by Ellen Lindow
Pain brought him back to a consciousness that he did not want. There were bright lights outside the eyelids he did not want to open and voices that he did not want to understand. A familiar voice broke through his resistance and
he cracked his eyes as a gentle hand touched his cheek.
"John, I know you're awake. Please answer me," Helena's voice pleaded gently. If it had been anyone else in the universe, he would never have responded.
His eyes weren't focusing right. He could see her green eyes searching his for recognition. Her blond hair was longer than usual and tied back at the nape of her neck. "Helena?" he asked, not really knowing what else to say.
"We're home, John. It's going to be all right now."
He tried nodding his head, but that hurt too, and besides he couldn't agree with her. It would never be all right again. He retreated into sleep once more, hoping the nightmares wouldn't be back.
Bob Mathias entered Helena Russell's office with the final report on Commander Koenig's condition. Helena had not yet left Medical Center, as he knew she would not until Koenig's status was determined. The past six months had changed the elegant doctor. She wore loose black slacks tucked into boots and a brightly striped vest woven of a thick wool. Her blonde hair was now sun bleached and below shoulder length, tied with a leather thong. She stood behind her desk, one hand on an open file, the other on a computer keyboard as she watched the monitor. At the sound of the door sliding open she crouched
slightly, shifting her weight to the balls of her feet, one hand moving to the hilt of a dagger hanging from a sheath at her hip. Her upper arms showed additional muscle mass. Her body language was that of a person in constant danger, always alert to fight or flee. The look in her eyes was different, too; harder, colder, denying a pain that lay firmly buried beneath the surface. The smile she gave her colleague did not reach the eyes.
"He's stable," Mathias reported, knowing that Koenig's condition would be foremost in her mind. She relaxed slightly. "There are no internal injuries to vital organs, although he has obviously been beaten on at least three separate occasions in the last six weeks. Any areas of soft tissue have been badly bruised. His jaw has been broken, but has healed already, and looks as if it was set well. There are also signs of at least two broken ribs, also set properly, and his right hand."
He stopped and looked at her, knowing she would also read the report, so he might as well tell her the rest, no matter how reluctant he felt. Cold green eyes met his. "Helena, there's evidence of sexual assault as well."
She continued to stare at him for a beat, then sighed and nodded. She sat slowly, leaning tiredly against her desk.
"Helena," Bob asked with frustration. "What happened?"
Alan and Tony had already been asking her the same thing. She had kept explanations brief and could still bring herself to do no more.
Six months ago, they had first come into range of a new planet. Koenig lead a reconnaissance party including Helena and four others. The landing party was viciously attacked shortly after arrival. The Alphans watched the attack via a transmission which they had hoped would show them pictures of their new home. Instead, one of their comrades was shot without warning,another wounded, and Koenig barely had time to send a final order that there was to be no attempt at rescue before the transmission was cut. The Alphans mourned their losses and continued on their journey.
Fate was capricious with the Alphans. A promising planet proved fatal, and their course kept them in the same system, circling the star. They would not go into orbit, the speed was wrong, but they would linger near the planet where their friends had died. When a small fast ship lifted off from the planet and headed straight for Moonbase Alpha six months later, the Alphans were alert for an attack. The ship contained a badly injured Commander Koenig, and Doctor Russell. She had managed to fly the ship close enough for rendezvous with an Eagle, and Carter had piggybacked the ship to Alpha.
She told them that the others were dead, the planet had been a nightmarish experience and she had managed to rescue Koenig and steal a ship to get them away. The ship utilized a space warp drive. Victor Bergman and Maya already had an army of techs swarming over it. Helena spoke to them briefly after turning Koenig over to Mathias and the medical staff. Mathias had been his personal physician since she and Koenig had developed a relationship years before, but that didn't mean she could completely leave the man she loved in another's hands. Mathias had known that she would remain in her office, watching him on the monitors until he made his report.
She opened her mouth to respond, hesitated, then started again, her voice soft, almost a whisper. "I knew what he was going through, but there was nothing I could do. I couldn't even contact him to try to convince him not to fight back. That only made things worse."
She closed her eyes, unwilling to say more, hoping Bob wouldn't ask for more.
"You need some rest," was all he said when it became obvious that she didn't intend to elaborate.
She nodded, then stood to leave.
"I'd like to make sure you're ok, but I know you're exhausted."
"Thanks," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'll submit to a full physical in the morning."
"That'll be fine," Bob agreed.
