her and made to move past, Sara stopped her with a hand on the shoulder.

There it was again; that strange impression that there was something to sense, but at the same time nothing. Sara didn’t like it; she liked being able to quantify things. She stared at Ayla for long moments, and the younger woman looked back uncertainly.

“Is everything alright, par’avale?” Ayla asked politely, using the proper term for a Priestess still learning.

Sara heard the words, but only at the edge of her awareness. “What does it bloody mean?” She whispered absently, forgetting all about proper speech and slipping back into her common accent.

“W-what does what mean?” Ayla stammered nervously. “Is something wrong with me, Sara?”

“No,” Sara replied after a moment. “I don’t reckon so.” Having a hand on Ayla’s shoulder was giving her more of a sense of what was there – or not there. Dropping her pack, she put her other hand on Ayla’s chest, right over her heart. Another tug in her belly pulled her east, to Aran, but she ignored it for the moment and pored every ounce of her focus into Ayla.

Closing her eyes, she opened her vala enough to see into the girl’s spirit. Hopes, fears, dreams, love, hate, fear, joy, gratitude all washed over her as she felt into Ayla’s heart. The tiniest spark, the merest flicker of her undiscovered vala lay there, like a distant candle at the other end of a long, dark void.

“But where’s the tunnel?” Sara muttered to herself. “The conduit?” Suddenly it made sense. Opening her eyes, she met Ayla’s uncertain gaze and smiled. “You haven’t lain with a man, yet. That’s the difference. That’s why I couldn’t feel it.”

Ayla’s brow drew down as she momentarily forgot her place. “It would help if everyone stopped mentioning that, you know!”

“Shush,” Sara told her, resisting when Ayla tried to remove herself from Sara’s grip. “I don’t think it matters.” While Ayla started to ask what Sara was talking about, Sara pushed her vala into that dark void and looked for the boundaries that must be there. There has to be an edge. A limit. Where is it?

Using her vala, she filled the space inside that surrounded Ayla’s tiny, undeveloped ability, until finally, she found a wall. Heart skipping with excitement, she followed the way around until it met with itself again. It was round, like a conduit.