Herta melted into his embrace. Never had any kiss felt so right, so much like a homecoming. That chocolate and marshmallow feeling was back, but this time she didn't fight it. She felt like she was in a safe haven, a place where she didn't have to pretend, didn't have to be alone.
Wrapped inside the marshmallow cocoon, she could feel Turan, not his body, but all that he was, his pride, his arrogance, his beauty, his courage. She smiled inwardly as she felt him blushing at her opinion of him. She let him see the one thing she had never shown anyone. She was terrified of being unloved and alone.
His embrace promised that she would never be alone again, and loved forever. He, in turn, showed her his fear of not being good enough to lead his people as he was destined to do, his fear of failing her and shaming them both.
She wrapped her faith in him around them both. 'Only be yourself and be true to yourself, Turan. Be Turan,' she thought. 'There is never any shame in that.'
Turan stiffened.
The marshmallow-and-chocolate feeling faded abruptly and Turan stepped away from her.
"I am sorry, Fräulein. I should not have done that."
His voice sounded far away. Herta opened her eyes. His expression was rueful. She dropped her eyes. How humiliating to find that she'd imagined more into one simple kiss than Turan obviously felt. "Well, it's done," she finally managed. She swallowed. "Where to, now?" She moved away and looked around. "I take that back. Where are we?"
Turan straightened, his pride evident. And a wariness. "Welcome to my homeland, Fräulein Tanner."
Herta's eyes widened. She spun to face the path they'd just left. It wasn't there! The ground didn't slope, there was no bright sunlight. The trees, while shaped like those of her world, weren't quite the same. Their colours were subtly different, slightly off. The greens were too dark and the browns too red.
She tipped her head, listening. No birds, no wind rustling the leaves, no sound of running water. It was, she thought, a waiting silence, deafening in its own way.
To her surprise, though, she wasn't afraid. Curious, excited, amazed, yes, but there was no fear. There was, she decided, no need to fear. This was...
She breathed deeply, taking delight in the loamy smell of this forest. Even the air seemed different, cleaner, crisper. She firmly told her enthusiasm to settle down. It wasn't polite to be nosy, but... Letting the breath out, she asked "Now what?"
Turan breathed again. "We wait here until the men leave," he said quietly.
"How will we know they've gone? Who were they?"
"I don't know who they were, but," his voice changed and grew hard, "I'll find out. As for the how, we'll be told."
Herta nodded, trying to get her thoughts in order. She had so many questions. "Have we got time for some answers?" she asked.
He gave her a slight smile. "We can make time for a couple, yes." A nearby fallen log served them as seats. It stretched between two trees as if by design. "What do you want to know," he asked when they were settled.
She grinned. "You mean, more specifically than 'everything'?"
Turan nodded.
"Okay, let's start with 'Who are you'?"
"Father Edmund didn't tell you?" Turan looked surprised.
Herta shook her head. "No. He told me about my family and gave me a letter that Hans Theiner left for my mother. It gave me the basics. Your people are an ancient one. You are, as close as I can figure it, the Sidhe of Irish legend."
He nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes, although we go back farther than that." He shifted on the log, leaning back against one of the trees. "My people came from what you call Lemuria. We were, at one time, a great people, having explored most of the world and developed colonies in such diverse areas as, what you would know as, Atlantis, Mesopotamia, South America and northern China. Each colony developed its own way of life. The colony in America was our... our headquarters, I guess you'd say, for medical and chemical knowledge. China explored the spirit world. They tried to understand our souls, what makes us different from animals. Atlantis studied new ways of doing things. I guess you'd say they were the technological centre of our world. The colonists of Mesopotamia explored the known universe, trying to discover some sort of order, some pattern to it.. Lemuria always had been the centre of our spiritual world. The Lemurians sought to discover the mysteries of the mind."
Herta nodded. "Well, that does clear up some mysteries, then."
Turan looked up at her. "It does?"
She grinned. "I always wondered why two different groups would have the same or similar words for the same type of people. The Irish called you 'the Sidhe' and the Chinese called you 'kiang-shi'. Reverend Robert Kirk described you as 'bodies of congealed air' and mentioned that you abduct mortal women to nurse your children. In China, however, you're seen as disembodied spirits who 'drink souls'. The 'Book of the Dun Cow' describes you as possibly being gods, having a greater knowledge of life and living things than normal folk. They called you the 'Tuatha De Danaan', the people of the goddess, Dana."
Turan shook his head, surprised. He hadn't expected anyone to make that kind of connection. "What started that line of thought," he asked.
Herta shrugged. "A research paper I had to do for my Celtic Mythology class." She grinned at a memory. "I got an A for the research part, but a D for the content. I was supposed to be researching how Celtic Mythology has affected today's world."
"And did you come to any other conclusions?"
She nodded, suddenly serious. "I had wondered if the legend about the Sidhe being harmed by cold iron was the truth."
"It is," Turan said dryly.
Herta tipped her head. "Do you suppose it has anything to do with the magnetic properties of iron?"
