"There," Sentinel whispered, "Just like I said, a story with you in it."  Not meeting the eyes of the Shaman looking at him questioningly, he added, "Maybe next time you'll be able to stay awake for it."

 

PAST TO FUTURE

 

Cuddling the sleeping boy in his arms, Sentinel rose to carry him to Nursery, effortlessly finding his way through the thick darkness.  Shaman watched him go, hardly able to take his eyes off the nearly perfect male body moving with such grace.  Only when the shape of it was lost to the firelight did he turn back to the fire, smiling cheekily at the knowing looks directed his way.

 

So far Freedom Tribe had accepted his new role with their sentinel with much less suspicion that he had expected.  From all that he knew about the relationship between tribe and guardian, they tended to be very protective and nurturing of each other, but, oddly, that wasn't the case with Freedom.  They seemed to take their sentinel for granted, giving him no more thought or consideration than they would any other healthy fighter.

 

Their Cap'n was the exception.  Even now he was glaring at Shaman as if about to Challenge him, and he wondered tiredly if it was the jealousy of a lover that he would have to deal with from the man.  That would certainly explain why, other than the one incredibly sweet, chaste kiss they had shared the day they met, Sentinel had never so much as smiled at him with sexual interest.  Let alone touched him like a lover.

 

That afternoon had been one of the most remarkable in a life filled with remarkable days.  Shaman had meandered from one side of N'merica to the other, and even into S'merica during his travels.  Dealing with the different tribes, holders, and even the ragged remnants of Ravagers had given him a broad understanding of his fellow humans.  It was why he was a Shaman at such a young age, why he had survived those many, many miles.

 

But for all that, he was baffled by the Sentinel he had promised to guide for a time, bemused by the tribe, and somehow unwittingly at odds with the Cap'n.  Meeting the eyes of the subject of his thoughts, hearing a snort of derision, Shaman suddenly came to a decision and rose to join the tall man on the other side of the fire.

 

The Cap'n tensed, but hid it well, sipping at his tea with realistic nonchalance.  "Coming to tell me you've changed your mind about breaking camp with us tomorrow?" he asked sarcastically.

 

"Why would I do that?" Shaman replied mildly.  "Unless, of course, you think I’ve noticed that you don't want me to, and hope I'll bow out to make it easier on us both."

 

Gripping his cup tightly, Cap'n shot back, "Isn't that what a Shaman does?  Makes things easier for the tribe, keeps it happy and working smoothly?"

 

Surprised at the contempt in the other man's voice, Shaman studied him, then deliberately shrugged, as if not caring about the Cap'n's opinion of him or shaman in general.  "That's part of it," he admitted easily.  "But we are also Healers, Scholars, Historians, Storytellers, Teachers - whatever the tribe needs of us."

 

"Well *this* tribe doesn't need a Shaman; we haven't had one for several generations and it hasn't done us any harm at all," the Cap'n said firmly, as if expecting an argument.  "Just like Jim doesn't need another *teacher.*"  He told more than he probably intended with the use of Sentinel's given name, and it took most of Blair's training to keep his expression neutral at the revelation.  "He needs a Guide, a real one who can do the job properly."

 

There was so much whirling through his head, it was hard to know which trail to take next, so Shaman carefully chose to touch on the one word that had been emphasized.  "Another? How many teachers has Sentinel had?"

 

That pulled the Cap'n up short, and he sat up straighter, eyeing Shaman speculatively.  "He doesn't like to talk about his background," the older man admitted grudgingly.

 

"I'd noticed," Shaman agreed dryly.

 

That earned him a snort of amusement, then the Cap'n surprisingly volunteered, "Simon, Jim's friend doesn't want to talk about him without his knowledge.  But the Cap'n...."  Trailing off, he looked into the darkness the way the Sentinel had gone, as if he could see the subject of their discussion.  "The Cap'n knows you need to know as much as possible if you're going to be any help at all."

 

"It's...unusual," Blair encouraged as diplomatically as possible, "For a sentinel to be as old as Freedom's and *not* have a guide.  They usually die young without one.  Or go insane and have to be granted Mercy.  Whoever his teachers were, they must have been extraordinary for him to survive."

 

Surprisingly the Cap'n shook his head.  "No, Sentinel is the extraordinary one.  He wasn't even born to a Tribe and still managed to make it somehow until he was brought to us."

 

"Not Tribe?" Shaman blurted.  "Bard?"  The last was a wild guess; usually even bards left their children with the tribe they lived with at the time of birth.  Nomi, Blair's mother, had been a rare exception, and the agonized expression in her eyes the very few times he had asked why she'd kept him with her was the only straight answer he'd ever gotten from her.

 

"No, son of a Holder, if you can believe it," Cap'n said, unintentionally derailing Shaman's wool-gathering.  He looked around furtively as if to see if anyone was listening, but the late hour had made the central fire deserted, and he settled himself comfortably, unconsciously taking on the air of a storyteller.

 

"When I was a boy, not even out of Nursery yet," he began a little awkwardly, "Our Range had a hard, hard year.  From one winter to the next it stayed cold, so cold and stormy that there was no growing season at all.  Food was hard to come by, and Freedom had to change camps constantly to keep from using up our resources.

 

"Joel, our Cap'n then, decided to approach the Elson Hold, which is a few days march from the southern-most part of our Range.  That area hasn't been kind to Tribes - no one claims it right now - but the Elson Clan has been doing well there for some generations.  We had some excess wool from the wild sheep grazing in upper pastures and thought we could trade the warm stuff for any excess food the Hold might have.  They depend more on hydro and hot houses than field growing, and usually have extra for trading.

 

"Cap'n came back with the food - and a young boy in tow.

 

"None of the people traveling with them knew how the Cap'n came to have a boy with him.  Not even Jim knew why his father ordered him to leave with the Tribe.  The *only* explanation any of us ever had were the bruises and whip marks Jim carried.  The Cap'n refused to say anything at all."

 

"Oh, my," Blair breathed, not bothering to hide his shock.  Only Ravagers beat their children, and even they wouldn't put up with an adult who was too severe.  Bad enough for a child to adjust to a new Tribe when they Transitioned and were ready to find a new family.  But to go to strangers who didn't even have the same customs, already irrevocably different - his heart ached for the child Sentinel had been.

 

They watched the fire at its eternal dance for a few moments, then Shaman asked, "Who was his first Teacher in the tribe, then?"

 

"In the beginning," the Cap'n said sorrowfully, "No one.  We didn't know he was a sentinel."

 

"What!"

 

"You heard me."

 

"That's not...I mean...I *never*..."  Shaman sputtered to a stop, not wanting to sound any more foolish than he already did.

 

"Joel may have suspected it," the Cap'n went on unperturbedly, undoubtedly expecting the reaction he'd gotten.  "He pulled me aside Jim's very first day with us and asked me to take him under my wing.  Keep the other kids from making things too hard on him, hold the teasing down to a minimum.  You know the sort of thing I'm talking about."

 

Indeed, Shaman knew all too well the sorts of pranks and petty aggravations that the young of any tribe would treat newcomers to.  Too many nights of his youth had been spent anticipating and deflecting just that sort of treatment.  But all he said was, "Children act like children precisely because they are too young to understand how they should behave."  The Cap'n's exasperated grunt in response made him smile inwardly; that had often been his own reaction to that statement.

 

"Yeah, half the work of parenting is really just civilizing savages," the big man rumbled.  "At the time I thought the Cap'n was being kind to someone who had enough abuse, but later I wondered if he wasn't trying to spare someone who's senses couldn't handle too much without causing serious pain.  Back then, though, I did it because the Cap'n asked, and because I had my own opinions about how to treat newcomers."

 

Leaning forward to stir the embers of the fire, Freedom's current captain murmured, "Earned me a life-long friend."  To Shaman he said, "It wasn't until we reached shelter and Joel had Jim tested that anyone knew he was a sentinel.  He was that good at hiding his true self, and still is for that matter.

 

"Well, like I said, we didn't have anyone who could train a sentinel.  Best that could be done was to give him the Sandburg Journals to read and keep an eye on him for zone outs."

 

//That's what you think,// Blair reflected privately.  //A Cap'n who saw a hidden sentinel, who became a Teacher when another was old enough to take his place?  Like I said, a Shaman is what whatever the Tribe needs him to be.  Apparently even a Cap'n.// 

 

Aloud he asked, "If I'm not breaking too many taboos here, could I know who Sentinel Transitioned with?  Sometimes the instinct to find a Guide will show in the choice of lovers.  Perhaps whoever that person was unintentionally helped; I'll need to talk to him or her to see how deep the connection goes."

 

Just like that the Cap'n shut down completely, and Shaman knew without rhyme or reason, that a friend was all that Sentinel had been willing to be for the other man, and he had learned to call that his choice as well.  His hunch was partly confirmed when Cap'n said flatly, "He chose not to Transition; or is that a variation on custom you haven't heard of?"

 

Standing and emptying his cup into the fire, positive nothing else useful would be forthcoming tonight, Shaman answered mildly, "It's not common, but of course there are always young people who prefer to slip into adult hood quietly, with no ritual.  Doesn't surprise me at all that Jim was the same way."  His use of birth name was deliberate.  Friends or not, he couldn't be in constant opposition with the person who had the most influence with Jim if he was going to be of any use to Sentinel at all during their time together.  A subtle reminder that he had a place, a necessary place, was needed for the Cap'n, whether he liked it or not.

 

The sour look shot his way told him that it wasn't liked, but the Cap'n said nothing, his silence a mute acceptance of Shaman's role.  For now.

 

With a brief wave goodnight, he made his way to his own tent, curling into the bedding gratefully.  Tomorrow the Gathering would be done, with everyone breaking camp to begin their cycle through their territory anew.  If Freedom was typical, it would take nearly a year to reach the opposite side from where they were currently, then about a month to trek inward toward their shelter for their annual visit. 

 

For Blair it was as exciting a prospect as it had been the first time he'd been allowed in a Shelter, and despite the time it would take to actually arrive, he was already eagerly anticipating it.  Though he didn't lightly dismiss the difficulties involved in trying to fulfill his promise to Jim, he was willing to put up with a great deal more than a silent, reclusive Sentinel and an antagonistic Cap'n for a chance to read the Sandburg Journals. 

 

As both Shaman and Guide, the man was legendary, almost a myth, and Blair couldn't help but wonder if the journals really *were* the private musings the First among Shaman, or if they were some kind of fake.  If it was the latter, it could perhaps explain the odd attitude the other members of the Tribe directed toward Sentinel.  They would have no idea of what one really was or what he could do if the journals were false.  Then Blair would be faced with the difficult decision of whether or not to prove they were forgeries, and try to undo the damage they'd caused.

 

A lot would depend on how well they accepted *him* over the next year or so, and if they always treated their sentinel with the kind of casual disregard he'd seen so far.  Perhaps once they were back on the move and needed his services, Freedom would revert to a more normal respect.  Perhaps Jim was more restrained and controlled when surrounded by the chaos of a Gather, especially with no Guide to help him stay focused.  //Perhaps,// he thought sleepily, //I'll wake with blue skin and auburn eyes.  Far more likely than the mystery of these people solving itself so readily.  Nothing to do but wait for tomorrow and see.//

 

The next morning he sat in the crook of an old grandfather of a tree, not too far from the Gather, and watched it slowly dissolve into a track of flattened grasses and dusty bare spots.  In a month's time, even this much evidence of the presence of so many people would be gone, and Shaman nodded to himself in satisfaction.  That was how it should be.

 

//Pity the young people have to decide *before* Breaking Camp who to make their new tribe,// he mused.  //You can tell a lot about a people by how they prepare to travel.  Are they bickering, moving slowly?  Are they cooperative? Efficient?  Too efficient?//  His own small preparations were long finished; he'd awakened with the first light and had been too filled with the restless expectations of a new journey to be able to sleep any longer.  Most of the others had been in the same boat, and he's spent a good part of the morning calming and soothing small ones, keeping them occupied while other adults with more demanding duties bustled about.  Eventually the last child had been claimed, though, and he had retreated up here with his breakfast of dried fruit to idly observe and speculate until the good-byes were done. 

 

A few feet above him, on a makeshift platform constructed for just that purpose, Sentinel stood guard, though it was nearly only a formality.  Shaman suspected it was really to spare the man the unavoidable chaos of so many people milling about frantically.  Whatever reason, it served Shaman's own, and he glanced upward at his charge, wondering how to broach the topic they needed to discuss before it was too late for either of them to change their minds.

 

Sentinel seemed oblivious to him, and *that* was what they had to work out before Shaman committed himself to ranging with Freedom Tribe.  Though he didn't understand why the bigger man had chosen to retreat from a physical relationship with him, Shaman couldn't and wouldn't make an issue of it.  That startling hum of recognition Blair had felt when Jim's lips touched his so gently could have just been a residue from talking the man down from the worst overload he could have ever imagined.  And Jim had been so exhausted from it that he had curled up against Blair and fallen asleep almost instantly.  Surely if there had been...more... between them, Jim would have wanted to at least kiss again in affirmation and promise.  But Sentinel had awakened from that nap briskly grateful for Shaman's assistance, and had so little conversation or contact with him since they might have been a rock and a reed sharing a small space on a river: forever connected by the rushing water and eternally separated by what they were.

 

The self-pity and loneliness in that thought was both detestable and startling, and Shaman pushed it away, suddenly determined to confront Sentinel.  They had to spend time together, live side by side as intimately as Mates, if he was going to guide.  If they weren't at least friends, it was a waste of effort for both of them.  He opened his mouth to speak, only to have the other man beat him to it.

 

"Trouble," he grunted, climbing down. 

 

Automatically following, Shaman asked, "What kind?"

 

Head cocked for listening, Sentinel answered hesitantly, "Lost child?"  He headed for the temporary Shelter in the center of the clearing at a fast trot. "Kylie of Tangle," he added more assertively.  "Hair the color of a raven's wing?  About 4 or so, constantly dragging a hide around, and as curious as a crow?"

 

Remembering amber eyes laughing up at him as he showed him how to play cat's cradle, Shaman nodded.  "The hide is his blankie - Kylie strays all the time, attracted by one thing or another.  His Nannies have been ready to just about tear their hair out trying to keep track of him."

 

"They'll be bald over this, then," Sentinel said grimly.  With the camp nearly gone, there's no place for him to be hiding, and they still can't find him.  Means he has to have gone into the woods; the Leaders are organizing searching parties."

 

"How long has he been missing?" Shaman asked thoughtfully.  "Small as he is, he won't have been able to get too far without getting tired.  We should be able to find him in no time."

 

"Provided one of the big cats or wild dog packs we've been guarding against doesn't get him first," Sentinel snapped.  "Dammit, I should have seen him wandering off!"

 

That pulled Shaman up short in his musings, and he snapped back, "You're not an infallible spirit of some sort!  No one is to blame.  It's literally impossible to watch children every single second, and they have a built-in instinct to tell them when adults are distracted!"

 

Not answering, Sentinel stopped at edge of the crowd gathered around the Leaders, catching his Cap'n's eye over everyone's head.  The head of Freedom made a patting motion, stay there, then went back to setting out a search pattern that would cover the most ground as fast as possible.  Not particularly surprised that he commanded the other Leaders, Shaman nodded to himself at the precision in which they worked and waited to be told which party he was in. 

 

It took most of his self-control not to shout in protest when the Cap'n finished, "Sentinel, we still need a sentry for the campsite.  You go back to your post and take that Shaman with you; he can come back here to give the signal if you See anything the searchers can use."

 

"Yes, sir."  Without another word, Sentinel trotted off to do as he was told, with only the straight lines of his back and shoulders to tell how hurt he was at the implied failure at his duties.

 

Seething, telling himself that no wonder the man had blamed himself, he'd only been anticipating his leader's reaction, Shaman did the same.  His obedience only lasted until they were back at their tree; then he skidded to a halt in front of Sentinel, putting out a hand to halt him.  "Wait.  I want you to try something first, okay?"

 

Obviously annoyed, Sentinel stopped, jaw muscle jumping frenetically.  "What?"

 

Not daunted by the hostile tone, Shaman said earnestly, "Look, you know Kylie well, right?  Not just how he looks, but the sound of him, his scent, everything.  And don't tell me that you don't; putting all the sense pieces together to make up the sensory signature of someone is second nature to *all* humans.  You *have* to have a deeper impression than anyone else simply because of who you are."

 

"I wasn't going to deny it."

 

Hoping that he wasn't imagining the trace of curiosity under the tone, Shaman said urgently.  "So use that.  Call it up in your mind, especially scent and sound.  More than likely Kylie isn't in sight; even your vision doesn't go through trees!.  But scent can carry a long, long way."

 

"There are far too many odors and too many trifling breezes for me to be able to scent him.  Why else do you think the Cap'n didn't try that already?  Useless effort and risk of a zone when I could be used here." 