She left the office with him and continued out the door of Medical Center alone. She walked with a light silent gait, as if she were stalking something, or being stalked. He watched her exit, concerned for his friend and colleague, and unsure of the best way to help her.
Koenig healed, because Helena told him to heal. He resumed his old routine, because Helena insisted. He received greetings and good wishes from the people of Alpha with good grace and hid the way he felt from all those around him. He took up the mantle of command again and threw himself into his work. Outwardly, he appeared to be adjusting to the return to life on Alpha quite well.
Helena knew better. She remained patient, supportive and silent about any problems he was having.
Three months after their return, Koenig was still having nightmares. He was a very tactile person. His nature had always been to touch those around him, and Helena had always reveled in his affectionate and passionate nature. Now he couldn't stand to be touched by anyone.
He awoke drenched in sweat, heart rate high and breathing rapid. Helena had turned over in her sleep and thrown her arm across his chest. Her movement had triggered another nightmare. He slipped out of bed and crossed the room.
He felt chilled and pulled a robe from the closet, then settled in a chair, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.
Helena sat up in bed with her usual catlike grace and looked at him for a long moment. "Do you want me to move out?" she asked softly.
It hurt just to hear her ask. "No," he answered quietly, his voice tortured.
She sat quietly for a few moments. Neither bothered to turn up the lights. Some things were easier to talk about in the dark. "You haven't touched me for three months," she said quietly.
He leaned back in the chair, unable to look at her, even across a darkened room. "I'm so sorry, Helena. I just --"
She stood, pulled on her own robe and sat in the living room with him.
She settled in a chair as far away from him as possible, noting his tension as she approached. He relaxed slightly when she sat well away from him.
"Do you want to talk to me or Bob?" She asked into the silence that settled around them. John shook his head. Helena continued. "You've got to do something to get rid of these nightmares."
"I'm ok," he said, firmly, but not convincingly. "They're not that bad."
She sighed and put her hand over her eyes. "Don't lie to me, John. I know how often you wake up screaming. I also know you try to fake being asleep when I come to bed so you don't have to kiss me."
"Helena --"
"John, I've been patient, waiting for you to work this out on your own."
He leaned forward. "I know, Helena, and I appreciate it more than you can know." He sighed. "Maybe you should move out. You deserve better than this."
She sat perfectly still, wanting to move to him and hold him, knowing that it was the last thing he wanted. In a quiet, yet fierce voice she said, "I won't desert you. I won't just leave." She watched his body language closely, and was gratified to detect his relief.
"Helena, you're the only thing holding me together now."
He was a strong man with a strong personality, not given to addictive tendencies. She was glad of that, or else there could have been secondary problems to deal with. She loved him too much to give up on his wounded psyche; but was afraid that she loved him too much to be the effective therapist he needed. "So we're back to the question of whether you want to talk this out with me, or Bob."
He swallowed hard. "I don't want to talk about it at all. Helena, you don't know what they did to me. It was so --"
He paused, his mouth dry, unable to continue. She spoke softly. "I know."
He looked at her, surprised. "How could you?"
"The last time? Just before I got you out? I was hiding in the ventilation system. I saw."
He shuddered. Neither had been able to talk about their experiences. They had been unable to shed tears or vent any emotion over the abuses they suffered on the planet. "We were lucky that they thought so little of females," Helena said. "As a serving drudge I learned a lot and was completely ignored. There were only males in their 'pleasure areas' and they seemed confident that females were mindless slaves. I'm not mindless."
Koenig smiled fondly, "Something I've always been extremely grateful for."
She returned his smile and teased him gently as she had in the past. "Are you saying that you fell in love with me for my mind, Commander?"
He couldn't truthfully say yes to that. She was a beautiful woman, and he had been physically attracted to her the moment he met her. "Let's just say it's one of your many assets which I value highly," he responded lightly. His tone became darker. "They seemed to delight in removing control from me. Theywould hold me down. Beat me. Taunting me to beg them to stop. The more I resisted, the worse they treated me, and I couldn't bring myself to give in, even though I knew they would probably lose interest in me if I did." He shook his head.
"I've gone over and over this in my mind. I couldn't bring myself to give up, and couldn't give up resisting."
"Is that what you dream about?" she asked.
He thought for a moment before answering, and she didn't rush him.
Finally he sighed. "Yes and no. The nightmares puzzle me. I dream about attacks and rescues. Someone grabs me, begins to assault me. If I don't wake up during the attack, you rescue me."
He looked at her, puzzled. "It's always you. Always. I recognize you immediately. But Helena, sometimes you're a man."