"Magnetic properties?"
Herta chewed on a thumbnail, not quite sure of how to explain her thoughts. "If you consider that the mind is an electrical device, so to speak, and that some people use magnets to heal, especially for mental difficulties such as depression, is it so odd to consider that a race of people with highly developed mental abilities might be adversely affected by magnets?" She shook herself. "But that's another line of thought altogether. Back to the letter. Hans Theiner stated that our family has helped you find mates--"
"Not mates," Turan interrupted. "Soul mates. Our other halves."
Herta nodded thoughtfully. "So that story is true then, as well. The people were divided as punishment."
Turan nodded, no longer surprised at the extent of her knowledge.
"And it's my job to help you find your other half."
"Not quite. There are many Gates from my world to yours. When we are ready, and when our soulmates are ready, we are drawn to the gate closest to him or her. Each Gate has a Guardian, a Gatekeeper or Porter, if you will. Their function is to provide the Seeker, as we are then called, with cultural and language information, dress and funds with which to start our search. As well, they engineer an introduction to, if not our soulmates, then to the society in which he or she travels."
Herta was still. "The Guardians don't make the choice for you?"
"Of course not. They can't." He stared at her. "Is that what Father Edmund told you?"
Herta shook her head. "No. That was in the letter. Der Reizengebleiter müssen diu Seeleocran finden," she quoted.
Turan smiled, relieved. "Diu Seeleoncran, the 'soul-hungry' are the Seekers, Fräulein. Not the soulmates. I'm not sure how, but the Reizengebleiter always seem to know when a Seeker is due. Identification, funds, a history, all is ready when the Reizengebleiter finds the Seekers. At least, so I've been told."
"You don't know for sure?"
He shook his head. "No. I'm the first Seeker here since Hans died. I was fortunate enough to meet Father Edmund on my first day here. He knew enough of what your family did for us that he could help out."
"Oh. So you have found her already, then?"
Turan wanted to know more about this woman. "What makes you think my soulmate is female?"
She froze, blinked twice and then shrugged. "Oh," she repeated. "Well, we'd best get you on your way, regardless of who we have to find, then, hadn't we?" She stood up.
Turan drew one knee up and rested his chin on it. "That bothers you, Fräulein?"
Herta made a face. "Not entirely. I suppose I should have expected it, considering the legend, but..." She gave a short, dry chuckle. "No, I can't say it bothers me." 'Much,' she thought. 'A helluva waste, if you ask me, though.'
Turan stood up as well. "We cannot leave just yet, Fräulein. There is still danger for you in your world."
His voice had a tone that Herta couldn't identify, and didn't like. Her chin rose. "You know something, buster. It seems to me that we've been doing an awful lot of what you want to do. I don't suppose you'd have any particular explanation for that, would you?"
Turan frowned, not understanding the emotions he could feel emanating from the woman in front of him. He'd thought she understood. "We must remain here because it is not yet safe to return to your world."
"Based on your judgement, of course."
Turan's frown deepened. Now that he'd understood. The voice oozed sarcasm, and the emotion said fury. "Why are you so angry, Fräulein?" he asked, truly puzzled.
Herta didn't stop to think. The bloody patronizing bastard! The crack of her hand against Turan's cheek echoed in the stillness.
Before it had died away, Turan grabbed Herta, spun her around and pinned her against his chest. "No one," he said coldly, "hits me."
Herta tried to kick him. He took a step toward the log, using it to prevent her from raising her feet enough for a second try. She went limp, hoping her dead weight would give her the impetus she needed, but he didn't seem to notice. She tried to use the log for leverage, but he moved closer to it, spoiling that idea. She couldn't get her foot up. She remembered something that had worked before. Closing her eyes, she mentally searched for a weak link in his defenses. To her horror, she could feel a lethargy stealing over her. She lashed out mentally and physically, trying to fight the enveloping whiteness.
It wrapped itself around her muscles, stilling them. It entwined itself around her thoughts, slowing them to a dream-like state. She couldn't see. She couldn't scream. She was...
Turan breathed a sigh of relief as the struggling woman relaxed completely. He had no idea what thoughts were behind her sudden attack, but he intended to find out once he knew they wouldn't be interrupted. He turned her around and urged her to sit. Like an automaton, she did so.
As he straightened, a movement caught his eye. From between the trees, a vixen appeared.
"They have gone?" he asked.
The she-fox dipped her head once.
"Back to town or to the house?"
The vixen looked over her shoulder.
"Elsewhere?" Now that was a surprise. "Where?"
The animal approached and sat down, her tail curling decorously around her front paws. She stared at Turan.
He frowned. "Well, it would have been nice to know who wants Die Reizengebleiterin dead."
The vixen shrugged.
Turan took a calming breath. 'Females', he thought disgustedly.
*It is done?*
Turan nodded, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully.
The she-fox sniffed haughtily and stared at him.
"Dahila," Turan warned.
Dahila looked away.