 

Not sure who he wanted to smack more - the Cap'n for disregarding Sentinel's abilities or the sentinel for putting up with it - Shaman said stubbornly, "You're not just using scent; you're using sound too, mixing them together to give you more than one reference point.  Finding a flat rock in a stream bed is hard, or a black rock in the same place, but a flat, black one will practically jump out at you."

 

Not looking convinced, Sentinel took in a slow, deliberate breath, then closed his eyes to sort through what Smell was telling him, comparing it with Hearing.  His features very quickly showed the abstraction of deep concentration, and Shaman brought up his hands to clasp the other man's upper arms.  "Think about Kylie," he coaxed softly.  "Think about his clean, little boy smell, think about giggles and chuckles and happy noises while he's looking at flower or chasing a lizard."

 

"No," Sentinel said slowly.  "Not happy.  I can smell fear, little boy fear, little boy tears."  Suddenly his eyes shot open, and he began running at top speed toward the roughest, thickest part of the local forest.  "And I smell rabies!"

 

Digging into his will, Shaman kept up with the longer legs of his companion, though he was gasping by the time they reached a dark, uninviting dip between two hillocks.  In the center of it a raccoon chittered angrily and clawed at the outside of a rotting stump, occasionally scurrying to a different side, snarling angrily.  Over that Shaman could barely hear a child crying, sobbing quietly for Nana.  For a moment he was mystified as to how Kylie could be inside the stump, then he saw a patch of leather jammed in a crack in the wood with dirt trapped around it.  Blankie had accidentally kept the boy from being followed into the stump by the raccoon.

 

Eyeing the animal's odd behavior, Shaman panted softly, "Sure... rabid?"

 

"Give me another reason a raccoon would be out and around this time of day, let alone standing its ground when two adult humans come running at it," he whispered.  Cautiously, taking out his blow dart gun, Sentinel crept to one side of the beast to be able to get a clear shot.  Distracted by its wrath at Kylie for whatever reason its tiny mind had created, the raccoon never even noticed the danger until the sting of the dart made it shriek in rage.  It turned to charge, abruptly aware of another predator too close, but they were both ready for that and sprang in opposite directions.

 

Giving chase, it darted after Shaman, but turning its back on Sentinel was a mistake.  The moment it did the big man clubbed it with a handy dead branch, shattering the rotting wood with the force of his blow.  With a murmured apology to it for its death, Sentinel pushed the corpse to one side so that the child couldn't see it, and knelt in front of the gap in the stump.

 

"Kylie, Nanny is looking for you," he called quietly.  "I think you'd better hurry; there was some honey comb left over from breakfast and she's trying to save you a piece."

 

The sobbing continued for several more minutes while they both calmly coaxed, but it slowed, then Shaman heard, "Nnama? 'ony comb?"

 

"That's right," Sentinel promised.  "Honey comb."  Sure now that the boy would know it was him and not the raccoon, he pushed away the hide and reached out to scoop Kylie up as he crawled out of his refuge.  "Bad 'coon, senman," he said indignantly.  "Bad."  Trouble already forgotten he beamed at Shaman.  "Hi Shaman.  Got 'ony comb?"

 

"No, Nanny does," Shaman said, wiping away tear streaks from the child's face and noisily kissing the end of his nose.  "Guess we'd better find her, huh?"

 

"Finder, finder," Kylie giggled, and Shaman kept him distracted and laughing while Jim pulled out the rocket flare to tell the others the child had been found.  Despite that, the 'boom' made Kylie jump, and he gave Sentinel an offended pout until he was tickled back into merriment.

 

They carried the laughing youngster back into the Gather camp, attracting a largish crowd as everyone came in from their own search to see for themselves Kylie was safe.  The boy loved it, crowing and chortling at all the attention, but Shaman saw his partner growing paler and paler, jaw tight with unspoken tension.  A clap of congratulation from Tangle's Leader sent a tremor through the taut frame, known only to Shaman because he stood so close.  Squirming around until he was facing their Cap'n, he stretched up, depending on habit to cause the taller man to lower his head toward him.

 

"I think this is too much for Sentinel," he muttered confidingly.  "He had his senses wide open to search for Kylie, and hasn't really had a chance to get back to normal.  I'm going to take him aside; if you have to, start the day's march without us.  We can catch up."

 

Not looking very happy, but not willing to make an issue of it in front of outsiders, the Cap'n nodded shortly.  A minute later he eased Kylie out of Sentinel's arms.  "I think this young man has had quiet enough excitement," he announced clearly. 

 

"Ony comb?" Kylie asked excitedly.  "Ony comb?"

 

Everyone laughed, and Shaman took advantage of their momentary distraction to steer Sentinel away.  The big man was barely keeping himself upright, and he stared into the distance blankly, not noticing where he was being led.  In short order they were back at the tree they had started the morning at, but this time on the other side where the branches swung low, heavy with concealing leaves.

 

Releasing his grip, Shaman turned to study his charge, not sure how to help.  Sentinel stood rigidly, eyes closed now, but his trembling had increased, and worried that he might collapse, Shaman put his hands flat on the broad shoulders and pressed down.  "Sit!" he ordered gently.  "Sit, before you fall."

 

Thankfully Sentinel folded, going to his knees and sitting on his heels, fists digging into his upper thighs.  Kneeling between his legs, Shaman leaned in close, fingers petting the smooth skin under them, and murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice, "It's okay, it's okay.  Too many noises, too much movement, over-powering stink - treat it like the wind, Jim.  Let it flow by, be touched by it, but then it's gone.  Let it go, Jim, let it go."

 

There was a tiny grimace of pain, and Jim lifted up his hands as if to reach for something or catch it, but stopped before they were more than halfway.  

 

Impulsively Blair fitted himself into the gap, letting his torso fill it.  Fingers closed over his sides in a petal soft hold, and Jim dropped his head to Blair's shoulder, sighing gratefully.  Most of the tension flowed away from him, and he mumbled an indistinct apology.

 

"Hush, hush," Blair crooned, daringly petting the short hair.  "You've done nothing to be sorry for."

 

"I lost control."  The words were a bare whisper of air, barely carrying to the other man's ear.

 

"Of course you did," Blair draped an arm across Jim's back, hugging him closer despite the awkward position.  "First your senses were flung wide open, then you were plunged into a crowd - of course you had an overload.  Sentinels aren't designed to take that kind of abuse; why do you think they have guides?"

 

Jim's answer was to drift his touch down to Blair's hips and back up again, barely making contact on the way.  Not understanding the 'why' behind the tentative question in it, Blair nuzzled at the ear closest.  "It's okay to want to touch me, too.  If I'm going to guide you, you need to know my sensory signature, too; make it a part of you."

 

The shudder that rocked Jim frightened Blair, and he crooned wordless encouragement and approval until his companion turned his head to meet Blair's lips.  There was no passion in the kiss; just a hesitant exploration made all the sweeter for its innocence.  Blair opened to Jim, savoring his taste, relishing the slow sweep of sensation over his body.  It robbed him of his bones, leaving him upright only through Jim's will.  Chest, shoulders, hips, thighs, bottom, back - even calves were given tender homage.  All Blair could think of was how grateful he was that the day had been warm and, like Jim, all he wore was vest, breechcloth, and knife belt.

 

Amazingly, his manhood remained quiescent, as if that little head understood that there was no place for it in this chaste familiarity.  This was only for connecting, for learning about each other, for being together in the most basic of all human interaction. 

 

Blair would have given his soul for it to go on forever.

 

Eventually, though, Jim pulled away, looked every bit as dazed as Blair felt.  "We should catch up with the others before they get too far ahead," he said absently.

 

"Yeah, we should."  Blair made no effort to move and neither did Jim. 

 

Instead he cautiously burrowed his long fingers into the hair at the nape of Blair's neck, massaging at the firm muscles there.  The rapt pleasure on his face caused the first frisson of desire to tumble through Blair's middle, and he offered his mouth, this time wanting to taste the same on Jim's lips.

 

But he drew them both to their feet, hands leaving with a last, lingering brush over Blair's throat.  "We need to leave, " he said, and the regret in his tone was the only reason Blair nodded in agreement.

 

Without a word they went to gather their things and follow the Freedom Tribe's trail, traveling in silence most of the way.  But it was a good silence that wove in and around them, strengthening the fragile thing growing between them.  Blair was actually disappointed to see the trailing edge of the line, and he wound an arm around Jim's waist for a last squeeze before they were spotted.

 

"Sentinel!  Sentinel!" a small girl laughed, and she hopped down from the shoulders she was riding to stumble toward them.

 

Putting on a burst of speed, Sentinel raced to get to her, snatching her up and giving her a twirl in the air before cuddling her in his arms.  "Tarey, Tarey... miss me?" he chuckled.

 

She slapped at the top of his head gently, fondly, and answered very seriously.  "I was worried about you!"  She peered over at Shaman as he drew even with them.  "Did you take good care of him?" she demanded imperiously.

 

"As best he would let me," Blair said solemnly, hiding his amusement deeply from perceptive green eyes.

 

Tarey tilted her head sideways, considering if she was being teased, then said with a tiny smile ducking around the corners of her mouth, "Stubborn isn't he?"

 

"Never met anybody more so.  But that's a good thing in a sentinel."

 

"Only if his guide is *more* stubborn," Tarey retorted seriously.

 

So seriously Shaman looked at her more closely, realizing that she was older than her slight form indicated.  Her straight, brown hair was thin and lank, framing a face that was pinched with tiredness and pain.  For all that, there was lively intelligence and good humor there too, and she grinned at him cheekily as she nestled into Sentinel's arms.

 

"I'll have to practice, then, I think," Blair grinned back.

 

"Not too much," Sentinel put in, fingers spreading over the frail chest, resting there lightly.  "Word has it this shaman out-stubborned a Cap'n, once."  He picked up a finger to bite at the tip of it playfully.  "Of course, *you* could always give him pointers."

 

Tarey laughed, as did Shaman, and the three of them traded ideas on how to prove who was the most stubborn until she dreamily giggled herself to sleep.

 

"When he was sure she was out, Shaman asked, "Shouldn't a child this ill be in Shelter?"

 

Shrugging with his lips, Jim told him, "Tarey's older than she looks, Blair.  But she won't get much older.  One of her heart valves is faulty and will probably fail if she grows much more.

 

"She wanted to do a Gather, and Range with us like any other older child, and the Elders decided she was mature enough to make her own decisions.

 

"Nobody minds carrying her, she's such a joy to be around.  And when the weather gets colder, a couple of us will take her to Shelter for the bad season.  The memories she's making now will help all of us when her heart does fail."

 

Nodding his understanding, Blair tucked his hand in the crook of Jim's arm.  "So you were listening to and feeling her heart beat when you first picked her up.  That kiss to her fingertip was to see how warm and pink it was, to check her circulation.  Between you and Huma, Freedom almost has a full-blown Physician."

 

"Better than being totally useless," Sentinel muttered, but he shook his head at himself in self-castigation.  "I can't give her a new heart, though.  Oh, the knowledge still exists in the books, and Surgeons do live in other tribes, but the feasibility of getting a viable heart from a donor and to Tarey is just beyond doing."

 

Their conversation wandered from there to all the other possibilities for Tarey, and Shaman let the moment of self-revelation from his new partner slide.  It was the most personal comment Jim had made to him willingly, and he knew better than to push or nag, especially during the march.  But it strengthened his resolve to not let Jim keep him at arms' length; the man was going to have to give, at least some.

 

What they had been able to accomplish today proved that he was right to do it that way.  As for what happened after, under the tree - he longed for the simplicity of that moment and doubted he would ever know it again. 

 

*****

 

True to his resolution, when Sentinel stood to leave the common fire that night, Shaman followed him as if he'd always had the right to do so and everyone knew it.  That bit of bravado only lasted until the evening's gloom surrounded him, and he hurried after his companion, picking his way cautiously in the faint light.

 

Fortunately Shaman knew approximately where Sentinel was planning on sleeping - otherwise he might have gotten lost in the unfamiliar terrain.  As it was, he all but fell over the big man, tangling himself in the blankets being unrolled and forcing Sentinel to jump up to steady him.

 

"Shaman, what's wrong - the camp... ?" Sentinel demanded, hands gentle for all the urgency in his question.

 

"Nothing's wrong.  Except that I'm clumsy," Blair chuckled.  "Sorry I startled you."  He shrugged off the hold on him and knelt to undo his own sleeping roll.  "Would you be more comfortable if I were on the left or right side of you?"

 

"Left or..."  Sentinel mumbled, gawking at him.  Then he collected his wits and said sharply, "What happened under the tree today wasn't an invitation to my bed, Shaman.  Or are you just assuming that *because* you're a shaman you're welcome in anyone's?"

 

"Well, I usually am," Shaman said cheerfully, not bothered in the least by Sentinel's opening salvo.  "Main reason I've never been forced to bully my way into one before.  On the other hand, I've never quite met anyone as obsessed with privacy as you, either.  Been trying to decide for days if it's part of being a sentinel or if you're just a pervert of some kind."

 

He stretched out on his blankets, glad the night air was cool enough to warrant a light covering.  For all his apparent composure, he wouldn't be surprised if Sentinel bodily picked him up and tossed him out into the forest.  The bedding, at least, gave his hands something to do to hide his nerves.  Making a show of arranging himself, he fussed as if to find all the small pebbles likely to dig into him, ignoring the sputtering and fuming from a few feet away.

 

"I am not a pervert!" Sentinel snapped finally.

 

"Neither am I," Shaman answered calmly.  "I'm a shaman trying to do what's best for his student.  You need to learn me, Jim, bone and brain, like I told you earlier.  My presence has to be such a normal part of your surroundings that the lack of it wakens your guardian instincts.  That means keeping me close, not as far away from me as you can politely get."

 

Pacing a few steps back and forth, not looking at him, Jim demanded, "Why?"

 

Sighing, hoping that the half-truths he was about to tell would prove more honest than he thought, Blair said, "So I can become a constant for you.  Look, if you had imprinted me on your senses before today, when you started to overload, you could have focused on me, used my scent, sound, whatever to hold away the rest of it.  Listening to a song being sung at the fire instead of the storm crashing outside, understand?"

 

Reluctantly Jim came to stand in front of him.  "Is that how you kept me from getting lost while I was looking for Kylie?  Your touch, your voice - you were giving me a reference point so I wouldn't get disoriented by my senses?"

 

Blinking, not sure he understood the implications of what Jim was telling him, Blair said slowly, "Yes, something like that."  Because he had to know, because it explained so much, he asked hesitantly, "How much control do you have? 

 

With an air of self-disgust, Jim threw himself onto his bedding, putting a hand over his eyes, jaw muscle twitching.  "Almost none," he admitted gruffly.  "I've read the Sandburg Journals cover to cover twice, know all about the dials and the breathing, and the best, the *best* I'm able to do is to pick up on what's literally almost screaming at me."

 

The depth of failure under the words was heartbreaking to Blair, and he chose his next words very, very carefully.  "So you have to take what comes at you, you can't say, decide to just See and only what you're looking for?"

 

"For the most part," Jim answered shortly.  "The Journals don't say how First Sentinel held the dials in place while he calibrated one.  That or I'm not understanding it when I read it."

 

Understanding finally why the Tribe didn't trust Sentinel's gifts, why they treated him with benign neglect, made Blair speak more bluntly than he meant.  "The journals were written by the guide, not then sentinel, Jim.  He may have never had reason to mention the whys of that to his shaman, so it would have never been recorded."  An idea occurred to him, and he added, "Legend says that First Sentinel buried his gifts deep, living as a normal adult man, until just before he met his guide."

 

Jim nodded that was true, peeking out from under his forearm questioningly.  "Well," Blair went on thoughtfully, "It could be that First Sentinel learned to do hold the dials in place on his own, way, way before First Shaman found him.  I don't know how else he could have denied such an important part of himself for so long otherwise."

 

There was a long silence from his companion, and Blair wondered if he would speak again, when Jim finally murmured, "That makes sense."  Then he rolled to his side, yanking his own blanket into place.  "If you snore, I'll dump you in the stream."

 

Turning so that they were back to back, Blair grinned, but carefully kept his voice bland.  "Never had any complaints."  Inside he was already planning his next step toward healing the damaged, precious man.

 

With that end in mind, the next morning as the travel line was forming up, Shaman cheerfully inserted his own agenda into the Cap'n's daily instructions.  He received an irate glare from the tall black man, and a tense, white-lipped one from his partner, but he and Sentinel took point that day. 

 

It set the pattern of the rest of the hike to the next campsite within Freedom Range; inside of a few days everyone assumed that Sentinel would be scouting the Tribe's path.  During that time of relative distance and quiet from the others, Shaman led him through exercises to teach him control, privately marveling at just how *much* Sentinel was capable of accomplishing.  Though he'd never actually worked with a guardian before, he had thought he had a clear notion of how extensive their senses were. 

 

Either he had underestimated them, or his was far, far more gifted than any other sentinel Shaman had encountered. 