He halted again and she waited silently for him to continue. "Does that have something to do with what I just went through?" He stood and began to pace. "Helena, I've never, ever, been attracted to men. And you know I've been with other women before you. But in these dreams, the moment you rescue me, and I recognize you -- I'm --" he hesitated, then continued reluctantly. "I'm aroused. Just like any other time I'm around you. I want you, male or female, it doesn't matter to me. Do you think they've done something to me to change me somehow?"
He sat back down, seemingly relieved just to have asked the question. He was still on the other side of the room from her, but leaning forward, eager for her answer. His pacing also gave her encouragement. He had always been such an active man, full of energy that seemed ready to burst out of him at any moment. Since their return he had moved with more caution, holding back any show of anger, anxiety or impatience. She was certain others had noticed this as well, although none had mentioned anything to her.
She remained completely still, knowing it was still too soon for her to attempt any physical contact with him, but she was hopeful now that she could help him begin the healing process. "To my knowledge, John, no one's sexual orientation has ever been changed by violence, or torture. Although there is some evidence that certain experiences during a person's formative years, well before puberty, can have an influence on sexual preference, you are well past that stage of development where this experience might have that kind of influence on you.
"And yes, I'm well aware that you are sexually attracted to women, not men. A phenomena which I assure you has always delighted me," she smiled at him, remembering their long history of attraction to each other.
He returned her smile tentatively. "Except lately, I haven't been attracted to anyone."
"That's understandable given your recent experiences. But John, that was violent behavior, not sexual behavior. You've been healing, both physically, and mentally. I think these dreams are part of that healing process. Your mind is trying to put these experiences into perspective."
She bit her bottom lip and looked away from him. She leaned forward, her left hand twisting her ring with a nervous gesture she used when making a decision about something. She was heading into territory she would never go to with any other patient or even a colleague. With anyone else she would never broach the subject, but this was John, the man she loved and trusted more than anyone else she had ever known. She looked back at him and smiled. "I've always believed -- and be aware that this has no basis in empirical evidence -- that certain people belong together, no matter what circumstances they find themselves in."
"You mean like love at first sight?" he asked, remembering how caught off guard he had been the first time he had seen her.
"Something like that," she said with a smile. "You know how sometimes you meet someone and you just know they'll be a good friend? And sometimes you don't even get the chance to know them very well, but you're sure of their friendship even over distance or years."
Koenig nodded. Tony Cellini had been such a friend, and Victor Bergman was another. Helena was also a person he had felt close to right away, someone he could trust even before he knew her well, and well before their physical attraction was consummated.
"I believe," she smiled, almost shyly, and looked at him. He nodded, encouraging her to go on, interested for the first time in a long time in something. "I think perhaps we've met before in another life."
"Reincarnation? Helena, I wouldn't have thought you'd be the type to believe in that."
"Let's just say I find it to be one plausible explanation for certain phenomena. It could be that your dreams are your mind's way of integrating your recent experiences with your past." She smiled again. "If you don't like the reincarnation theory, maybe it's just your imagination thinking up similar situations, to try to help you reconcile what happened in terms you can relate to."
He chuckled appreciatively. "Helena -- what would I do without you?" The laughter faded quickly, and the question sounded desperate. "Now what?"
"Would you let me use hypnotherapy? I can't guarantee anything, but I think it might help."
"To get in touch with my past lives?"
"Or at least reconcile your present one."
John nodded. "We'll try it. I trust you."
Helena was scheduled to work the night shift the following week, and no one found it unusual that Koenig adjusted his own schedule to more closely match hers. They had lived together for years and frequently altered his schedule as hers changed. Both were continually on call in any event. Helena usually required one physician from her staff be in Medical Center at all times, with a support staff on call for the late night hours. If needed, there was a nurse or orderly on duty.
Things were quiet. Everyone was healthy. When Koenig arrived shortly after midnight, Medical Center was deserted. Helena was waiting for him and led him to an examination chair. As he settled in, she attached sensors to him to monitor his stress levels. They had discussed the procedure in detail that morning and they now worked smoothly together with little talk. The Medical Center was darkened. Medical monitors provided most of the light. An exam light illuminated a circle around the exam chair. Helena unzipped his black sleeve and prepared his arm for an injection to make him more susceptible to hypnotic suggestion. She knew he was tense, and the telemetry was confirming it. He surprised her when he captured her hand and drew it to his lips to kiss it gently. He looked deep into her green eyes with his blue eyes and smiled that smile that always melted her heart. It was the first time he had voluntarily touched her in three months. She smiled back at him, then administered the injection, and lowered the light.
