Rising Darkness (Game of Shadows #1)(45)

One day, her father came to her and said, “Daughter, I have found a kind man for you, for it is past time you married.”

By then she understood enough of her own nature to know what answer she must give him. “Father,” she said, “I cannot.”

“It is your duty,” he said. He frowned, though she could tell it was from concern and not anger.

She knelt before him and bent her head. “Am I not a good daughter and a faithful child of Allah?”

“You are.”

“And do you know that I love you?”

“Most assuredly.” He passed a gentle hand over her hair. “You are second in my heart only to your mother.”

“Then know this, my father. I would give my life for you if you asked. But I cannot marry your kind man, for I have a task to do. Allah in His infinite wisdom has seen fit to make me incomplete. I must look for the other half of my soul. . . .”

Her father listened and believed, and so they searched again, and tales spread of their inquiries.

[Mary stirred as an echo of a bone-splitting pain throbbed in her chest. She surfaced partway from the dream, pressed her hands against her breastbone, and pushed the memory of pain away as she fought against the pull of awakening.]

. . . And she pulled out of her body.

Marveling, she stood beside her physical body, which was dark-haired and strange looking, and clad in a plain tunic and trousers of homespun cotton. Her physical self sat, eyes closed, in a relaxed cross-legged position, mirroring the posture and position of her elderly teacher.

Then she held up her hands and stared at them in wonder. They appeared crystalline in the heavy amber afternoon. The astral replica of her teacher’s slight, frail body joined her. “Celestial Daughter,” her teacher said. “You have done well. I am pleased.”

She gave her teacher a polite bow as she observed the niceties of his culture. “This person is unworthy of such high praise,” she said. “It is much easier to talk in the mind voice when one is skyborne, honored one.”

“It is easier once one masters the technique,” said her teacher. “But practicing when one is skyborne can be hard on one’s chi, or life force. Therefore we shall continue to work on the mind voice when we are in body. Aiyyee.”

She turned her attention from the window. “Yes, honored one?”

The replica of his face shimmered, as he seemed to smile. “I could see that you carried yourself with grace and light. Like this you shine like the morning. This humble person is honored beyond measure to teach the Daughter of the Sun.”

She returned his smile. “You dismiss yourself much too fast, honored one. Of all the would-be teachers who have made such great claims to my father, only you have shown that you have the true wisdom of the realms.”

“No, child,” he said. “I only have some small store of knowledge. The mysteries you present have shown my true ignorance. It has been a marvelous teaching, for which I am grateful. I can but pass on to you what little I know. Now we must get to our lesson before we tire. As you know, there are four realms—the inner realm, the physical realm, the psychic realm and the celestial or heavenly realm. Each realm is distinct, yet they are intricate in their entwinement.”

“And humans are connected in some aspect to all four levels,” she murmured. “So true healing must occur on all four levels as well.”

“Correct. There are creatures native to each realm. As in the physical realm, some are beneficial and others are not. All are in balance. In the psychic realm we have some of the greatest, most beneficent forces on earth. Here we have the dragons. . . .”

[The amber afternoon faded as Mary half surfaced from sleep again. She stirred, her pulse sounding loud in her ears.

The car slowed. Cold air rushed in as Michael rolled down the window. There was the exchange of voices and the greasy smell of fast food and coffee. She waited until the car sped up again. Then she reached for sleep and the dream images once more, yearning for the spacious home in the city by the sea, the nurturance of tranquility and learning, the love and understanding of a family, all long since gone to dust.]

. . . And she stood in her sumptuous bedchamber. It was furnished with thick patterned rugs, mahogany tables inlaid with ivory and gold, brass lamps and glazed pottery, embroidered cushions, a divan and her bed surrounded by gauze curtains.

Carved, ornate shutters were thrown open to the breeze that blew in from the sea. Beyond the shutters she could see a cloud-studded sky and a wide, private terrace.

The terrace was one of her favorite places, suspended above the city like a jeweled pendant above a woman’s br**sts. She spent much time on the terrace, gazing at the fishing boats and the merchant ships that sailed in the harbor. Sometimes she took her meals there. Often she sat reading, or in thought.

The morning was drenched with sunshine and the promise of heat. Her maidservant had laid out a breakfast of fruit and bread and sweet tea on the outside table. It was an ordinary morning like so many others, filled with many tasks, and she had grown hungry.

She took a step toward the terrace. Dread swept over her body, an unreasoning gush of terror that dried her mouth and froze all rational thought. A trembling set in her bones as though she were a deer surrounded by hounds.

It might be an ordinary day but something terrible waited for her on the balcony, something so terrible everything inside of her wailed from it.