 

Half giddy on the marvels the man was accomplishing, content that they were making progress, not just with the training but with establishing the proper respect, Shaman glowed his way energetically through the two weeks march to Freedom's next camp.  This part of the Freedom Range was rough, mountainous, but with a wide variety of herbs and plants he hadn't seen before, and the hunting was good, so the eating at the evening fire was tasty and interesting. 

 

The company during the day was tense, argumentative, challenging, contrary, punctuated with a sly sense of humor that would sneak out unexpectedly, and occasional light brushes and taps.  Shaman found himself looking forward to those rare quips and puns from Sentinel, cherishing the sight of the half-smile that came with it, waiting for the shy contact.  It made the miles melt away and eased the frequent frustration that came from the arduous training. 

 

And once the day's hike was done, if Sentinel made himself scarce - usually running an extra perimeter patrol - well, there was plenty of other company to be had.  Pleasant, willing companionship came from the other members of the tribe, once it became clear that Shaman's relationship with Sentinel wasn't exclusive.  Regardless of how enjoyable it was, when the fires were banked for the night, Blair always roused himself from his current lover and made his way to Sentinel's refuge.  Often shivering from a quick wash to spare hyper senses, he would tuck himself into his blankets, murmur a 'good night' to the back turned stubbornly to him, and quickly drop off.

 

He never bothered to ask himself why he was so eager to go to sleep, to start the next day.

 

As good as it was, though, he, like the members of the tribe, looked forward to settling down into the season's camp for long stay.  It would be very busy as they worked to build stores and repair lodges after the long absence, but there were a great many things that it would be easier to teach Sentinel if they weren't on the move.  The heavy rain they were hammered with the last two days of their journey added to the enthusiasm for a good shelter and rest from the trail.

 

Because of that, he looked at where Sentinel was pointing out an alternate route, mid-day before they were supposed to arrive, and argued, "We're wet enough without risking a stream crossing.  It's bound to be fast running from all the rain, and there's a chance of flash flood as well.  That path," and he pointed to a broader track that was on the same side of the stream as themselves, "Is high enough to be above raising waters, and has fewer rocks.  It won't be as slippery, either."

 

Shaking his head vehemently, Sentinel pointed to two good-sized trees at the edge of the place where he wanted to cross.  "Several hunters can come ahead of the main body, chop those down and create a bridge.  It'll be faster, and I'm sure I'd be able to hear a flash flood before it became a danger."  He looked at the higher trail, scrubbing at the nape of his neck.  "I don't like that way.  There's something about it that's bothering me."

 

Almost, *almost,* Shaman dismissed those last muttered words as his partner being determined to get his way.  But there was an underlying pain in them, an unspoken fear that made him ask gingerly, "Can you describe for me what you're feeling?  Are you perceiving something that's different or unusual?"

 

"Not everything is about my damned senses, Shaman," the other man snapped.  "Sometimes its just a life-time of experience with the same paths."

 

"With your senses always adding to it," Shaman retorted with bare patience.  "Talk to me!"

 

With an abrupt movement Sentinel moved away from him, almost as if he were getting out of striking distance, and he knotted his hands into the straps of his pack.  "There's a...a...weight at the back of my head, here."  Long fingers cupped the offending area tenderly, as if it hurt.  "And the hairs on my arms are standing straight up, like during a thunderstorm when the lightening strikes are close."

 

Eyeing the trail, not seeing anything ominous about it, Shaman thought about how casually others ignored Sentinel's gifts, and how, of all people, a guide should *listen.*  Nodding, he shrugged off his pack and rain poncho, stooping to dig into a side pocket.  "Have you ever used a flexible saw before?"

 

Something brightened in Sentinel's eyes, making Shaman's heart squeeze painfully, but all the taller man said was, "It would save a lot of time and trouble if the bridge was already in place, wouldn't it?"

 

By the time the front of the line had caught up with them, one tree was already down, having fallen almost exactly where it needed to be, and the other was creaking ominously.  Looking absolutely furious, the Cap'n halted the tribe and stomped over to where Sentinel and Shaman were steadily, methodically working the wire saw through the trunk.

 

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" he gritted out, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear."

 

"High trail...not...safe," Sentinel grunted, ignoring the rain streaming into his eyes.  "Thought...get crossing ready...scout while Tribe went over."

 

"Not safe?  How?  What if *this* path is blocked further on?  We'll waste daylight while you try to find another way."

 

Jaw tightening at the censure in his commander's tone, Sentinel answered blandly, "Can See all the way to next camp.  Trail clear if rough."

 

"Almost done," Shaman added, panting.  "No hold up worth talking about.  Be crossed before through arguing about it."

 

Looking at the wide, clear trail arching gradually up the side of the hill, the Cap'n snapped, "Crossings are always risky, and I don't see anything wrong with the usual track."

 

A series of snaps and pops from the wood they were sawing told Shaman it was time to nudge the tree into falling properly.  A nod from Sentinel said that his partner was in agreement, and they stood together, yanking the wire saw free.

 

"Do you always doubt the word of your point men?" Shaman put in before Sentinel had time to try to explain.

 

That pulled the Cap'n up short, a trace of self-doubt and embarrassment crossing his features.  Unfortunately it only made him angrier.  "It's the same doubt that's going to get dumped on me when I tell tired, hungry, cold people that we have to take the long way round.  If I'm going to deal with that, you're going to give me an explanation I can live with."

 

In a sudden fury Sentinel put his shoulder to the trunk and shoved, putting back and thighs in it until every muscle was straining in outline.  With a sharp crack it toppled, falling with a nearly human groan.  It crashed, landing very near where it needed to be; it would only take a kick or two for it to be placed perfectly.

 

Whirling to face his Cap'n, Sentinel said quietly, urgently, "Simon, don't fight me on this!  If you're worried about the others giving you a hard time, tell them Shaman insisted on it.  They'll accept it then because they've got no reason to doubt him."

 

Whether it was being called by his given name, or Sentinel's abysmally low opinion of his standing with the Tribe, the Cap'n backed down, anger becoming confusion mixed with shame.  "It's not," he started.

 

Then there was a strange noise, a strange vibration that moved from the soles of the feet to the soul of the body, waking ancient fears.  A few hundred yards away, the hillside gave way at last to decade after decade of rain eating at its bedrock and the stream battering at its foundation.  Weighed down by the heavy rains, it collapsed in on itself, starting a semi-liquid rush down toward the creek in a long delayed summons by the law of gravity.

 

Sentinel clapped his hands over his ears, and might have fallen to one knee if Shaman hadn't stepped close, clutching at his waist.  Everyone watched in stupefied horror as part of the mountain disappeared, leaving a raw, gaping wound and filling the small valley with debris.  There was a short moment of un-natural silence, then Sentinel shouted, "Move!  Now!  The stream's been dammed!"

 

He gave the Cap'n and Shaman a push toward the trees, then bent to hurriedly gather gear.  "Tracker, Target!" he went on, "Get the children and nannies to the head of the line to cross first.  You two, make sure this thing is stable."

 

Giving an all over shake, Tracker trotted off to do as he was told.  Several fighters darted forward as ordered, axes in hand to clear branches for easier passage.  The Cap'n was already doing the same thing on the other side, making sure they didn't block the path. 

 

Seeing all that as he glanced back, Shaman trotted to the top of the first climb on their new route, looking over the damage the mudslide had done.  Sentinel was right; the stream was completely blocked, and a small pond was rapidly rising.  He eyed its growth warily, but despite the rain-swollen burden of the creek, it looked as if they would have enough time to get across.

 

A turn put him in position to see the clearing where Next Camp probably was.  It really wasn't that far off; with the adrenaline rush of the near miss to speed them, he had no doubt that Freedom would practically fly there.  Making a note to himself to go on ahead and make a huge, hot stew to greet the others with, he reached for his pack from Sentinel's out-stretched hand.

 

"We should destroy that blockage," the other man muttered.  "Won't hold long and it's better to release the back up when we're ready for it, rather than have it rush down on us when we're unprepared."

 

"Can it wait a day or so?" Shaman asked quietly.

 

Blinking in surprise at being asked, Sentinel said consideringly, "That much, yes.  More of the hill is going to come down first, I think."

 

"Then we'll talk about it around the fire tonight," Shaman said firmly.  "Come on, I'm freezing and hungry.  The others are going to be as bad; let's get the camp ready for them."

 

Sentinel didn't seem to pay any attention to that, making Shaman sigh.  At least the other man was zoning now, after the danger was past.  He started to touch a forearm to call him back, but his companion jerked away, taking a half-step back.  "I was just memorizing the sound," he blurted, a hint of embarrassment coloring his ears.  "So I'll recognize it if I hear it again."

 

Picking his footing carefully, Shaman began walking.  "That's why you couldn't tell me what was wrong.  Instinct said 'no, not that way' but you didn't have the experience to interpret the warning.  Like, you'd probably know a twister was coming, but not know that it *was* a twister because you've never seen one before."  He paused, "Have you?"

 

"Twister?"

 

They spent the rest of the hike talking about various weather that Shaman had run into on his travels, with Sentinel plainly not believing some of it.

 

Next Camp looked spooky in the twilight with its desolate lodges and air of neglect, and Shaman was glad to follow his companion to a store of dry wood and preserved food.  Firelight helped to make it less gloomy, as did the lanterns they lit and the mouth fulls of food he snatched as he stirred up a pot of stew.  The relief on the faces of the others as they trooped in did the rest, and he turned to Sentinel to share his smugness at doing the right thing, only to find himself alone.

 

Almost immediately he was swept up in a swirl of people wanting to thank him for the food, and for the save at the mudslide.  Repeatedly, patiently, he tried to correct their misconception of his part in the day's events, but for some reason, no one *listened.*  Finally in frustration and indignation, he slipped away, making his way without conscious thought toward the tiny fire over-looking the camp. 

 

Tiredly he entered Sentinel's lookout, for once glad of Jim's obsession for being alone.  It was more of a lean-to than lodge really, since it was opened completely on one side but was sheltered on all other sides by the heavy boughs of a stand of fir trees.  That gave it privacy without impeding the view of the dwellings below, and for once Shaman was grateful to be hidden from curious eyes.  Too upset to sit, he unpacked completely for the first time in months, finding places for his few belongings without thinking.

 

Sentinel watched him from one corner, wrapped in a dry blanket apparently left in storage at this camp, and sipping at a cup of warm tea.  He seemed vaguely amused, though Shaman couldn't begin to guess by what.

 

At last he threw himself down on a pallet of dry grasses and straw, pulling off his damp clothes in increasing irritation.  "How can you stand being treated like that?" he blurted unthinkingly, giving up on untying a soggy lace on his boot and trying to kick it off.

 

Unexpectedly Sentinel came to sit in front of him, taking the offending leather in hand and working at the knot with clever fingers.  "They're right to mistrust me, my senses," he confessed, head down so his expression was hidden.

 

"Huh?" 

 

Easing off the boot, he said, "Others have died because of me, Blair.  They know that.  They don't blame me, but you can't blame them for not wanting to believe in my abilities."

 

"What happened?"  It was a very quiet question, large in the small space, but he couldn't have held it back even if it destroyed the rare moment of revelation.

 

Undoing the laces on the other shoe, Jim answered, "You know how young men can get restless, go scouting even when it isn't even strictly necessary?  Or even just wandering."

 

"The ones who never get cured of it become Bards or Scholars, sometimes," he agreed blandly, hoping his partner would keep talking.

 

"Well, when that age hit me, I was at a Gather, and a bunch of us - eight in all - decided that maybe we should check out this unclaimed territory down C'fnia way, see if it could support a tribe.  We told ourselves that between the five tribes at the Gather, there were plenty young people, even a few who could have Names in another tribe, who might be interested in starting a new one."

 

"Let me guess," Blair said dryly.  "The Elders all thought it was a great idea."

 

Grinning, Jim looked up from the self-appointed task of drying his friend's feet with a scrap of hide.  "Good way to get a gang of restless teens out from under foot and out actually accomplishing something useful.  Made us all feel very grown-up and responsible, too."

 

"Better than having all that excess energy in the camp to channel off," he agreed, drawing his now warm foot up under him to keep it that way.

 

Jim's momentary humor died, and he sat back on his heels looking into the past.  "I was so damned glad they asked me to go as Sentinel with them, so sure I'd find my guide on the way, that I actually did a pretty good job of it.  We made it all the way down to the remains of that huge bridge, the Gadengay?  Seemed like a good place to talk about turning back, most everybody was tired of roaming and thinking about their families and tribes.  But a couple of didn't want to, and I was pulled both ways, wanting to get back but not wanting to give up searching yet."

 

Taking a deep breath as if to fortify himself, he went on. "We decided to camp on a beach for a couple of days, talk it out, do whatever the majority wanted.  So we set up, feeling really smug about such a levelheaded decision.  Then this storm hit, like nothing I'd ever heard of or seen in my life.  I swear, I swear to you, Blair, that the wind could have picked up Simon and tossed him like he was an infant.  We were above the tide, we thought we were, *I* thought we were, I could see the traces of how high it came in, even in bad weather."

 

Pausing, teeth clenched so tightly for a minute that it had to hurt, Jim made himself go on after a moment.  "But we weren't, and the waves got us, so high, so powerful.... I have no idea how I survived, and I never found any trace of the others.  If they made it, they never went back to their Tribes."

 

"My God," Blair whispered, aching for the man in front of him whose face showed self-loathing.  And whose posture suggested that he expected more hatred to be directed at him.  Trying to speak with the compassion in his heart showing in his voice, he asked, "How did you make it?"

 

He must have been successful; Jim visibly relaxed which only let his grief shine more clearly.  "Another Tribe - the Totec - found me, though I don't remember them doing it.  Or much of anything from that time."

 

"You stayed with them for a while?"

 

"They were good people, Blair.  Their ways were different from what I knew, but they accepted me.  Their Shaman, Incacha, became my friend and Teacher."  His words became so soft that they could hardly be heard, as though he didn't want to admit more but felt compelled to do so.  "He wanted to be my Guide."

 

That startled Blair and he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Your Guide? What happened to him?  Why isn't he with you now?"

 

In a heartbeat Jim vanished, leaving behind the remote, silent Sentinel he remembered from the Gather.  Never the less, he answered coldly, "Incacha wanted what I couldn't give him.  So I moved from Tribe to Tribe until I came back home."  Moving away, he shut off the conversation, daring Blair with the wide barrier of his shoulders to say another word about the past.

 

Resisting the urge to smack himself in the head Blair put up with the dismissal, but only for as long as it took him to shrug into a dry, warm chamois tunic.  "Will you be hunting tomorrow or helping with repairs to the camp?" he asked easily, taking out a comb to tame his hair a bit.

 

Sentinel answered distantly, "Whatever's needed."

 

"Is there a set routine for you when you're at Camp?"  Question by casual question, Blair learned what would be expected of him over the next few days, and by the same process thawed his friend.  Before long they were back to their normal teasing and banter, and it let him feel as though he hadn't bungled too badly.  Yawning, he rolled himself into his blanket, wondering how long it would take for him to regain Jim's confidences. 

 

To his surprise and hidden pleasure, Jim bedded down immediately behind him, murmuring, "If you keep to the inside, you'll stay warmer, and I won't wake you when I get up for my first patrol."

 

"Sounds good.  Sure you don't want me running that with you?" Blair offered like always.

 

"By the time you're awake enough to be any good, I would have been able to run two circuits," Jim said dryly.  "Sleep, Blair."  He lightly tapped the top of the curly head.  "This can't run at top speed *constantly.*"

 

With a chuckle Blair settled down to sleep, only to jolt wide-awake minutes later when a powerful arm dropped over his waist, pulling him close to the hard body behind him.  Eyes wide, barely able to breathe, he waited for Jim's next move, only to bite back disappointment and confusion when he heard the deep, even breaths of a man sound asleep.  He didn't move away, though, and after a while he drifted back into sleep.

 

It was a restless night for him, which Jim slept through apparently undisturbed, but even when he spent the next day yawning and struggling to stay moving, he didn't care.  Sound asleep Jim cuddled better than his stiff public persona would seem to indicate, and to Blair, the intimacy could only mean that he had finally earned a measure of his friend's trust.  It was an auspicious way to start their lives in the camp.

 

****

 

From Tribe to Tribe, from one side of the continent to the other, Shaman had discovered at an early age life varied very little: hunt and gather, preserve and store, create and build, teach and love the next generation.  It was only the details that varied, and he had always found that endlessly fascinating.  People, like their lives, were basically the same too, but the many combinations of how and where and when would never cease to amaze him, even as the hidden commonality allowed him make a place for himself with little trouble.

 

Usually he stayed back, watched for what needed to be done, and then did it.  This time it was even easier, since all he had to do was follow Sentinel around.  There was very little the big man didn't do for his tribe, and most of it was so unobtrusive that the average person would say that Sentinel spent his day doing only hunting and patrolling.