Darkness. Sleep. Rest. Questions. Helena guided him through the darkness, her familiar beloved voice a beacon for him.
She stood in line to receive her share of the meager supplies. Despite the many deaths along the way, the supplies seemed less and less. She heard muttering around the fires that the soldiers had planned it that way. The soldiers kept the food for themselves. The soldiers had sold the food.
She was alone now. Her mother had died years before, and her father had died of a broken heart here on the trail as they left behind the orderly little mountainside farm he'd loved, and his beloved wife's grave. Grandmother lasted little longer, the walk had been too much for her. Now she shared a fire with others from dwindling families when they stopped to rest.
This time last year she had been leaving home for boarding school in Virginia. Her father insisted that learning the white man's ways was important, and he paid handsomely for the schooling that fascinated her so much. Her classmates had marveled at an Indian with blue eyes. Grandmother told her that great-grandfather had also had deep blue eyes. Would her friends wonder why she didn't return? Would they miss her?
She was so wrapped up in her own misery, she didn't see the two soldiers follow her away from the supply wagon. Soldiers had become part of the scenery, she never paid any attention to them. When one moved next to her she nodded, thinking he would simply ignore her and pass on by. Instead, he nudged her off the path with his shoulder. She staggered slightly, shifting her precious bundle of flour to keep her balance. The other soldier caught her around the waist and tugged her farther into the woods. Before she could call for help, one had his hand over her mouth. She pushed at the other with her bag of flour, suddenly afraid, but they overwhelmed her. They were prepared -- she had been surprised.
It happened so quickly. One held her arms and the other kept her jaw shut. Her skirts were pulled up and the first one on top of her before she could even try to fight. The pain was terrific as he entered her brutally over and over. When he moved aside for the other to take his turn she was too shocked and hurt to struggle much, but she tried. She never saw the blow coming as one hit her on the side of the head with the stock of his gun. That pain entwined itself with the pain between her legs, leaving her powerless. When they were through with her, they stood to leave. A call came from the path. They responded with a grin.
"We was just relieving ourselves, Lieutenant."
"On our way back to the supply line right now. These savages is too hungry to be dangerous anyway."
They pushed through the undergrowth toward the path. She curled on her side, quietly wishing for death, the pain making it all too evident that she was still alive. A moan escaped her lips and she heard a rustling near the path. She stiffened with fear. Had they come back?
A younger voice called out, "Oh, my God!"
She looked up into green eyes, clouded over with tears. Long blond hair was pulled back under an officer's hat. A carefully cultivated mustache belied the extreme youth of the young officer. She flinched as he reached for her. "Iwon't hurt you," he said slowly.
"Those two men," she said softly, not moving any more than necessary.
"They did this to you?"
"Yes," she gasped. Somehow, she trusted this young man, so like the brothers of her friends from school. She began to cry as he helped her to sit, and he held her close to comfort her.
"You speak English?" he asked, surprised.
"Of course. Most of us do, but the soldiers don't talk to us.
He helped her to stand. She was unsteady on her feet. "Do you want to ride?" he asked.
She shook her head. The pain of standing was bad enough. The thought of straddling a horse made her shiver.
Her flour was scattered on the ground. He pulled bread, jerky and a small tin of cake out of his saddle bag, and insisted she eat as he walked her down the road to her fireside. He promised the soldiers would be punished, but she didn't believe it. He seemed very naive. Whether the soldiers were punished or not, she would still have to live with the scars from this trail of tears she walked.
She did hope she would meet again the young lieutenant with the green eyes.
John returned to himself with a wrenching feeling. He sat forward abruptly, covered with sweat. Helena stood by his chair, close, but not attempting to touch him. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. His blue eyes locked with her green ones.
"That," he said breathlessly, "was one of the bad ones."
"I was too late again." She wiped tears from her cheeks with both hands.
As if she were the one in therapy instead of him he told her, "That's not your fault, you did more than most would have."
She changed the subject. "You made me look like General Custer." She shuddered.
"You could never behave like him."
She shook her head. "I would be a product of my environment. I might still be a moral and ethical person, but the morals and ethics would be those of the time."
It took him a moment to digest that thought, then he lay back in the chair. They existed in a pool of light. He could see nothing behind her -- perhaps it was an effect of the drug. "Let's try it again."
"We should probably wait --"
He interrupted her. "This is private, between you and I. Right now we have privacy, but who knows how long it will last."