"We'll need help to get her back to town," he nodded at Herta's still form. "Things must appear normal."
The vixen rose and walked away. *Mikhail awaits.* she said.
"Good. And Dahila?"
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
"Thank you for your help."
She sniffed again and continued on, soon lost in the underbrush.
As if watching someone else, Herta let Turan help her to her feet and lead her through the trees. She could see a faint shimmering between two of them. The Gate, of course.
They retraced their steps to the ravine, this time taking the second path from it, the one leading back up along the other bank. A young man, tall, broad-shouldered and blond, awaited them at the stream.
For a while, Herta was certain she'd seen a fox accompany them up down the trail to the stream. But that wasn't possible. Wild animals don't like humans. But if it wasn't an animal, one part of her mind mused, and a friend of Turan's, why didn't it cross the stream?
The two men discussed the recent turn of events, Turan describing the men and the car.
"Why didn't you take the Passages back to the house," the blond man asked suddenly.
Turan's voice rumbled from behind her. "The law clerk. You did warn him we'd be late, Mikhail?"
Mikhail nodded. "He asked where you were so I told him." He chuckled. "I've never seen anyone sag from relief before. He was almost rigid until I mentioned Father Edmund. I thought he was going to faint."
Turan grunted non-committally, as the trio emerged from the trees. They came out only a few metres from the edge of the village.
A part of Herta's mind marvelled as they entered the village. She could hear bells, a clock striking noon. Had it only been three hours since Gebhardt's arrival?
"How much did the clerk get done?" Turan asked.
"He went to the phone company offices, the Town Hall, and..."
"And?"
"And he ran into Sondra," came the reluctant reply.
"At your instigation." It wasn't a question.
"At my instigation," Mikhail confessed. "She offered to help get things organized."
Turan sighed. "Well, it can't be helped now." He turned away, so only Herta saw Mikhail's smirk.
Mikhail turned off soon after that, saying that he'd see what he could find out about their attackers. Herta let Turan guide her through the streets and shops, ostensibly so she could buy groceries and other supplies. It was Turan, however, who made the decisions, not her. She was buried in the marshmallow cocoon and too tired to fight any more. It was obvious to her that she had more than one enemy.
The meeting with Gebhardt and the trip home passed in a blur. Turan never left her side. She wasn't even surprised when Turan led her up to the loft and into an astonishingly clean bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed when he told her to, lifted her feet so he could remove her shoes, and toppled over onto the bed when he nudged her. Her eyes closed and she was asleep before the feather blanket settled over her.
Turan stared down at her for a long moment. He didn't understand her. Before she'd seen Father Edmund, she'd been furious at his attempt to begin The Sharing. She'd not only fought him for control, but wrested it from him. And then, later, she'd welcomed the bonding. Did it really bother her that some Seekers chose mates of their own sex?
His face tightened as he thought he'd figured it out. She thought he was looking for a male Soulmate. She bonded with him out of pity. She didn't know. She didn't understand at all.
He drew a deep breath and let it out on a soft sigh. It was humiliating to know, but it was done now, and nothing short of death could undo it. In the meantime...
Downstairs, Gebhardt paced the length of the kitchen. He whirled as the door to the loft opened and Turan stepped through. "What have you done to Fräulein Tanner?" he demanded.
Turan gave him a cold, level look. "She sleeps. Nothing more."
"You're one of Them, aren't you?" Gebhardt persisted.
Turan inclined his head, his only answer. He went to pass Gebhardt, but the law clerk grabbed his arm.
Turan gazed at the hand and then at Gebhardt's face. "So, the puppy has teeth, after all," he murmured.
Gebhardt snatched his hand back.
Turan moved around the clerk. "So, you know what I am," he said after getting himself a cup of now-cold coffee. He leaned against a grimy counter. "You also know more, then, than most people. I won't ask how you know, but you are aware that we do nothing that will harm our mates?"
Gebhardt paled. "Your... You mean you..." He drew courage from Turan's reasonable tone of voice and relaxed attitude and dared to argue. "No. I don't know that. I know that those you claim rarely return and when they do, they're... different."
Turan nodded and took another sip of coffee. "Not all matings work, that is true." He shrugged. "And it's no harder on your people than it is on mine." His thoughts seemed far away. "But your concern about Fräulein Tanner is misplaced. She is one of the rare people who are immune to us. She is, after all, die Reizengebleiterin. And that is my first concern." Turan doubted that Gebhardt would understand and he would need this mouse's co-operation. His words weren't exactly a lie. Herta was immune to his charm. She'd fought him off once, and it had taken all his strength to subdue her the second time. He was too tired to start a battle with someone who didn't want to understand.
"She is immune?" Gebhardt repeated. Relief and hope washed across his features.
Turan shrugged, containing the wave of jealousy he felt. "It happens." He stood up. "With luck, she will sleep until evening. There is much we can do in that time. Did you arrange for a sweep to come in?"
A truce was tacitly declared and the two men fell to discussing how best to arrange Herta's life into something more comfortable.
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