 

By far Shaman's favorite duty was assisting Huma the Healer and Sentinel in the minor medical duties.  An infected scrape here, a toothache there, tending to Tarey  - it was never anything particularly serious and usually easily treated.  Part of his enjoyment in that particular service came from being able to contribute.  Huma knew more about the local herbs, but he had a wider variety of applications for them.  He learned a great deal from the ancient Healer, and she seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in his endless questions.

 

But the vast part of his satisfaction came from watching Sentinel use his senses so delicately and precisely.  It was hard, often leaving his companion white-faced and gruff with exhaustion, but as Shaman learned how to help him focus, it became easier.  Sentinel also became amazingly accurate and discerning.  He not only caught by scent a pregnancy the day after conception, according to the Mother's information, but as the weeks progressed, he monitored the changes in her womb as the embryo grew.  The first time he heard the soft 'whoosh' of its heartbeat, his face lit up and the Mother threw her arms around him, weeping in joy.

 

That night as they lay curled around each other, he teased Jim about his potential success in bedding the woman.  As he had more and more often lately, Jim teased back, telling Blair that he was depending on him to provide him with plenty of candidates for the honor.  They both laughed, but long after Jim had dropped off, Blair wondered if his companion would really take the young woman up on her offer.  As far as he knew, Jim had no lovers at all among the Tribe members, and discrete questioning made it seem likely - if startling - that he never had.

 

Of all the confusing things he knew or suspected of his enigmatic partner that was the one that Blair turned over and over in his mind compulsively.  There was something important about it, something that was key to understanding his friend, but all that he could make of it was that it *was* important.

 

Wisely he held his tongue on the matter.  He was seriously addicted to sleeping wrapped up in those warm arms, and he even relished the occasion frustration that came from waking up aroused and hungry for the wonderful form so close to him.  There was no doubt in his mind that he would end up sleeping elsewhere if he so much as smiled about the hard-on Jim often woke up sporting or mentioned his own.  And Blair couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen if he were foolish enough to suggest having sex.

 

As content as he was, the nightmare came as an unpleasant shock. 

 

It started as a normal dream, one that incorporated all the events of the day and rearranged them into preposterous sequences.  But as he slogged through trying to stack some baskets that kept falling and changing sizes, the ground under his feet became first soggy, then saturated, then flooded, not with water, but with blood.  It rose higher and higher, and for all his splashing and kicking, he couldn't swim or float in it.  It crept over his knees, his chest, his chin and then he was drowning in the fetid liquid.  Unable to breathe, choking, he fought for air, fought against the sticky stuff, but could feel his body begin to fail.  Panicked, heart pounding, he tried to call for help, but only choked on the blood killing him. 

 

A hand clasped his and a voice murmured in his ear, "Breathe, Blair, breathe.  Shake off the dream, open your eyes, see the reality.  Breathe!"  Jim's voice was hard with command, and he obeyed automatically, eyelids flicking up to find his companion leaning over him.

 

"Dream?" he murmured shakily.  "More of a nightmare."

 

"Want to talk about it, or will the darkness make it too real to let go?"  Jim lay back down, tucking blankets around them both, but sounding awake enough to listen if that was what his partner wanted.

 

Blair didn't want.  He wanted to dig his nose into the wide chest to fill his mind with the other man's scent, wanted to chase away the images of the dream with the physical essence of the guardian he trusted so much.  Muttering something deliberately vague, he burrowed into Jim's warmth and determinedly headed for sleep, pushing away his nightmare.

 

It came back the next night, and the next, always using the same pattern: first an average dream, then the rising tide of blood drowning him.  Then he woke from it twice the same evening, sitting bolt upright the second time, nearly hyperventilating before he convinced himself that his lungs were clear.  Like the other times, Jim was awake, trying to help, and he flopped back into his companion's arms, grateful for the support.  "Sorry, Jim, so damned sorry."

 

"Don't worry about it."  He combed a few tangled curls to one side, then laid his fingers on Blair's pulse in his throat.  "Are they getting worse?"

 

"No, not really.  Just...wearing... when it's night after night like this."

 

Head tilted to one side, Jim asked, "Are nightmares contagious?"

 

Looking toward the lodges he couldn't see, Blair asked back, "Someone else is having one?"

 

"Several someones so far.  I heard others last night, too."

 

"Odd," Blair muttered, exhausted, but was asleep again before he could think about it farther.

 

The next day nightmares were the topic of conversation around the fires - a furtive, embarrassed one that was whispered or murmured in the background.  Within a few days the entire tribe was wobbling back and forth between fear and surliness from the fatigue of broken rest.  Bruised shadows appeared under Sentinel's eyes as his was constantly disturbed by terrified out-cries and his own bad dreams which he denied as long as he could.

 

Resigned, Shaman committed himself to the inevitable, and approached the Elders as they finished their morning meal in the common lodge.  More assured than he felt, he said calmly when the topic of the night's bad sleep came up, "With so many dreaming of blood and death, it might be a good idea for me to see if I can discover why." 

 

"You can do that?'' Nanny asked skeptically.

 

"There's a technique called a Dream Quest, or maybe you've heard of it as a Vision Search, that can help in cases like this," Shaman answered, ignoring the stiffening of Sentinel beside him.

 

"Mystical mumbo jumbo for the weak-minded or mentally ill," the Cap'n said scornfully.  "Things like this happen.  One person has a bad dream because of poorly preserved food or a guilty conscience, builds it up to something menacing to an audience, scares them into their own nightmares.  It's like gossip - a topic of conversation for the fire that gets larger as its retold."

 

"Then a Dream Quest is like starting an opposing rumor to counter a vicious one," Shaman said blandly, staying in his position, sitting cross-legged by the fire.  He wanted to be up and pacing, arguing passionately, but was too damned tired.  Too damned tired for this useless debate, as well.  It wasn't as if he needed their permission, but the results would be more welcome if he had it.

 

"Giving these dreams serious consideration is begging to make an epidemic of them," Huma said consideringly.

 

"It's about that, already," Shaman pointed out.  "I know for a fact everyone here has had at least one, and if the most stable and level-headed among us is troubled, there may well *be* something to be troubled about."

 

That garnered him a reluctant murmur of agreement from those gathered.

 

"And you think that if you force yourself to have one of those nightmares on purpose, you'll be able to find the cause," the Cap'n said.

 

"It's a possibility.  Look, since I've been having the dreams as well, it’s very likely that I already know what's wrong, but it's being concealed by the day-to-day demands of life.  The Quest will let me focus, pinpoint what I should be seeing before my own emotions startle me awake."  Wearily Shaman stood, taking his dish with him, to wash.  "What can it hurt, really?"

 

"Maybe if you're discrete," Huma spoke uncertainly, apparently voicing the opinions of the others.  "There's no reason anyone has to know how you came by the solution if you find one, and if you fail, no one will be disappointed."

 

"Since I need to be undisturbed while I try," Shaman agreed, "that would be no problem for me.  I'll be away for about three days, but not so far I can't be found if you need me for some reason."  With that he left, already preoccupied with the needs for the ritual.

 

For all his confidence in front of the Elders, he was quaking inside.  Dream Quests were dangerous, especially without a trained helper on hand.  It was too easy to succumb to the lures of the mind, becoming trapped there, and he dreaded the physical debilitation that was the unavoidable aftermath.

 

Despite his doubts and worries, he quickly put together what he needed and set off for the quiet, isolated spot that he used for his meditations.  Blair was so consumed with both the necessity and fear of what he was going to do, he was almost to his retreat before he realized that Sentinel was silently following him, practically at his elbow.  Stopping nearly mid-step, he stared at his partner, not sure what to say, but immensely relieved to see him there.

 

"Incacha taught me how to monitor," Jim said uncertainly.

 

"Oh."  Pushing away a totally unexpected blast of jealousy, Blair asked, "You don't mind?  It's tedious to say the least."

 

"It's dangerous," Jim answered quietly.  He held up a hand to stop the protest already forming on Blair's lips.  "I'm not going to try to talk you out of it.  You made your argument already."  Obviously not sure whether or not to continue, he hesitated, then added, "I do wish you had told me what you were planning."

 

Blair didn't know how to react to that, and with so much on his mind already, he pushed the gentle rebuke away.  "I guess I'm just used to taking care of myself."

 

"Would you rather..."

 

"No, no," he interrupted Jim hastily.  "Please, I really do appreciate the help."  With a sharp bark of not-quite laughter, he said, "Stupid I'm not.  If you've been trained you know that a quest has a much better chance of working if I'm with someone I trust."

 

Jim didn't seem to notice the compliment; he nodded and asked, "Is the place you're going to roomy or are we going to have to find padding?"

 

"I don't thrash much," Blair replied, leading the way.  "And you wouldn't have to worry about it in any event.  It's a bower made by a small stand of trees that partially toppled onto each other so that the branches make a little green, leafy cave.  The covering is dense enough that only a heavy rain gets through, and I've draped some hides in one place for when that happens.  Not much potential for self-injury."

 

Surprisingly, Jim said, "I know the spot.  Those trees have been growing half-rooted like that for three or four cycles now.  Sun's warm today and the stream is close enough that the breeze from it will hold down the worst of the bugs."  The matter of fact tone was calming, as was his implied knowledge of the kind of physical comfort and security that was necessary.

 

"It's the sort of hidey-hole that usually becomes a play place for children, " Blair said, trying to keep the talk going for just that reason.

 

"Or a love-nest," Jim grinned at him, and he grinned back, a bit shakily.  "Yeah, most of the tribe probably knows about it, but there's a kind of unspoken tradition among us about private places.  Who ever gets to them first gets to claim them for the duration of a stay at a camp.  To be truthful there's not much competition for them - a long walk alone is usually all it takes for most people."

 

"Lots of tribes just share them and have some kind of signal to tell when it's in use.  And some don't think it's healthy to need or want to be alone and discourage it by destroying private spots.  And *some* won't allow it at all unless a Healer or Shaman says it's necessary.  And still others," Blair babbled nervously, bending low to get past the first bent tree trunk, "think it's unhealthy *not* to want to be alone regularly." 

 

Knee walking, he went past the second, falling silent as the moment to begin was on him.  Stomach tight with anticipation, he set out the few things he'd brought and pulled out the soft furs he'd left behind to sit on when meditating.  Behind him he could hear Jim enter, then arrange a place for himself.  "Firepot?" he asked.

 

"No, better not chance it here.  Though I don't usually get too physical, you can't always predict the effects of the drugs."

 

"Have you done this a lot?" 

 

The question sounded casual, but Blair knew that it wasn't and was honest because of it.  "Only my second time."

 

A soothing palm came to rest in the small of his back.  "You can do this.  Like you told the others, you probably already know the answer - you just need to focus."  Leaning forward, Jim whispered directly into his ear, "I'll protect you, I swear."

 

Swallowing hard, Blair relaxed fractionally.  In reality, if the Dream Quest did go wrong, there was very little his companion could do about it.  But just knowing that Jim was willing to make that kind of promise undid major knots along his spine, and the hand there rubbed gently up and down.  He put his breathing into the unconscious rhythm of that touch, his mind flowing naturally into the right state for what was to come.

 

"Thanks," he said finally, a blush of reluctance to end the massage coloring his new serenity.  "I need to cleanse myself.  Will you finish making up my pallet for me?  It needs to be comfortable enough for me to lay on a long time."  He managed a smile.  "I figure if you like it, it'll be a feather bed for me."

 

Handing him a water skin, Jim said, "You'll need lots of fluids.  Better fill this."

 

Again that tiny reminder that he was in good hands was exactly what Blair needed, and another layer of peace enfolded him.  Willingly he submerged himself in the demands of the ritual, and was totally immersed in it by the time he returned from the stream clean inside and out.

 

Without acknowledging his guardian, without *needing* to do so (which lit a joy deep, deep inside him which he cherished but set aside for later consideration) he mixed the proper herbs with painstaking caution.  That done, Blair drank down the noxious brew, gagging on it once, then laid down. 

 

Jim took his wrist, poising elegant fingers on the pulse point.  "How do I call you back if you go too deep?"

 

"My mother's name is Nomi.  Tell me that she needs me, right now!  Don't yell, just be very insistent."

 

"Nomi, no yelling," Jim repeated, then brushed away a damp curl from Blair's forehead.  "Sleep, Shaman.  I guard."

 

It wasn't hard for him to obey, even without Jim holding him the way he usually did at bedtime.  But his partner was near, and Blair had had too many nights of ragged sleep.  He nodded off almost instantly.

 

This time when he began to dream, he knew immediately *that* he dreamed, and split in two.  One part, Blair, went through the motions of the dream; the other, Shaman coldly, watched from a distance.

 

***With a Tribe made of people from all the tribes he'd met, Blair walked alongside the ocean as the sun set, digging deep footprints into the sand; so deep that they filled with water as he left them.  It was a good day to be at the shore: a cool breeze, warm sunshine, dolphins playing in the surf at his left.  Around him the children were laughing, Elders were talking nostalgically of other times, and young people were flirting.

 

A good day, indeed, and he was happy and content to be where he was and what he doing. 

 

When the cold prickles of alarm danced over his skin, he could hardly believe it, and glanced around uneasily, trying to find the source.  In the dunes to his right he could see a huge black cat, pacing the tribe and watching them warily.  Blair didn't fear it; the blue eyes that met his were too dear and familiar for him to know anything but joyous welcome for the beast.  And he'd seen it too many times, crouching on the small Name bead on Sentinel's chane, not to recognize it in its true form.

 

It seemed concerned as well, however; its tail was lashing from side and side and the ears were laid flat against the broad skull.  Its worry increased his own, and Blair stopped were he stood, studying his surroundings closely.  As he turned he could sense that whatever was wrong, it was coming from the sea.

 

Hand to his forehead to shade his vision, he peered painfully at the huge red globe balancing on the rim of the world, dread rising sickly inside him.  The surface of the water had become flat, motionless in blatant defiance of the laws of nature, and it was the color of blood.

 

Dread turned to terror, and Blair backed up first one step, then another, throat working to call out a warning to the others.

 

No sound came out, and they went on their way, oblivious to the hideous transformation going on next to them.  The ocean rose slowly, silently lapping around their ankles, dipping them in gore.  Yet no one noticed, of it they did, cared.

 

With the need to warn them screeching in his mind, Blair fought to produce a shout, a scream, *anything* to send them away from their danger.  But he couldn't so much as squeak, and when he tried to run to them, to point to what they should see on their own, he couldn't move.  Locked within his own body, all he could do was watch everyone walk with their doom.

 

When they were gone from his sight, hidden by the glare off the dying sun, he was freed from his paralysis, not that it did him any good.  Thick, fetid liquid held him mercilessly, absorbing his attempt to run or swim or move at all without any noticeable effect.  Slowly it covered him, forcing him to arch his back and stand tiptoe to keep his mouth and nose above the loathsome flood.  Death and panic were so close to him that he could feel their icy touch through the suffocating heat of the blood drowning him.

 

By chance his eyes found the panther's again - and his own terror was temporarily forgotten at the agony and destroying grief there.  "Jim, oh, Jim," he moaned sorrowfully, and then the animal was lost to him as it roared and thrashed into the blood tide, trying to reach his side.***

 

The Shaman that stood apart, unfeeling at the drama being played out in front of him,  murmured to himself, "Death is coming from the west, from across the ocean.  Not just for Freedom tribe, but for all the tribes.  It can be stopped, or so many wouldn't be dreaming about it.  But what?  What can I do to stop an unknown enemy?"

 

"How was this dream different from the others you've had or listened to lately?" asked a rich, warm voice as well known to him as the blue of the sky overhead.

 

Turning, he came face to face with... himself and Sentinel.  But not really.  There were differences, differences that went beyond the old-fashioned manufactured clothes they wore or the subtle aura of power that shimmered around them.  It could have been the difference in age; this Sentinel and Shaman both appeared to be about a decade older and had a wisdom in their eyes that comes from years and painful experience.  Or it could have been the way they stood in relation to each other, as if both bodies were in reality one body, one will, one life.

 

Instinctively he knew that they were First Sentinel and First Shaman, and he unconsciously drew himself up straight and tall, chin lifted proudly.  Awe broke through the detachment he had created for his Vision, but he made himself answer steadily, "There was a spirit animal with me, this time.  But he couldn't help." 

 

"Why?" First Shaman asked.

 

Blair's frowned, recalling the panther's furtive presence in the dunes, and answered, "Because he couldn't come to us; couldn't cross the sands.  The Tribe would have been afraid of him and tried to drive him off."

 

"And if he had crossed, he wouldn't have seen the danger," First Sentinel pointed out.  "He would have been caught in the same trap you were.  Why were *you* trapped?"

 

Uncertain, hesitant, Blair replied, "Because I was with the tribe.  But that's where I belong, isn't it?"

 

"Is it?" First Shaman retorted instantly.

 

Thinking furiously, Blair said slowly, "I could have crossed the sands, been with the Panther when the danger first appeared.  The others wouldn't have been frightened when I came back to warn them.  They would have listened to me."

 

"Why weren't you with the Panther, then?" both spirits said together, their voices becoming indistinct and distant.