Helena shivered again at the thought of sharing this experience with anyone else, even Bob Mathias, who was a trusted friend and trained professional. She agreed with a small nod and prepared him to go under again.
Screams could be heard coming from the smoke that engulfed the village. The attackers struck at dawn, just as she was returning from the nearby stream with fresh water for the day. The broken water pot lay behind her on the ground. Riders on small sturdy horses were chasing her through the forest as she recognized her mother's voice screaming encouragement as she ran. The voice was cut off in mid cry and her little brother's cry of "Mama, Mama!" stopped abruptly. She tripped over a root. Her skirts wrapped around her ankles and she couldn't get up. The horses were on her in a heartbeat. Two men swung off the ponies, kicking her back to the ground as she struggled to rise.
She tried to kick back, but bare feet were ineffective against leather boots and the men began to laugh. The first one was on top of her, leaning down to kiss her with his smelly mouth. His teeth were black and broken and he smelled of fermented horse milk. She bit his ear and he sat up and slapped her. The other grabbed her hands and she howled with fury. She continued to struggle as they tugged at her skirt. None of them heard the third horseman arrive.
The one on top of her was kicked aside. The other looked up to protest, then backed off as he recognized the warrior prince. She didn't understand the words, but she did understand the tone of voice. The Alan warrior was clearly in charge of this group of Mongols, despite his youth. She looked into his green eyes and responded to his smile. He was but a few years older than her.
Long blond hair was held back with a leather thong. His shirt was finely embroidered with crimson thread. He was barely old enough to shave, but was carefully clean shaven. He spoke one word of her language, "Friend," and she believed him. He held out his hand and she took it. Once she was standing, he lifted her to ride pillion on his own sturdy pony. They rode away from the burning village together, back to the endless steppes, to a different life from any she had ever known, wife of a nomad prince.
The fear, adrenalin, and arousal remained with him this time as he surfaced to consciousness. With his first look at Helena he realized just how beautiful she was and how powerful their attraction for each other.
She could feel it too. She stepped closer and he took her hand and pulled her down into a long, urgent kiss. His hands began to wander to places they shouldn't go in public and she pulled back. "John, I'm on duty."
"There's no one around," he coaxed, trying to pull her back to him.
"But there's no guarantee it will stay that way," she said, but smiling at the same time. She wouldn't deny that his offer was tempting. It had been a long time. "There are usually a few who get here early. As soon as someone shows up, I'll say I'm having trouble adjusting to the shift change and slip away."
He gave her a wolfish grin that made her tingle. "I'll be waiting for you." He stood and gave her another kiss -- a promise of more to come -- then he was gone.
She had intended to follow him within the hour, but when people began to arrive for first shift, or arrive with ailments to attend to before their duty session, she was delayed again and again. He was on duty by the time she reached their quarters. It was the middle of second shift before they made contact and despite their desire, John found he had not been cured overnight.
They found themselves in a similar position to the one they had been in a week ago. Koenig paced their darkened quarters, frustrated and impatient. Helena sat on the bed, knees drawn up, chin resting on her knees, equally frustrated.
"I thought last night had helped!" Koenig said desperately.
"It did, John," Helena said, more calm than her partner. "Last week you couldn't stand to touch me. It is better."
He sat next to her and deliberately ran his hand down her bare back.
"You're right," he sighed. "I guess I can't expect miracles."
"Are you up to another session tonight?" she asked, laying back on the bed.
"I am eager for another session tonight," he replied settling down next to her, an arm around her waist. He noticed that she was carefully trying to position herself to keep him from feeling trapped. He gave her a gentle grateful kiss, and hoped for sleep without nightmares.
Helena began third shift with a minor emergency, a technician had cut his hand and it required stitches. One of her nurses stayed to assist. As she washed up, the nurse approached her. "The patient is sleeping, that pain medicine worked pretty fast."
"It was probably just as much a reaction to the stress he was under. He was afraid he had lost his fingers," Helena replied quietly.
"Commander Koenig is waiting for you in your office."
"Thanks Tequista," Helena replied. John had been sleeping soundly when she left for duty. She hadn't been sure he would come tonight. "And thanks for staying."
"No problem. Hope you have a quiet shift now."
The nurse left before Helena responded quietly, "So do I."
As she entered the office, John looked up from her terminal with a smile.
"I see you e-mailed me some things to read."
"I did some research this morning," she said, sliding gracefully into a chair across the desk. "I've read those articles myself at one time or another, and we had copies in the med-lib database."
