Some things about humans are timeless,
existing through centuries, through millennium, with so little change that the
first Homo erectus could recognize the behavior as easily as the last Homo
sapiens. Man's fascination with fire is
one of those eternal traits, one that manifests itself whether it is a forest
fire or a candle that is burning. If
there is any doubt to that truth, light a campfire, and watch how everyone
within sight of it will be drawn, almost magically, to watch the flicker of the
flames, to follow with wondering eyes the trails of ash and ember as they fly
upward, to share its warmth.
Almost inevitably, someone will start a
story, either a tall tale meant to amuse or a nostalgic recollection of the
past. And slowly but surely any child
within hearing distance will find their way to an accommodating lap, or a warm
side to hug into, listening to the words of their elders and sometimes begging
for a favorite.
Test, all of five years old, snuggled
into Sentinel's lap, and asked dreamily, partly mesmerized by the age-old call
of the flame, tired from a day filled with new ideas, new people,"Has it
always been like this? Is it like this
*ev'where*?"
The adults traded looks, but Shaman said
softly, "No, child. Only the sky
and our spirits are eternal and unchanging.
Man has his good times, and his bad."
"You're talking about the
Chaos." Test stirred himself,
sitting a little straighter, curiosity burning away his sleepiness. "Was it that diff'rnt, *really?*"
"Yes, it was," Sentinel said calmly, though all
present looked saddened or angry or frustrated at the memory of what had
been. "Yes, it was...."
PAST
TENSE
From their eyrie overlooking the only accessible entry to their current
strong hold, Shaman watched the hunters return for the day. As Sentinel had told him, they were
burdened. Good, there would be meat for
the fires this evening. He stood to
acknowledge their approach, and let the sentries know that that the perimeter
was theirs, now.
Traditionally, once the twilight came, Sentinel was free from duty
until the last hours before dawn.
Attacks came seldom in the waning of the day - no one wanted to be
beyond the safety of fires when the night beasts came out to feed. To be truthful, it was only the beasts they
watched for now. Having Sentinel and
Shaman had proved over the years to be too formidable an advantage against the
ravagers and rogues. Their territory
was generally avoided, these days.
Shaman walked over to the pallet where Sentinel lay. They would sleep, for a time, then climb
down to spend the evening by the fires.
Council would be sought, and given; fighters and hunters would share
exploits and information. He would give
lessons to the children, spending a few precious hours trying to save some of
what was being lost, almost daily.
Glancing back over his shoulder at the ruins of the city in the
far distance, Shaman shuddered. So much
had been lost. Survival took almost all
the time they had, and even children were pressed into finding and preserving
food, or learning to fight.
He gave the children what he could from the rich heritage that
they would never fully claim. By the
time they were parents, he had no doubt what was left of the magnificent city
of his youth would be attributed to the work of malevolent gods, and treated
with superstitious fear. The trend was
there already, in the stories the children told each other as they worked.
Sighing, he too, laid down, fitting himself to the dear, familiar
back of his Sentinel. Always, always
among the children he looked for another to take this one's place. Once or twice, Sentinel, playing with a
child, would look at his partner, and the knowledge would pass between them
that *this* one could be a guide, if a sentinel would chose him/her.
But not even among his own children had they found one who seemed
to possess even one of the gifts.
Sighing again, Shaman rubbed his face against Sentinel's back. This one was fit, strong for his years, but
he was coming all too quickly to the time when his life would be lost to age or
the harshness of life in this time.
Shaman had no desire to be left behind, becoming Teacher, waiting
patiently, perhaps fruitlessly, for another sentinel to be born. When his Sentinel walked the spirit trail,
he wanted to go with him, not stay to teach another pair the pitfalls and
blessings of the Gifts.
"You're troubled."
Sentinel turned and gathered Shaman to him.
"Thinking too much again."
"I know a cure for that." So saying, Sentinel captured his soft lips, kissing him gently,
but thoroughly.
Gasping, Shaman pulled away.
"Tara will *not* like it if you give me what's owed her. I don't particularly want her complaining
about it to the Council, either."
"Tara's time is nearly over," Sentinel replied, brushing
his lover's hair away from his forehead, and letting the strands slip like
water through his fingers. "She
hasn't conceived, and when she has her moon-time again, I'll return to our lodge."
"And *we* will have until midwinter before you must take
another. No one has spoken to me,
yet. Maybe a lottery this
time?" Despite his attempts to
remind them of their duty, Shaman was running his fingertips over Sentinel's
chest, plucking at the nubs there.
"Mmm," was Sentinel's disinterested reply, and he kissed
the smaller man, again. He lifted
himself to cover his lover, matching groin to groin, stroking his burgeoning
arousal into the welcoming heat.
Though Sentinel sometimes insisted on loving Shaman with his hands
or mouth when bedding with a woman, they usually preferred to wait until the
times when they could share their pleasure.
It had been far too long since they had had that luxury, and the thrill
of being together again was too much.
Before he could react, Sentinel began ripping clothing away,
desperate for the full contact of being skin-to-skin, plundering Shaman's mouth
voraciously. Eagerly, Shaman clung to
him, already shaking with the intensity of sensation from the kiss, his lover's
roving hands, and the demands of his own body.
"Tell me," Sentinel panted into his ear, "tell
me."
"Others touch me, but only you hold me," Shaman began,
somewhat breathlessly. "Others
claim me, but only you possess me. For
the others, I am only illusion. You
alone know the substance. If I had my
will, no other would ever know me like this." The litany comforted like always; aroused, like always, and he
nearly shouted the last words as Sentinel entered him.
"Mine," Sentinel moaned, thrusting, "mine,
mine."
Suddenly, fiercely, Shaman shoved, and rolled, sending the bigger
man to his back. He drew his knees up
his mate's side, and sat heavily, taking his companion's manhood
completely. Biting back a yell,
Sentinel bucked, but Shaman held him in place, refusing to move until his lover
met his eyes.
"Tell *me,*" he demanded, tightening his inner muscles
as he did, "Tell me!"
Gentleness bloomed unexpectedly in Sentinel's face, and he reached
up to trace the line of his partner's jaw with a trembling finger. As Shaman began to ride, sending them into
climax, he whispered brokenly, "Everything I want, everything I need is
right here, right now, with you. The
only good thing that's come from this disaster is that I have you. I love you, Blair Sandburg."