 

"I...I...."  The emotion he'd felt when he'd noticed the animal guide renewed itself, and he examined it carefully, recognizing it for an echo of the sweet longing he'd felt the first time Jim had kissed him.  Why hadn't he pursued when his companion had retreated?  Why had he never *asked* Jim why he wasn't interested in being lovers?  "I didn't know I could cross the sands," he said finally.  "Or even if the panther would have let me."

 

"Do you want to?"  It was a barely heard whisper.

 

Fear and longing, hurt and desire, made up Blair's answer, and he swayed slightly at its impact.  "I don't know," he gasped.  "I don't know!"  Horror blurred his sight, and it became hard for him to breathe.  Dimly he could feel the smothering embrace of the blood tide, and knew he was returning fully to his nightmare.  "Tell me," he begged quickly, before his guides were completely gone.  "What do I do?"

 

"Love him, if you can," he heard sighed just before foul liquid crept into his nostrils, flooding his throat.  "Love him," whispered in his mind, as his chest burned from the need for air.  Blackness reached for him, an embrace from death that he fought with all his will, and the chant, "Love him, love him, love him," was a ledge that he clung to during the battle.

 

Then blessed coolness flowed into his mouth, scented and flavored with Jim's presence, countering the fire in his lungs.  A strong push on his ribs brought that breath out, then he was filled again, the freshness of the air given to him seeping into his body.  Twice more the sentinel breathed for him, then a twisted cramp in his side made Blair gag, and his chest lifted on its own and went about the business of sustaining his life.

 

Either mis-reading that, or not trusting it to continue without help, Jim returned his mouth to Blair's, and without ever truly deciding to do so, the smaller man gentled the touch into a kiss.  For all the tenderness in it, weeks and months of denied desire gave it a power that would have terrified Blair if it had been any other person holding him.  If he hadn't already known a far more mortal terror mere minutes ago.

 

Desperate for the promise of *life* in his companion, Blair slipped his tongue over Jim's lips, tentatively caressing them, asking permission to do more.  The other man froze in place, becoming for a moment the one who couldn't breathe, then he groaned and shifted to lie on top of Blair, matching groin to groin.

 

"Yes," Blair whispered.  //Yes, love him,// he thought.  "Too much death; remind me of life, Jim.  Please? Make me feel alive? Please?"

 

Long, strong fingers dug into his hair on either side of his head, and Jim kissed him deeply, giving him another kind of sustenance than the one he'd bestowed earlier.  Too weak to move, even to hold Jim in return, Blair simply let it seep through him, becoming hyper-aware of every inch of his mouth, of his skin, of the man laying on him.  It took long, long minutes for his erection to firm up, much longer than it took Jim, but that didn't seem to matter to his lover.  He stroked his own over Blair's, lightly, teasingly, then with growing urgency.

 

With a guttural cry, Jim turned his head to one side, but only to begin a journey down a strong jaw line toward the thrumming hard-on waiting for him.  Blair couldn't help the tiny whimpers that escaped when those sensitive lips moved, submitting willingly to the loving attention being bestowed on him.  Shivers of white-hot pleasure rippled over him with every nibble, every lick, every kiss.

 

Jim didn't linger, except to lave his nipples into diamond hard pebbles that ached and yearned for more even as he longed to have the same done to his rampant need.  When Jim reached that, he hesitated a moment, long enough for Blair to worry that he'd had a change of heart.  Then his new lover took his shaft in one calloused palm and licked delicately at the crown.

 

He made a sound deep within himself that jarred Blair, but before his dazed mind could do more than register it, the whole head of his cock was sucked into a moist, wet heat.  A shout came out only as a frail gasp as Blair tried futilely to summon enough energy to take the hot mouth, and he was lost to the clumsy pleasuring given him.

 

More quickly than he would have wanted in another time and place, but perfect for this one, Blair climaxed, sending his seed in powerful jets into his lover.  Jim swallowed avidly, hungry noises rumbling through him as he drank.  With a last lick, he released Blair's manhood, and reached for his own with a hand still wet from what he'd been doing.

 

Blair watched from under lowered lashes for several strokes, then said huskily, "Jim?"  Passion hazed eyes flew up to meet his, and he licked at his lips, once, his invitation clear in both gesture and gaze. 

 

Awkwardly Jim scrambled up to lean over him, and he gingerly pushed his hard-on into his lover's mouth.  From somewhere Blair found the strength to close over it tightly, tongue teasing the ridge just under the head.

 

"Oh...oh...Blair!"  With no more than that, Jim finished, body convulsing as his bitter fluid filled the waiting throat.  Like his lover, Blair gulped it down eagerly, determined not to let a drop elude him.  When there was only softening flesh for him to nurse, he unwillingly released it and succumbed to the exhaustion dragging him toward rest.

 

From a great distance he felt Jim's weight cover him, pinning him to the solid earth, and he murmured, "Yes, yes," as he lost consciousness.

 

Every time he found his way back from the meaningless void, Jim was there tending to him, apparently not bothered in the least by dealing with his body's messy functions.  A strong arm held him while gentle hands fed him water or soup, or cleaned him intimately when necessary, all without grimace or complaint.  In fact, it seemed to Blair that he was more troubled from being taken care of so thoroughly than his partner was by doing it.  But he was too weak to protest, let alone do it himself, and after a while he came to accept it without too much guilt.

 

Because of Jim's aid, or perhaps because he was able to rest more deeply under the sentinel's finely discerning perceptions, Blair recovered more quickly than he expected.  Only a day after he'd Dreamed, they left their refuge to return to the camp, to tell the Elders what they had learned.  And to begin their trek to the sea.

 

***

 

Ten days later, more tired of traveling than he had ever thought he could be, Blair stood on a bluff looking toward the west, and saw in the far distance the Cific Ocean for the first time.  There was no echo of the dreams that had driven him and Jim into making this arduous journey at the sight, nor any surcease from the urgency that had ridden them ever harder as they did.  For all the difference it made to that nagging feeling, it could have been any body of water, fresh or briny, that he studied, hoping for some hint as to why he was compelled to find it.

 

Wearily, resigned, he turned back to the small cooking fire, salivating at the sight of the rabbit spitted over it.  They had made their trip almost inhumanly fast, owing in part to the lack of supplies they carried, subsisting on what they could hunt or find literally on the run.  Fortunately, sentinel gifts made that very easy, and they ate well on the winter-fattened animals they brought down hardly without pausing.  That nourishment kept their strength up, despite the few hours of sleep and the outrageous demands they were putting on their bodies.

 

Squatting down, he tore a haunch off the roast, and mumbled around a mouth full, "Jim, do we go on?"

 

He could see the effort it took for his partner to find words to answer.  As they had covered mile after mile, the sentinel part of Jim had gained stronger and stronger control of him, making Blair eternally glad that Simon hadn't been able to spare any one else.  No one from the tribe would have ever understood what was happening.  Just like in his dream; they would be terrified of the change in their gentle guardian, seeing only the panther and not the man underneath.  Even he had his own primal shivers at the sight of the human animal sniffing the air and studying the sky.

 

"Good moon, no rain," Sentinel said finally.  "Yes."

 

Without meaning to, Blair sagged.  He was so tired!  A tentative hand on his forearm raised his eyes from the ground, and he tried to smile at the concern in his companion's eyes.

 

"Just for a few hours," Jim promised him.  "We're a half-day's normal travel from the Elson hold, and we need to stop there to question the Holder and his clan on anything unusual that might have happened or they might have noticed.  It's a prosperous hold - warm and comfortable.  What would you say to a hot bath and feather bed?"

 

Tearing off a huge mouthful, Blair answered indistinctly, "How far d'you say?"

 

Bringing his share with him, Jim laughed and crossed to sit behind Blair, offering his body for support and warmth.  He took it gratefully.  Though they'd not been intimate again, Jim was generous with physical demonstrations of affection, making their hardships that much easier for Blair to endure.  In return he did what he could to lighten Jim's load, even if it was only by not complaining.  Wiggling backward to make a better fit, he started to ask, "Do you...."

 

A sudden battle readiness permeated the hardened form of his partner, and he scrambled to his feet, instinctively snatching up his bowie knife.  The tilt of the sentinel's head told him that Jim was listening, and he massaged a tense shoulder for a focus if needed.  "Gunshots," Jim said shortly.  After a pause he added with a trace of confusion in his voice, "Automatic fire?"

 

"Couldn't be hunters, could it?"

 

"No, too many of them? Too many shots?"  Sentinel bent and hastily put out the fire.  "It's coming from the direction of Elson Hold."

 

Copping a last bite and leaving the rest for whatever lucky scavengers would find it, Shaman followed his companion as he started in the direction of the hold.  With a hand hooked over the back of Jim's knife belt, he ran lightly, feet landing in the same place his companion's had just vacated as he had learned to do.  Letting sentinel sight guide them both, he fell into the ground-eating lope they had perfected over the days of their journey; a gait they could maintain until hunger made them stop.  It seemed to Blair that the land itself dipped and flowed with them, accommodating their passage, tolerant and acceptant of their trespassing.

 

Time became only the next heartbeat, the next carefully measured breath.  It seemed fleeting moments ago they had abandoned their dinner when Sentinel half-stumbled, caught himself, and went on as if nothing happened.  "Blood scent - Human blood," he gasped in explanation.

 

Sentinel's lurch had warned him; Shaman gagged in sympathy but never lost his place.  "How close?"

 

"Far away...but lots...lots of it." was the grim answer.  Night cradled them for an eternal moment, then Jim added.  "Smoke from weapons fire, and...wood burning...dwellings maybe, very strong.  Machine smells too- oil, hot metal, synthetics."

 

"Ravagers," Shaman whispered.  It was possible, however unlikely.  There were always those scraps of humanity, exiled or on the run from Tribe or Hold, who rampaged their way through life, thieving and murdering to survive.  Rarely, very rarely now, would such a group organize.  Rarely still would they stumble upon a cache of weapons, leftovers from before the Chaos.

 

A grunt was his answer, but he could tell Sentinel was combing through his senses for more clues.  "Man scent," he rumbled after a while.  "Different, but I can't explain how.  Just is.  Normal man scent, too but that is..."  For a moment Shaman wished desperately he was in a position to see his companion's face, he sounded so odd.  Then Sentinel said woodenly, "Death is covering it, and the odd one is fading, as if moving away.  Same with the machine smells.  No more gun shots, either."

 

Without explaining Sentinel picked up his speed until they were flat out running, the ground blurring by them.  Just when he thought his lungs would burst from it, they began to slow, but only so that Sentinel could scramble up a tall tree.  Without missing a step, Shaman followed, glad for something to do besides wear out his legs.

 

Near the top he found a perch just below his partner and looked out over the valley that stretched out toward the ocean.  A three-quarters moon rising just above the horizon turned the river into a silver ribbon threaded through a tumble of mountains and meadows, and Shaman could just make out the squared off shadow of the hold itself.

 

A mist rose from that artificial block imposed on the valley; the smoke Sentinel had sensed earlier.  It was lit from underneath by the red-orange glow of the fire creating it, and by both the color and density of the smoke, it was plain that it wasn't being caused by ordinary cooking flames.  "Movement?" he asked softly, not wanting to overburden ears that were probably open to their widest.

 

"No. Voices though, in the far distance."  Sentinel closed his eyes, sagging against the trunk of the tree.  "Blair...they're not in a language I've ever heard before.  Have you ever heard of Ravagers that don't speak Elish or Spa'ish?" 

 

"No, but I've known Tribes that don't use either of those.  Can you imitate a word or two for me?"

 

"I know all the tribes in this area.  None of them would do this, even if they had an argument with the Elson hold," Jim snapped.

 

Dismissing his ire as fatigue and frustration, Blair said, "Ravagers can come from any Tribe, you know that!  If I can identify the language, we can trace their origin, maybe track them back to their base!  Now, focus on one of them; repeat something!"

 

The muscle was jumping in his jaw, but Jim uttered several harsh, guttural sounds that weren't similar to any tongue Blair had ever heard.  "You said it was fading? What direction?"

 

"To the west."

 

Bouncing his head on the thigh just above him, Blair murmured, "We know from books at Shelters that there are people on the other side of the Cific: Japanese or Chinese maybe."  He said the textbook words carefully, trying to pronounce them the way his ancestors would have.

 

"Ravagers from the other side of the world?"  Sentinel wound his fingers through the curls on the top of Blair's head, the light touch taking away any sting from the doubtful tone.

 

"It was a near thing for the Tribes on this side, Jim," he pointed out.  "They succeeded mostly because of the sheer size of this continent, and the amount of wilderness and near wilderness left; enough to survive on and hide in during the Chaos.  If memory serves me right, Japan was only a bunch of small islands, and China's ecology had all but shattered under the weight of massive overpopulation."

 

"After eleven generations," Jim said thoughtfully, "Any Ravagers that made it this far would probably be in desperate need of new resources."

 

The cold terror from his nightmare revisited Blair, and he said dully, "War.  They've brought war back to our lands."

 

A sway in the branches told him Jim was moving, then warm hands cupped his face.  "Not yet," he said insistently.  "They couldn't have known what they would find on this side of the Cific.  This has to be just a recon, a scouting party."

 

Blair opened eyes he didn't remember closing, and once again leaned into the support being offered him.  "Which means we're not helpless; we can stop them here and now."  In sudden decision he dropped a kiss into each palm holding him, then scooted away.  "Come on.  We need to get to the Hold and help as much as we can; learn what we can so we can make plans."

 

Sentinel climbed down after him, and they resumed their run, not even pausing when the gate to the hold loomed ahead of them.  A quick glance at his companion's stony features prevented Shaman from asking why they weren't approaching more cautiously.  Either by scent or sound, Sentinel had to have a good idea how many were left in the compound, and his haste told Shaman all he really needed to know.

 

Even with that warning, the sight on the other side of the shattered doors brought him to his knees, choking and gagging as he fought to keep his dinner down.  Bodies - men, women, and children, God! children! - lay everywhere.  More horrifying, none of them had died instantly or easily.  The women, especially, showed signs of vicious attack, their ripped and dishelved clothing telling the story of their rape in plain terms.  Some of the holder's had at least one body dressed in strange clothing nearby, and he felt a savage satisfaction that the slaughter hadn't been one-sided.

 

When he got his stomach under control, he stumbled to where Sentinel was attending to a badly bleeding man.  "Others?"

 

"Heartbeat over there."  He pointed to a small building close enough to the main house of the hold to be smoldering from the fire.  "If it's one of the Ravagers, stay back until I get there.  We have to try to question him."

 

Nodding his agreement, Shaman trotted toward the feet he could see at one edge, knife out just in case.  As he rounded the corner, he sheathed it, touched his chane and said, "Shaman of the Freedom Tribe."

 

The wild-eyed man lowered his cross bow, burbled an unintelligible word, then shoved his fist deep into the gaping hole in his middle.  While he screamed, Shaman fumbled at the medicine pouch on his belt, looking for herbs to ease the man's suffering.  "Hang on, hang on," he murmured.

 

"NO!" the holder said clearly.  "They took prisoners: two girls and a pregnant woman.  Fuckers killed rest, but for some reason took those.  Guess they liked the way they screamed when they forced them!"  Blood was streaming from the corner of his mouth, and all Shaman could do was push aside his emotions, holding the man's hand.

 

"We'll find them, and free them," he promised, voice rich with the power of a shaman, making it an oath that he would keep or die.  "One way or another, we'll free them."

 

A measure of peace crept into the holder's face, and he gave a feeble squeeze to the fingers in his.  "My...."  Coughing, he stopped speaking, tried again to form a word, then died.

 

Grimacing, Blair bent his head, an ancient song for safe-journeying flying through his thoughts, then sprang to his feet to return to his partner.  They met halfway across the courtyard, Jim shaking his head once.  No one left, then.  "Did you hear..." Blair started.

 

"Yes.  They're not that far ahead of us.  Can you run?"

 

"Try me."

 

Neither spared a glance at the corpses that needed burying or burning.  Time enough for that later.  For now, it was the living that demanded their attention, and they focused their will on precisely that.

 

Following the trail was child's play, even in the uncertain light provided by the moon.  The foreign Ravagers stomped arrogantly across the landscape, tearing a swath that showed up like a wound on the earth.  "15-20 of them," Sentinel muttered.  "Heavily loaded."  He bent and scooped up a metal casing.  "Heavily armed, too.  Gate was blasted open.  Explosives, maybe."

 

"They hit the food stores, but ... were selective," Shaman panted, pointing out an apple core as they passed it.  He then added, "Took freshest stores; left .... what would keep?"

 

"More waiting for them?" Sentinel agreed questioningly.  "Feast first, then come back ... take the rest?"  He flashed a completely feral grin.  "Won't make it back ... not if I have anything to say about it."

 

It wasn't a request for either permission or understanding; it was a fact.  Guardian defending his tribe, justice - no matter what other names it went by, in the end it all came down to doing what had to be done.  Though Shaman knew he could turn the deadly intent if he wished, he honestly believed instinct was right in this instance.  Like killing a rabid animal to prevent the spread of the disease, they had to stop the Ravagers, here, now.  If they returned to their homeland with a tale of a land filled with helpless near-savages, more would return, and none would be safe from them again.  But if they *never* returned, if not a single survivor came back to tell what lay on the other side of the vast ocean, it was possible the Ravagers wouldn't waste whatever resources they had left on another attempt.

 

"Following... to home base?" he gasped finally.

 

"They travel at night?  Why?" Jim asked instead of replying.

 

"Base close?  Afraid of attack from Hold allies?"  Blair suggested breathlessly, not sure why the foreigners would leave the relative safety of the ravaged hold.

 

"Deadline?"

 

Shaking his head, Shaman made a gesture of brushing aside an obstacle in his path.  It didn't really matter why; if they could catch the war party before it reached the shore, the advantage would be theirs.  The strangers obviously knew nothing about the wilderness around them and how to deal with it.  That was going to be a fatal short-coming for them.

 

Abruptly Sentinel slowed and veered away from the track, arcing around to get alongside the Ravagers.  They traded speed for stealth but were still soon slinking along practically within arm's reach of the marching line of short, swarthy men with bushy beards, dressed in what could only be called uniforms.  They were indeed heavily burdened, both with weapons and with food, though the haste with which they were consuming the last made it doubtful it would be a problem for very long.  In the middle of the line, their three captives shuffled along, closely guarded and tied to each other by a rope around their necks.

 

One was a mature woman, holding her head high, lips a white line under her dishelved blonde hair.  The other two were little more than girls: the oldest appeared about 17, her brown eyes numb in a dark face, and she half-supported the last, a girl seemingly no more that 15, who shambled along with her chin on her chest, her features hidden by her wildly tangled sandy hair.  They carried more than they should have been burdened with, especially given the battering they all had obviously taken.

 

Shaman and Sentinel silently conferred, and when the moment was right, the guardian cooed like a dove, but ended it on a warble that no wild bird ever made.  Only the older woman reacted, and that was a mere twitch of her lips, and a cautious sidelong glance in the direction of the sound.  Barely nodding when she caught his eye, Shaman faded back into the depths of the forest, the whole incident un-noticed by the Ravagers.

 

The strangers were far too preoccupied with the other sounds and sights of the moon-changed forest.  A distant crash made several of them jump, and an owl flying low just in front of them startled most into raising their weapons.  Eyeing the night beyond the reach of their lanterns, they grumbled to each other in their gravely tongue, obviously not liking anything about their hike but unwilling to linger either.

 

"Afraid of the forest," Shaman murmured only for his partner's ear.

 

A tug told him that they were going to pick up the pace again, this time to pass the column. 

 

A hundred yard ahead, they found their first opportunity.  A chestnut tree, heavily laden with prickly nuts, stretched its branches over the trail blazed earlier by the strangers.  Climbing to the top of it, Shaman shook it hard to send the spiky shells down into the strangers, causing nothing but minor scratches and a huge scare.  Except to the two that Sentinel got with his blowgun.  In the confusion, the older woman plucked away the small darts and dropped them, so that when the men died a few minutes later, no cause could be found at all.

 

There was an excited babble, and one of the Ravagers punched the women, shouting unintelligible questions at them.  But their prisoner's bewilderment was too plain, and they soon gave up trying to learn anything from them.  The foreigners left their fallen comrades where they lay, tightened up their line, and resumed marching. 

 

Not too much farther down their trail, two stags crashed into them, kicking and goring with their antlers, half mad at the scare Sentinel put into them while they fought with each other over fertile females.  Three were wounded, and as Sentinel had thought would happen from the condition of the Ravager bodies at the compound, their commander shot the two unable to go on without help.  The third was staggering, hand over the newly empty eye socket, but somehow kept up with the others. 

 

By now the strangers were jabbering amongst themselves heatedly, not quite defying the leader who stubbornly led them deeper into the woods.  Hiding smirks, the older woman and the more alert of her charges huddled together, pretending enormous fear for their surroundings, themselves.  The dark-eyed girl had scooped up the knife Shaman had tossed to her feet, palming it so that the edge would be ready to sever the rope if the chance to run came.

 

With nerves so tight that a mouse would seem terrifying, the column crept along, everyone anxiously trying to develop eyes in back of their head.  When an inhuman wailing wafted like a wind through the shadows, fingers too close to triggers tightened - and another man died in the cross fire.  Clutching at each other and screaming in barely control hilarity that they made sound like terror, the two women aware of Sentinel's and Shaman's trick dragged the third to the ground.  When they were prodded into standing again, the tall woman had the fallen man's handgun hidden in her skirt.

 

Throwing away his improvised bull-roarer, Shaman raced to his companion, finding him by intuition and wood-sense, and watched as the leader shouted and gesticulated at his remaining five men.  When it was obvious that a full-blown mutiny was blossoming, and that the Ravagers were fully occupied by it, Sentinel materialized from the cloak of the night.  Firing two crossbow bolts, he threw his knife for the third kill, then was gone before the outlanders were even sure what direction he came from.

 

For a moment there was pointless gunfire, and the leader bellowed in an attempt to organize his men, but as he did, Shaman swooped by from over head, whooping wildly.  As a man the remaining Ravagers swung to fire at him, and then died by the hand of the women they had captured. 

 

A hushed calm covered the gory scene for a second, then Sentinel stepped cautiously into the lantern light, hands out where they could be seen.  "Sentinel of Freedom Tribe," he identified himself, lightly touching his chane.

 

"Caro Elson," the tall woman said numbly, dropping the gun she had used to kill the leader and lieutenant.  She gestured vaguely toward the other two women.  "Tees, and Marbeth is the babbling one." 

 

"Shaman of Freedom," Blair said, then knelt by Tees catching her hand mid-stroke, stopping the knife from plunging yet again into the corpse in front of her.  "Enough.  He'll never harm another and no one will remember his name."

 

Tees glared, but then dissolved into tears, huddling against Blair and shaking.  Knowing that human kindness was what she needed most, he held onto her, impersonally stroking her hair.  Caro gently removed the rope from around Marbeth's neck, crooning wordlessly, but the girl seemed completely oblivious.  After searching the bodies, Sentinel knelt by them, not close enough to be intimidating.  "Can you find your way back?" he asked softly.  "This was only a part of their force, and we need to find and destroy the rest."

 

"That's why they let us live," she said in bitter realization.  With a sharp nod at the spilled food, she went on, "More 'supplies' for their friends.  They didn't get to share in the joy of the slaughter, but that doesn't mean they have to miss out completely."

 

Moving slowly, Sentinel reached out to circle one of her wrists with long fingers.  "Caro - you did the right thing by not fighting.  The child you carry is the last of the Elson clan; he'll carry their names and blood so they won't be lost to memory."

 

She glared at him, then her face crumpled, and she hid it by bending until her hair shielded her.  "Oh, they killed all our babies, Sentinel.  All our sweet babies!"

 

Patiently he stayed beside her, patting her shoulder occasionally until she calmed.  With a sob she pushed him away.  "Moon's still high; I can get us home.  There's a shed just inside the walls where we isolate sick livestock for treatment.  We'll be there - come back to us, please, when it's finished so we'll know it's truly over."

 

"Done," Sentinel whispered, and fled her enormous sorrow, taking Shaman with him with a gentle pull.

 

In the end, finding the Ravager's ship was anti-climatic.  No effort had been made to cover the trail that led to it, and the only two guards on the ship were posted fore and aft.  Shaman and Sentinel didn't even need to plan.  They simply slipped past the sentries, ghosted to where sentinel hearing said one man - it had to be the Captain - slept by himself.  A silent knife thrust, a quick rifling for the handwritten logs Shaman was sure a sea captain would keep, then they dropped the explosives taken from the bodies in the forest down an exhaust vent that smelled strongly of gunpowder. 

 

The splash of their dive and fast swimming alerted the guards, and Sentinel was stung by two of the bullets that came their way before the explosions rocked the ship.  A slab of flying debris caught Shaman on the shoulders, and he floundered, swallowed more ocean water than he wanted, then got himself back under control.  Despite their injuries they made it to the shore quickly, and sat in the dunes until dawn, treating their wounds and scanning for survivors.

 

Leaning on each other, half-unconscious from exhaustion, pain, and the accumulated abuse to their bodies from the past few weeks, they trudged back toward what remained of Elson hold.  All they wanted was to find a place to curl up and sleep until the ache of it all was just a memory.  As if sensing that, Caro immediately led the way to old-fashioned mattress bed when they arrived, and left them alone.  They were out almost before they unfinished dressing.

 

Shaman woke once to sleepily gobble a cup of soup, then again when his bladder wouldn't let him ignore it any longer.  He assumed Sentinel was doing much the same during his own brief periods of wakefullness, but didn't give his partner any more concern than that.  Somehow he knew that if Jim needed him, he'd be awake.  It was that simple.

 

The next time hunger woke him, it was mid-morning to judge by the light, and he could smell the stench of a funeral pyre on Caro's clothing as she held out a tin mug of soup for him.  "I'm sorry," he murmured.  "We should have helped you with the bodies."

 

"No," she said shortly, then made an obvious effort to soften her tone.  "They were our family, Shaman.  It was fitting to see to it ourselves.  A way to grieve, if you will.  The old ways didn't seem...big enough, some how."

 

"I understand."  And he did.  How could any tradition or custom provide for a loss as huge as hers?  Creating one for herself and the others, however unintentional, had been the right thing.  "How are Tees and Marbeth?"

 

Caro sat back in her chair and brushed an untidy strand of hair away from red-rimmed eyes.  "Tees flip-flops back and forth between fury and despair, but she'll be all right in the long run, I think.  She was at festival for the first time last year, and was married for the first time this one; at least she had some idea of what to expect from a rutting man.  Or as much as any woman can imagine about rape."  Her voice became bitter with the last words, and she fell silent to deal with her own fury.

 

When she had, she went on, "Marbeth, though."  She sighed.  "Marbeth was born a little simple.  Not so much that she's a burden or danger, but enough that Wife decided she shouldn't ever marry.  All her life she's been kept in the Women's Quarters; all she knows about men is that they bring gifts at Festival and that other women live with them from time to time. 

 

"I think...." Caro paused, looking away and biting her lip., "I think that a damage may have been done to her mind.  All she does is sit and rock, mumbling to herself.  Won't even eat unless someone feeds her."

 

"What will you do with her?" Jim asked, sitting up next to Blair and with grave courtesy taking the cup she automatically handed to him. 

 

"I hadn't thought past building the pyre," she admitted tiredly.  "We've more than enough stores for the cold season, and this shelter is good enough to keep us warm through it.  But after that - I just don't know."

 

A knee bumped into Blair's thigh under the covers, and he caught a glance from Jim.  With an imperceptible-to-any-one-but-Jim nudge, he agreed with his partner's thought.  "Perhaps you could stay at Freedom Tribe's Shelter for a while; at least until the birth of your child.  We need to go there ourselves, to use the short-wave to warn other tribes about foreign Ravagers, and to see if we can translate the logbooks from the language dictionaries stored there.

 

"If you come with us, you could be safe and comfortable while you decide your future, and have a good midwife for your delivery."  He hesitated, then added honestly, "And if Marbeth's mind has been shattered, she would be well taken care of at our shelter.  The company of small children, the elderly and the Blessed would be much less threatening to her than the adults of a tribe and you would have help tending her."

 

Caro didn't say anything for a moment, then asked, "In exchange for?"

 

Before he could reply, Sentinel said, "Access to the beach at the far end of your lands for fishing and making salt.  Limited access.  How often and how long would have to be negotiated with our Elders." He used the same overly polite tone from before, as if addressing a holy man from an unknown tribe. 

 

Blair shifted uneasily, but Caro gave the first genuine smile he had seen from her, small though it was.  "That's why you were so close to our Hold."

 

With a brief smile of his own, as if being caught in an innocent subterfuge, Jim said, "Among other reasons."

 

Belatedly Blair remembered that Jim had been born to Elson hold, knew the customs and beliefs.  That was why he addressed Caro so formally. As oldest surviving female, she inherited the Hold and all its possessions, becoming in fact, Wife, even if there was no Holder to sit by her side.  Jim was simply giving her the respect she was due in her own home.

 

It also explained why his partner hadn't mentioned the nightmares or the Quest.  Since they were so isolated, Holds varied greatly in custom, while the Tribes intermingled to the point where it was only the small details that were different.  But to maintain independence in a world not designed for it took certain traits that could practically be counted on being found in any Holder.  Pride and determination foremost, but also frequently an irrational, almost violent hatred of anything that smacked of 'un-natural' or 'abnormal,' probably as a result of the dangerous in-breeding that could occur.

 

Mentioning a Vision Quest would probably have Caro questioning *their* sanity.

 

She stood, jolting Blair back to the conversation.  "Tomorrow morning, then," she agreed.  "It'll take us that long to prepare."  She smiled again in genuine warmth.  "Unlike *some* people, we aren't equipped to merely walk off at a moment's notice."

 

Handing her his empty cup, Jim said, "I'm afraid this time, neither are we.  Shaman needs more rest before he can travel again, and I did promise him a hot bath while we were here."

 

"To hell with rest," Blair jumped in.  "I'll go for that bath right now.  Need wood chopped?"

 

Wrinkling her nose daintily, Caro said, "Forgive me, but I do like your priorities here.  But it's going to take a while to get the bathhouse ready, and it'll be faster and easier if I do it myself.  And Shaman, it's definitely a case of mothers first.  I have *got* to get this stink off me."  Pulling at her blood-stained, smoky clothing she made a face of disgust.

 

Feeling mutinous, but sensible enough to admit that the past weeks had been hard on him, Blair scrunched back down under the blankets, trying for good grace.  He must not have succeeded completely; Jim laughed softly and snuggled down beside him.  "Rest, Blair, and dream of hot water!"

 

Almost against his will his eyelids drooped, and Blair squirmed into the comfortable warmth of his partner.  "With you beside me?  I don't *think* so!"  Jim's soft chuckle followed him into sleep.

 

Jerking awake an indefinite time later, a warning squeeze from the metal-hard arms around him told him to lay still and pretend to be asleep.  Cautiously, slowly, he peered through his eyelashes enough to see the room lit with the afternoon sun - and Marbeth crouching beside the bed.  Face contorted in rage, she had a knife in her hand, ready to stab with it, but she didn't move.  Instead some unknown emotion flickered and tumbled through her body, through her eyes. 

 

Wrapped as they were in the bedding, Jim couldn't reach her before she could strike, and Blair realized with a cold certainty that if she did, he would be rolled over to safety on the other side of the bed while her blade cut into Jim's precious flesh.   Unable to let that happen, he said softly, as if his partner still slept, "Not all men deserve to die, Marbeth.  We're not all alike."

 

Hissing a curse, she scuttled away, but when he gave no sign of pursuing her, she inched back, knife in front of her.  "Does he fuck you, Shaman?" she asked in a raw voice.  "Does he stick his thing in you, spew his filth inside to poison you from the inside out?  That's the only way you have the right to tell me they're not all the same, if you know what it's like to get fucked."

 

"Are all women the same?" Blair countered quietly.  "Did all of the women in Quarters treat you well?  Treat each other well?"  Under cover of the blanket he clenched a fist, hoping by all that was holy that the women in Elson's hold were as vicious and bitchy on occasion as his mother had told him was the case in the ones she'd known. 

 

Thankfully Marbeth's expression showed calm as she thought back to her former life.  "Nisa would spit at you just for the fun of it," she admitted slowly.  " 'N pull hair or pinch if she thought she could get away with it."

 

"And Caro?" he prompted, again hoping that he'd read the situation right.

 

"Would sneak me meat from the kitchen, sometimes," she answered grudgingly.

 

"Good women, bad women, and, believe it or not, some very bad women, too.  Bad as the men who hurt you," Blair told her.  "There are good men and bad men, too, including really, really bad men.  Sentinel and I killed those men, Marbeth, for what they did to you and your home.  Killed them, and killed others like them so there will be no more hurting."

 

Folding her legs under her, Marbeth put the knife in her lap, rocked, and said, "All dead?  All dead?"

 

"All dead," he promised.

 

"And you don't stick your nasty into people, so you're not a bad man?"  She sounded confused, tired, and Blair was tempted to let her misconception slide.  But he was afraid of what might happen to the next man she thought was being 'nasty' if he did.

 

 "When you want someone to be inside of you," he said very gently.  "It's a gift from them and a joy for you.  It's not nasty at all."

 

"It's good?" she asked in surprise.

 

"Very good," he affirmed.  "Ask Caro if you don't believe me."

 

"Caro would *let* some one stick her?"  Marbeth's words were pure astonishment, now.

 

"She would if it were the right person for the right reason." 

 

That was too much for Marbeth's credulity.  Her jaw hanging slack, she inched backwards, losing her knife without noticing.  "*Let* them?"  she muttered, then scrambled out the door, closing it carefully behind her.  "LET them?"

 

Releasing the shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Blair petted the forearm clutched over his middle.  "Sorry, sorry.  I had to at least try to talk her out of it."

 

"I'm glad," Jim rumbled, sounding shaky as well and pulling him closer, dropping a leg over Blair's.  "I didn't want to hurt her.  Been enough of that, and I'm sick of it."

 

"Same here." 

 

They soaked in each other's well-being for a few minutes, then Jim reluctantly sat up, with a last hug for Blair.  "Better leave the knife where it is, or Caro won't believe us.  She's always been a little near-sighted when it comes to what doesn't fit her perception of how things should be."

 

"You know her?" Blair stretched creakily, and got a whiff from under his arms.  "Oh, I *stink*!  How can you stand it?"

 

"I stink worse."  He made as if to get out of bed, and Blair sat up, swinging his feet to the floor to let him by.  Jim tilted his head to listen.  "Bath house is empty and Marbeth *is* talking to Caro - who sounds as if she's startled half out of *her* mind.  Come on; let's get that bath for you." 

 

Leading the way, he added, over his shoulder, "Caro was adopted just before I joined Freedom.  Came striding in with men from her hold guarding her as if she were ancient royalty or something.  Nose up in the air, but she smelled so scared, I'm surprised she didn't throw up."

 

With a forced chuckle, Blair agreed, "Sounds like her now, too.  Think she remembers you?"

 

"Doubt it.  I was just another dirty boy running around the compound or drudging in the kitchen."  Wincing at the afternoon light, bright after the relative dimness of the house, Jim pointed to a building not too far away that wasn't even singed by the fire that destroyed the main building.  It had smoke curling up from a chimney, and a line of clean clothing strung to one side.

 

Heading that way, Blair asked, "Elson Hold segregated the girls even as children?"

 

"Only marrieds were allowed out of the women's quarters after dark, except for festival.  And most went back to it when they got pregnant, even if the three years weren't up yet." Jim answered.  "I take it not all holds are that strict?"

 

"Like everything," Blair answered, "Some more so, some less so.  I was in one where even marrieds went back at night, and in another only girls too young to marry but old enough to be fertile stayed in seclusion.  Did Wife choose all the husbands for Elson, like in most places?"

 

Shrugging, he said, "I was too young to know about things like that."  Jim waved an acknowledgment at Caro, hiding a smile at her perplexed expression.  "Going to have to keep an eye on Marbeth while we travel," he muttered to himself.  "Elders might need to judge if she should have Mercy."  Seeing Blair's wince, he said, "It's hard, and she deserves better, I know.  But if she's violent, what else can be done?"

 

Blair had no answer at all to that, no more than he ever did when the need for Mercy happened.  He looked away, not seeing the wrecked compound, wishing not for the first time, that there *was* another way. 

 

Slipping an arm around his shoulders, Jim murmured, "I'm sorry, Blair. This is all a lot more than you signed on for when you asked to see the Sandburg Journals."  He reached out to open the door to the bathhouse for them, and guided Blair inside. 

 

"It's not as if I had any expectations, really," Blair said, giving Jim's waist a squeeze, then releasing him to strip off his breechcloth.  "First thing you learn as a shaman is that nothing ever works out quite the way you expect it, and to go with the flow."

 

"Sounds like a hard way to live."  Jim filled the wash bucket, grabbed a cloth and pot of soap.  Suddenly he looked up and grinned.  "Let me guess, like anything else, sometimes it is and sometimes it isn't." 

 

Laughing, Blair sat on the bench and reached for the bucket, but Jim surprised him by raising it over his head and slowly pouring it out.  "Let's do your hair first, okay?  We'll soak in the tub after we're both clean."

 

"Yeah, oh yeah!"  Scrubbing at his scalp Blair worked the water all through his locks, reveling at the feel of it.  Jim patiently poured, helped him lather up, then poured again, taking time to run his fingers through to get the worst of the tangles out.  Helping take care of long hair was the kind of attention lovers paid to each other, and it had been a long, long time since Blair had had one who would invest in that kind of interest in him.  Soon he was all but purring, and didn't think twice when the washing proceeded over the rest of his body.

 

By the time he was clean, he was also fully erect and ready to do anything that Jim might want.  But all his companion did was hand him the bucket, and say, "My turn."

 

Off balance, like always when it came to intimacy with this man, Blair did as expected, trying not to get distracted by the sight of the water clinging to the long, clean lines and sculpted muscles.  Soaping without lingering was impossible, but he did manage to contain it to a sensuous massage during the rinse, glad for any excuse to touch was he was admiring.

 

He only hesitated when it was time to dip between the globes of Jim's behind, suddenly afraid that if he touched there, he would be lost. 

 

"Blair," Jim asked softly, turning and urging him to his feet so that they were face to face.  "Did you mean what you said to Marbeth? About it being a gift in your mind?"

 

Blinking at the desire he saw in his lover's face, Blair answered solemnly, "Yes, I meant it.  Most of my liaisons, Jim, are simple pleasuring.  Hands and mouth, or rubbing over each other.  Anything more intimate than that, well, the person has to be special to me."

 

"That's how it is with me," Jim said seriously, fingers digging ever so slightly into Blair's shoulders.  "I can't be casual about this, ever.  I'm sorry."  Despite the apology, he bent to cover Blair's mouth with his own, and every coherent thought in a twenty-yard vicinity departed.

  

With a soft sigh, Blair opened his lips, taking in a mobile visitor with delicate twining and thrusts from his own tongue to greet it.  As sweet the taste and feel was, it wasn't all that he wanted, and with a wordless murmur he drew away so that he could sample a bit of cheek, a fragile eyelid.  Sinking slowly, hands busy along a water-sleek back and bottom, he mouthed and suckled a line down Jim's chest, thinking that if he had a lifetime he'd never be able to acquaint himself with all of the wonders possible on this magnificent body.

 

Hands restlessly petting and stroking, Jim let him do as he wanted, and when Blair peeked up, he could see the white-hot blaze of those eyes on him, drinking in the sight on him on his knees.  It gave him a pang of pure lust, one that spurred him into going ever more slowly, wanting to show this man just how much pleasure he was capable of giving.  He dallied along the hard length pointing straight at him, giving it little close-mouthed pecks and stropping his cheek against it.  The sound came from Jim as a result was needy, pleading, and one he'd savor the memory of all his life.

 

Without warning he fastened his mouth over the weeping head in front of him, taking a lighting fast swipe over it, then backing off lick along the shaft. 

 

"Blair!"

 

He shivered; need was ravenous hunger now, and if he weren't careful, it would hurry this along, ending it long before he wanted.  Taking pity, he sucked Jim's cock into his mouth, relaxing his throat muscles to take it all.  A soft keening noise started from his lover, but Jim didn't move, didn't take advantage of the hot mouth and begin to pump.  Thinking he was trying not to come too fast, Blair drew back, letting the shaft slip almost completely out, before taking it back into himself.

 

The next time he eased back, Jim answered with a small thrust, barely moving, as if afraid he would choke Blair.  Wanting to encourage him, to finally break the control the big man was holding onto with trembling will, Blair cupped the firm ass, finger tips delving into the crease ever so lightly.

 

Instantly Jim clenched tight, refusing access and pulling away almost entirely.  "No, not here," he muttered.  "Not now."

 

Vaguely hearing the voices of the women on the other side of the bathhouse walls, Blair patted the tense backside.  "I understand," he chuckled.  "Can't quite go 'off duty,' huh?"  The muscles under his palms relaxed fractionally, and Jim mumbled something that sounded like an agreement, his fingers darting over Blair's face as if asking for more pleasure.  "Is this okay?" he asked, then swallowed Jim's hard-on again.

 

"Damn!" Jim shouted, and Blair took that as approval.  Using the involuntary flexing of his lover's hips to guide him, he set a steady, even movement up and down on the impressive cock, savoring the slide of it over his lips.  Without conscious intent, he took his own in hand to match the rhythm on himself and became caught up in the passion he'd created.  With a hoarse cry, Jim finally broke, and began to use Blair's mouth, plundering it recklessly.  Dealing with the frenetic thrusts only added to Blair's own frenzy, and he jacked himself ruthlessly, hand and mouth communicating directly with each other and the ache of his climax, deep in his gut.  Fingers leaving bruises, Jim lunged in one last time, and froze, his seed a thick flood that Blair couldn't even taste.  The simple thought of taking that within him so deeply was all he needed himself, and with a nearly silent groan, he came, becoming overwhelmed for a moment by the pure intensity of his release.

 

Distantly, dimly, he felt Jim pull away, felt the big body kneel astride him, his lover's arms coming around for support, but all he could do was shake.  Shake and wish he could do it again, immediately.  Jim must have shared the thought; with gentle fingers he turned up Blair's face and sprinkled urgent, laughing kisses over his features.

 

There was something about that, something about the traces of dampness on the tanned cheeks, that troubled Blair, but he was unable to concentrate with Jim touching him so tenderly.  From somewhere he summoned the will to respond, at least enough to let his companion know that he was still willing, just needed a breather.  Before he could do more than angle to capture roving lips, a knock sounded abruptly and rudely on the door, then Caro crashed through it, apparently in a fury and unconcerned about their state of dress.  Biting back a curse, *feeling* Jim do the same, Blair leaned into his lover and braced himself to be Shaman again.

 

     

*****

  

Slipping his finger between the pages to hold his place, Blair closed his book and held it one hand, and rubbed at his eyes with the other, being careful not to jostle the slight form tucked up against him.

 

"Eyes bothering you, Shaman?" Tarey asked, knitting needles and wool flying through her fingers.

 

"A little," he obfuscated.  "Electric lights are hard to get use to after nothing but firelight and lanterns for so long, don't you think?"

 

"It's the only thing I missed about Shelter," she said, giving her yarn a tug to get it in place.  "Well, that and books."

 

"Not even pets and babies?" he teased, though he had to admit books were what he missed most himself.

 

"Not even pets and babies - though I did think about the cats *a lot,*" she confessed.  "But if I had to choose, I don't think I'd come back just for them, and that's the truth." She fell silent, counting her stitches carefully.

  

Not wanting to break her concentration, he looked first at the book in his hand, then at its original laying in his lap.  He *had* come all this way, just to touch this journal, just to see the faded ink and try to make out the words for himself.  The printed one told him what was in those precious pages, but to actually see the handwriting of First Shaman, to have real proof that he had been a man who bled and laughed and lived just like anyone else - he had thought it a chance of a life time.

 

Now he looked at the cracked leather, traced the design pressed into the cover, and realized that the awe had worn off.  Not because the journals weren't real, or because the aura of long ago knowledge had lost its appeal, but because the contents weren't at all what he had expected.  Oh, he had experience enough to know that the minutiae of a man's daily life could be boring, and that the First Shaman would undoubtedly be human with the typical feet of clay instead of being the larger than life legend that he'd heard so many tales about.  But he'd thought that there would be precious nuggets of methods and guidelines for training a sentinel, or examples of ways for helping a shaman keep his tribe balanced and happy.

 

What he was reading was a love story, poignant and heart-rending, that kept him up to all hours of the night, unable to put it down, even though the ending was already part of history.  First Shaman spoke of his sentinel honestly, accepting his faults and cherishing his weaknesses, expressing a love that Blair couldn't have believed existed if the proof wasn't lying real and heavy in his lap. 

 

Not at all what he expected.

 

A burst of static from the short wave radio in the corner of the large living room pulled his attention to the sentinel standing beside it, and Blair couldn't help but think there was another expectation that had been blown to hell.  When he'd knelt in the bathhouse, heart pounding from the unbelievable release he'd shared with Jim, he'd fully expected to share much, much more with him in the near future.  But Caro and the other women had demanded too much of their attention that night, and they'd both fallen into bed too exhausted to do more than steal a quick kiss and sleep.

 

On the trail, mistrusting Marbeth's sanity, either he or Jim had had to stand watch during the night, and they'd not been able to so much as share a blanket.  He'd endured that, content at the time with the soft looks and tender touches Jim had been so generous with, willing to wait until they had privacy.  Their first night back at Next Camp with Freedom, he'd taken special pains to be clean and at Jim's lookout as soon as the first stars came out, but a runner had summoned him to Council.  The Elders, Caro, and the Cap'n had argued and fought for half the night over what to do next, tempers high and fear for the future making reaching an agreement arduous.

 

In the end, Council had decided to dispatch a party to the Shelter right way, to use its technology and resources to tell the other tribes what had happened, and to decipher the logbooks that Shaman carried with him.  He and Speaker, who knew many tongues, had pored over them, becoming convinced that the language was Russian - and that the boat he and Sentinel had destroyed hadn't been the only one.  There were simply too many repeats of two words that looked suspiciously like names for them not to be concerned. 

 

So after only two days of rest, none of them in Jim's company, they'd set off on yet another trek, this time to the heart of Freedom Range with its cache of knowledge and technology.  Because the cold season had begun to make itself felt, and because the Elders had been uncomfortable with Marbeth in their midst, it was a large, slow-moving group that Blair and Jim had led.  Though Tees had elected to stay behind, apparently liking the freedom a Tribe woman had, Caro and Marbeth, along with Huma, Tarey and the expecting Mother from their own people, made their careful way to Shelter in the company of four of Freedom's best fighter/hunters.  A runner had been sent ahead, so that the Seniors there would expect them - and be forewarned about the reason for so many arriving.  It had taken extra time hunting and scouting because of the size and condition of the travelers, and all had been burdened with extra supplies to help take the strain off Shelter of providing for so many.

 

With so much hard traveling behind him, not even the promise of a hot bath had made the long, slow trip any less dreary.  Nor did it help that each day saw Sentinel turning colder and colder toward him, eventually blatantly avoiding Blair, even at night.  He hadn't wanted to let the breach between them grow, had done what he could to bridge it, but it seemed someone was always needing his help, his attention, his time. 

 

He had counted on the lengthy radio conferences between the Tribes to give him the chance to get to the reason behind Jim's distance, to try to reawaken the eager lover he'd had such a brief glance of.  But the very first day in Shelter, Sentinel had silently led the way to the library, unlocked the secret door that hid the most rare and valuable of the books Freedom owned, and laid the first Sandburg Journal in Blair's hands. 

 

Even when he'd been able to pull himself away from them, Jim had been nowhere to be found.  He was always gone: out hunting to build supplies for the winter, making repairs to the mostly underground structure of the shelter, or being an able-body for Technician, whose stunted, malformed fingers and dwarven limbs made certain tasks necessary for the upkeep of much of the equipment very difficult. 

 

Another squeal of static brought Blair out of his reflections, and he watched Sentinel delicately adjust something in the innards of the short wave, using Sight and Touch at Technician's precise directions.  The noise faded, and became two voices - Tosha and Frisco tribes - laboriously working out the translation of logbooks.  Speaker and he had been right; there had been two more ships, and those tribes had been the closest to them.  The debate between Shelters had been short and to the point; for now, Mercy for foreign Ravagers.

 

"That's it then," Tarey said unexpectedly, sighing quietly.  "Sentinel?"

 

With a nod to Technician, who was deeply involved in fine-tuning his radio, Sentinel came over to where she sat curled up next to Shaman and squatted down by them.  Smiling, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, he said, "You finished it?"

 

"Yes."  She lifted up the heavy sweater she had been working on, her hands far, far too pale against the natural black of the wool.  "And I bet it will fit perfectly.  Thank you for waiting until it was done before leaving for Tangle Tribe's Next Camp; I'll feel better knowing you have something extra warm.  I think the winter is going to be very, very cold this year."  Her gray eyes were very solemn, as if there was another meaning behind the words she spoke.

 

"Leaving?" Shaman blurted, straightening in his seat.

 

"You didn't hear?" she said, tilting her head sidewise to meet his eyes.

 

"Hear what?"

 

"Tangle Shelter has no runners, right now," Sentinel said shortly.  "They had a need for their Physician and for the Apothecary from N'Hope.  A signal went up for the Tribe to contact them, but they haven't gotten one in reply."

 

"They think there's a problem, then?" Blair asked, mind busily sorting out reasonable possibilities for a Tribe *not* to respond.

 

"I'm going to find out, and take a transmitter with me from Technician to give them in any case.  The consensus seems to be that it's time for us to invest in them to keep in closer contact with each other.  Frisco missed being massacred by the Ravagers only through dumb luck."

 

Blair nodded.  "Well, that's one debate over Gather fires that's finally been resolved.  Now they'll be arguing whether or not it's worth the trouble to have a Talker, trained to use and repair them.  When are we leaving?"

 

Any trace of Jim left, even the smile he'd summoned for Tarey's sake.  "I leave as soon as my pack is ready, Shaman," Sentinel said.  "There's no need for you to travel; your obligation to me has been fulfilled."

 

For a moment Blair couldn't convince his jaw to leave the floor, then he spluttered, "Obli... oh!  Bringing me to shelter in exchange for being Teacher... That wasn't... I mean, *not* a bargain... just an inducement, you know, to let you know I'd... Look, Jim, I would have helped you anyway, you know that!"

 

"Yes," Sentinel answered.  "You're a shaman; that's what you do."  He stood, and pulled the sweater Tarey knitted for him over his head, smoothing it over his chest, fingers lingering in the soft fabric.  "Will you be traveling with me, then?  For Tangle Shelter's peace of mind, I was planning another hard march to find the tribe as quickly as possible."

 

Without meaning to, Blair winced, feeling the ache of too much traveling and not enough rest, and the call of the practically untouched library over-riding his normally unselfish nature.  "Why are you going?  Tracker was born to Tangle, and has a favored lover among them.  Surely he's the better choice." He changed the subject, indirectly, hoping that Sentinel wouldn't see for the delaying tactic it was. 

 

"Which is exactly why he doesn't want to go unless necessary.  Can you blame Henri for not wanting to find Rafe among the kind of destruction we found at Elson?"  Sounding like an offended stranger, Sentinel pulled out his chane where it could be seen.  Angling his body so that he was literally giving Blair the cold shoulder, he said softly, "Thank you, Tarey.  This is a marvelous sweater, soft and warm."

 

"You're welcome," she said seriously, and reached up for him.  "Goodbye kiss?"

 

Scooping her up, he smacked at her cheek.  "That's a better thank you anyway, so now I have to give you *another* kiss for goodbye."  He smacked at the other one, claimed to have missed, then smooched the end of her nose.  "Now knit one for the Cap'n, or he'll be jealous of me when I get back," he instructed her, some of his stoniness gone.

 

"You're not coming back to Shelter?" Blair asked in a very small voice, opening his arms to take her back from him.

 

"Not this season.  Listen to Huma and Tech, now, Tarey."  With a last peck to her forehead, he left, not once looking directly at Blair.

 

"Goodbye, Jim," Tarey whispered, her words thick with tears. "Bye."

 

"Tarey?" Blair questioned, but she turned her head into his shoulder. 

 

"Would you take me downstairs to my room, now, please?"  He did as she asked, wanting to ask her why she had said a formal farewell to Jim, but too afraid of the answer. 

 

After she was tucked in, he wandered, mind and heart aching furiously, not back toward the common room with its bright light and the book he was reading, but through the nearly empty halls of the under-ground complex that made up Shelter.  It had two levels underground, including a power-plant run by a combination of sunlight, wind, and hydro generators.  Above ground was a small four-room log cabin, with a high fence around the back of it to enclose a large truck garden.  With the front half given over to the kitchen and common room, the back half was bedrooms, used by sentries who were assigned watch during the night.

 

Hardly paying attention where he was going, he was pulled up short when he heard Jim say with strained patience, "Caro, you have to understand.  I am not making do with Blair until I can have a wife; he's my Guide.  And I can't just stop being Sentinel to become the Holder at Elson for you."

 

"Why not? You were born to the hold, oldest son, and you'd be holding that position now if you hadn't run away to join a Tribe.  You've had your freedom; now it's time to do your duty and rebuild your father's Hold."  Caro argued insistently, her voice tight with the need to convince Sentinel she was right.  "And if you're so taken with the Shaman, I won't ask what you do the rest of the time as long as you do your duty by me in the evening."

 

Staggered, Blair propped himself up on the wall, wondering vaguely if she remembered who Jim was or if she had found out somehow.  Cautiously he inched forward to see through the crack of the opened door, not surprised to find Caro was leaning into the sentinel, hands flat on his chest.

 

"So that's how he explained my absence," Jim muttered, to himself, and he drew away to begin to pace.  "Look, Sentinel isn't a just a Given name, like Tracker or Leader or Number One.  It's not something you can retire from when you get old enough, or turn your back on to try something new.  I *am* a Sentinel, born to watch and protect my people; that I began my life inside the walls of your hold is inconsequential."

 

He touched the white bead that carried his Name, a fingertip tracing the panther etched into it.  "I've worn this since the day I came to Freedom Shelter. I put it on *knowing* what it meant and feeling nothing but relief that all the things that marked me as 'freak' and 'abnormal' to Holders was *expected* by the Tribe.  I will never turn my back on them, ever."

 

"I've seen how your tribe treats you," she argued passionately, "Seen how much your lover cares for you.  You're alone and unwanted, Jim.  At least in the Hold you'll be somebody of importance, some one in authority!"

 

Turning his back to show that the conversation was over, Sentinel said with unexpected gentleness, "We've passed word to the other holds what happened at Elson.  Soon you're going to be surrounded by men ready, willing and able to court you the way you deserve.  Choose someone who *wants* a holder's life, Caro.  Who can appreciate it.  I can't give you what you want."

 

Unsurprisingly she found it hard to argue to that broad, mute back, and stormed out of the room, sparing Shaman an irate glare for overhearing her pleas to a man who rejected her entire way of life.  Blair ignored her; he had far more important things on his mind.

 

Like Caro, he found Jim's unyielding stance intimidating.  Unlike her, he had more to lose.  Without hesitation he crossed the room to wind his arms around the trim waist, laying his cheek in the center of the wool-covered expanse.  He could have been hugging a tree or a rock for all the reaction, for all the give in the unmoving form.  Not letting that deter him, he hung on, wishing he had a single idea on how to reach through the many layers of protection Jim had around himself.  Wishing he had some way of making them un-necessary. 

 

Just when he thought he couldn't take the implied rejected a moment longer, Jim sighed as if holding in a scream of pain, and laid his own hands over the ones resting on his stomach.  "Blair..."

 

Afraid his next words were going to be, 'let me go,' Blair tightened his arms and pressed hard into Jim's flesh, almost hurting himself.  He didn't know what to say, didn't know what else to do but to hold on for all he was worth, letting his body speak to Jim in the language a sentinel understood best.  It must have worked; the touch on his hands became feather light, caressing, and the promise in that was enough that he didn't fight when Jim lifted them away so that he could turn in Blair's grasp.

 

"Blair," he tried again.

 

That was the only word Blair allowed him.  Stretching up, he claimed Jim's mouth, driving his tongue through the gap the small sound left in its wake.  Putting all his longing into it, he tasted and teased, kneaded and massaged the sensitive aperture, moaning into it all the while, until Jim was moaning as well, hands in Blair's curls to hold him at his self-appointed task.  A hard ridge of need rose up against his belly, matching his own, and he hurriedly adjusted himself so that he could rub them against each other.

 

When Jim started trembling, hands vibrating where they hid in his hair, Blair released his lips, but only to fasten his teeth in the vulnerable skin at the curve of Jim's neck.  Hastily he pulled at clothing, wanting to get it out of the way, and his lover helped eagerly, hunger making him clumsy.  When they were skin to skin, fingers busy every where, trying to memorize each line and curve, Blair backed up to the bed, drawing Jim with him, and pulled the bigger man on top of him as he lay down.

 

Clamping his knees onto Jim's sides, he opened himself to his lover, not caring that his body wasn't prepared for entry.  All that mattered to him was having Jim as close to him as possible, and he lifted his hips higher, trying to capture the cock jabbing erratically along his cleft.  "Don't tease," he begged.  "Please!  Want you so badly!"

 

Locking his elbows, Jim rose over him, face tight with strain.  "How...." he gasped, giving a frustrated shove that only sent his maleness skittering over Blair's upper thigh.  "I don't..."  The pure panic in his tone, and the noticeable softening of his erection, jerked Blair out of his own passion.  Mind clearing with painful speed, *moving* at a painful speed, he added up the bits of information that he had - no Transition, no known lovers among the tribe, 'not able to give Incacha what he wanted' - and came up with an answer that killed his desire cold.

 

"Wait!" he muttered, going limp under Jim, but hugging him to prevent an escape.  "Wait.  Let me catch my breath, here."

 

He could feel the heat burning off of Jim's face where it was burrowed onto his shoulder, and braced himself to stop his love if he tried to leave.  "Why me?" he asked softly. 

 

Thankfully Jim didn't try to pretend that he didn't understand the question, but he didn't answer it either, except to shrug awkwardly. 

 

Not letting him get away with it, Blair reasoned out loud, "You didn't tell Caro I was your Shaman or even your Teacher.  You called me Guide.  And you refused to let Incacha be your guide when he offered.  You survived not having either one until Joel retired as Cap'n, *with* your senses functioning, however erratically."  To Blair there could only be one conclusion, one that was making his insides twist and swirl with fear and excitement.  With the echo of the first kiss they had shared tingling on his lips, he whispered, "You knew!  Somehow you've always known, haven't you?  Just like First Sentinel."

 

"From the day you were born, I think," Jim admitted, his voice only a thread of sound.  "At the Hold, if you were different...."  He shuddered, and Blair ran a soothing hand up and down his back to send away the remembered pain.  "They weren't very kind," Jim finished finally.  Once when I was hiding, trying to escape being 'punished' for knowing what I shouldn't have... It was cold and I was so tired.  The straw I was in was fragrant, like sunshine and summer, and it was filling me, taking away everything inside and out..."

 

"Zoning," Blair muttered unnecessarily.  "Probably permanently."

 

Again an movement of shoulders was the only reply, but a moment later, Jim said, "At that moment, I didn't care.  But then somebody kicked me in the belly, a very, very small somebody and I literally fell out of the zone and back into myself hard enough to knock my teeth together.  That confused me bad enough, but the feel of an infant cuddled up against my middle, one that I couldn't see, really left me wondering if everybody was right. If I was some kind of insane freak.  But the baby was so real; I could feel its little chest move as it breathed, feel tiny fingers on my skin.  It was cold though, and I curled around it to warm it up and wound up being warmed by it."

 

"Was that the only time?"

 

"No.  All my life, whenever I thought I was simply going shatter, I would feel someone I couldn't see or smell pressed up against me.  He grew as I grew, and I knew the shape of him as well as I knew my own.  I...ah...even...dreamed, you know, when I was older."

 

"You dreamed of making love to me," Blair sighed, hard-on renewing itself with a faint throb.  "And you waited for me.  You didn't have to, Jim, but, God, do you have any idea what it's doing to me that you did?"  Without meaning to, he rocked up, his hard-on digging into the taut abdomen.  "But why didn't you *tell* me!" he all but wailed. 

 

"I wanted to be special to you, not just another bedmate," Jim muttered unhappily.  "Wanted you to know that *you* were special to me.  Not Shaman and yet another needy tribesman, not Sentinel and Guide doing what's expected, but Jim and Blair making love to be making love.  No other reason."

 

For a moment Blair thought that his heart would explode, but he held the tears and sorrow inside, saving them for a time when Jim would understand them better.  "Oh, I've wanted that, too!  To be special, to *make love* instead of just getting some physical release.  I've wanted it all my life, and gave up on ever getting it!"

 

Finally coming out of hiding, Jim raised his head to look into Blair's eyes, his own dark and shimmering with both sorrow and need.  "Show me how, Blair," he murmured, delicately tracing a shaky line over Blair's cheek.  "Show me how!"

 

A wild cry spilled from his lips, one he hardly heard, and he lunged upwards again, wrapping all four limbs around his lover.  "We're going to have to learn that part of it together," he laughed tremolously.  "But I know enough that you start with what you like."

 

"In that case," Jim murmured, and kissed him until they were both panting, straining rhythmically against one another for completion.  Tearing his mouth away, he muttered, "Can't believe you're real, that I can *taste* and *smell* and, oh, god, oh, god ... I think, uh... I'm..."

 

"Stop, stop," Blair ordered breathlessly.  "IN me, lover!  Please!"

 

"How?" Jim blurted with some exasperation.

 

"Lube, gotta get..." 

 

A small clay pot was produced from seemingly nowhere, and a questioning eyebrow elicited a mumbled, "Been carrying it, just in case, for a while."

 

"Thank heavens for overly organized sentinels!"  Blair fumbled open the wax seal, spilled a palm full, then nudged Jim far enough back to be able to reach for his own opening.  "First me," he said, letting his actions speak for themselves.  More quickly than he should, he withdrew his fingers from within himself, shuddering at how Jim devoured the sight of him stretching the muscle.  "Now you."  Hastily he smoothed a layer of oil over the dark-red erection weeping in front of him, trying not to over-stimulate it.

 

One hand on Jim's shoulder to keep them both balanced, he used the other to guide his cock to where they both needed it to be.  "Push in *slowly*, until I let you know to start pumping, okay? Give me a chance to get use to the *size* of that thing, okay?"

 

Sweat pouring off his face, his entire body shaking with repressed need, Jim muttered, "I don't know if I can!  I'm... I'm so close already!"

 

"Focus on something else for a second!  Uh, look at me," Blair improvised quickly. A warning thrum in the shaft he held made him bark, "Jim!  Look at me! Now!"

 

Startled eyes flew up to meet his, then Jim smiled tenderly at him, brushing away a damp lock that was falling into Blair's eyes.  "Beautiful."

 

Absurdly, Blair wanted to blush, then his own erection leapt dangerously at the love and passion coloring that single word.  Suddenly the most important thing in the world was to watch the dawning joy in his mate's incredible blue eyes, and he used his heels to pull Jim toward him at the same time he thrust up.  A shockwave of pure pleasure told him he was breached, and Jim's cock sank farther and farther into his body, each ripple of it reflecting in the passion-glazed blue staring into him.  When Jim was all the way in, Blair sobbed, "Now, now, now."

 

The first withdrawal was pure agony, the first thrust back in pure ecstasy, and he frantically pleaded for it to last forever, though he could feel their finish charging along over-stressed nerves.

 

"Oh...oh god...oh..." Jim whimpered, "r...so... dear god...so..."  His hips began jacking into Blair full force, answering instinct and the violent urgings of answering plunges.  "I HAVE  TO... BLAIR... NOW!!!"     

 

A last lunge filled Blair with intense heat and pressure, and he fell apart under it, keening Jim's name as his seed splashed free of him.  Each spurt felt as if something vital was leaving with it, only to be replaced by his lover's essence.  He whimpered in loss when he was drained, already wishing they could start over again.

 

Jim must have wanted the same; he pumped fractionally, restlessly, though he was so weak he was all but crushing Blair under his weight.  Like in the bath-house, his face was wet with tears and he peppered kisses all over Blair's upturned features, *this* time whispering, "I love you, Blair, I love you," over and over.

 

"Love you, too," and he captured the roving mouth to tame its needy wildness with a lifetime's worth of promises.

 

 

Excerpt From The Sandburg Journals, circa 2018

 

Aside from teaching respect and reverence for the natural world, the one thing we have never attempted to do within the tribe is foster any particular religious beliefs.  In part this was because each individual came to our family with their own beliefs in place, whether it was Catholicism, Buddhism, Judaism, or "Shit happens."  But also, in part, it has been because of my own deeply held conviction that, if denied the structures that had fossilized formal religions, a better, more humane version might be distilled from them.

 

To my surprise, religion itself has been all but abandoned, though we have always left ample room for any observances any one might wish to make.  It may be that faith of that sort could not withstand the fall of a world and naturally perished with it.  Or perhaps the old dogmas simply cannot fit into this new life of ours.

 

Or it could be, as Jim as suggested from time to time, that our people no longer need the trappings of faith.  That they have an intimate insight to the reality of a Someone watching over our lives.  All they have to do is look at Sentinel and Shaman to *know* this.

 

The first time he said that, I laughed, then kissed him for the compliment.  Instead of playfully kissing me back, Jim made it as sweet and serious as any he's ever given me, then he pulled back, holding my head in his hands as if cradling a fragile thing.

 

"How many years, how many places did you look for a sentinel?  How many people lived in Cascade, the majority of which walked past you without ever seeing you?  But you found me; despite the impossible odds, you found me.

 

"How old was I when you did?  How many years did I deny and repress what I was?  But when my senses re-awakened, before I could deny them again - or die from them - you found me.

"How many years difference is there between us?  How many *differences* were there between us?  Rigid and controlling versus easy-going and adaptable.  Cynical and hard-nosed cop versus open-hearted, gentle student.  Despite all that stood between us - you found me.  Loved me.

 

"Because we loved each other, just when the world needed them most, there was a Sentinel and a Shaman to salvage the best of humanity.  Just when there was no hope for what survivors there was, the past stepped out of the shadows and led them into a future.

 

"Every time, *Every time* Blair, our tribe looks at us, they see a miracle.  We didn't do it by ourselves, but we were the instrument of one.  How could they not believe?"

 

I've never forgotten his words and have always been unable to deny them.

 

Perhaps my Jim and I were born to this time, this place, specifically to do what we have done with the help of so many others, friends and foes alike.  If it weren't so humbling and terrifying, it would be an ego trip beyond compare, and I find I am not able to see myself in those terms, even if Jim does.

 

But there is one thing I can't deny or doubt, the one thing that makes me wonder if Sentinel is Seeing more clearly than I.  It is the *one* incontrovertible fact of our lives.

 

There are sentinels being born in this world again.

 

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