"I wasn't aware that much reputable research had been done on reincarnation."
Helena shrugged. "Not much empirical research. That would be a bit difficult. The case studies I sent you are all by respected psychiatrists. Try the one by Dr. Weiss first. He talks about people being drawn back to the same group of people between lifetimes." She looked into John's blue eyes. "The relationships aren't always the same. Someone you love in one lifetime may be your murderer in another."
Koenig swallowed. That was a chilling thought. "The two last night, we were... attracted to each other both times. You saved my life."
"I just want to warn you that may not always be the case." She continued, "You were a woman both times too, and I male. How would you feel if we were both male, or both female?"
Koenig shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with the thought. Her office was too small to allow for decent pacing. "I don't know, Helena. It's not really something I've ever contemplated before." He watched her watch him, calmly, slightly detached. "Have you ever thought about it?"
To his surprise, she didn't hesitate. She smiled, almost serenely, and leaned forward. She spoke softly and deliberately, looking deep into his eyes. "I love you. It doesn't matter a bit to me whether you're male or female."
Their eyes remained locked. Despite the physical distance between them, across a desk, it was one of the most intimate moments he had ever experienced.
He smiled back at her. It would take him a while to become comfortable with that statement, but he knew how he had felt about her since he first walked into her office several years ago. "I suppose," he said, "it was a good thing we were both -- unattached when we met."
She laughed in response. "You're probably right. Perhaps the life we're leading now is penance for killing a spouse or two in a previous life."
Koenig shook his head. "This life hasn't been that bad. Are we ready to try again?" he asked, changing the subject.
She nodded, "If you are."
His heart soared as he sailed into the familiar fjord on the small longboat, his first command. They had been betrothed since infancy, an arrangement by their fathers to strengthen family ties in this far northern outpost with the fertile homelands of Jutland. They first met when he had come here to be fostered for a year at the age of eight. She had been the perfect playmate in their rare free time, teaching him to ski in the winter while he taught her to swim in the hot springs they discovered high up the mountain near the shrine to Thor and Father Odin.
The year he was eleven, he returned for another year of fostering. His father disapproved of him because of his dark complexion, and an appeal to his great uncle had returned him to his father's cousin's house in the north. That year had been magical for the two, still children in body, but doing the work of adults. Her father had encouraged them to roam freely around the mountains together in all sorts of weather, saying that it would strengthen them. It had done so in body and spirit. When he left the last time he carried with him a bond of the heart as well as of honor. They stood together before the shrine of Father Odin on the hillside and pledged heart and soul to each other forever.
Now he was returning. As a young man he had earned his father's favor through warrior's skills and leadership skills despite his complexion. The young men of his command were fiercely loyal to their youthful leader, and had joyfully come with him to pay his bride price and return home with his beloved.
The small village was more somber than he had expected at their arrival. His uncle, a great bear of a man met them at the dock, tears streaming down his face. "My dear boy, you are too late."
"What do you mean?"
"The priests. They have taken her to be the bride of Thor. They send her to Valhalla now, as midsummer sacrifice."
"Now? Where?"
"The chapel, on the hill."
With a shout to his second to prevent anyone from following, the young warrior was running up the familiar pathway. He had dreamed of this path, leading to the hot springs pool they had played in as children. That spring had played a major role in his fantasies throughout puberty -- fantasies he was so close to making a reality.
His battle axe was ready as he burst into the clearing containing the shrine. The priests stood around the grave, one praying as he tightened the garrote around the girl's neck. She knelt in supplication, her hands in back of her tied together at the wrists. Her long golden hair fell unbound over one shoulder. The priest with his hand on the garrote had his throat slashed before he saw the axe flying through the air. The priest who held the bludgeon which would be used at the moment the garrote suffocated her was thrown off the cliff before he could react. The third holding the platter of barley cake and goblet of drugged wine barely had time to protest that the girl was chosen to be Thor's bride before his neck was broken.
The girl slumped in a heap without the support of the priests. Her betrothed pressed the bodies of the two priests into the small grave, then noticed the half eaten barley cake nearby. With the efficiency of a warrior, he lifted the girl, leaned her over the grave and pushed his fingers down her throat. She vomited a mixture of the poisoned barley cake and drugged wine, a bloody colored, pulpy mixture onto the white robes of the priests.
He wiped her mouth with his sleeve and shook her, hoping for some recognition in her eyes. She smiled at him. "My War God."
"Your husband," he said firmly.
She sagged against him.
He laid her well away from the grave and let her doze while he worked off his anger filling in the grave. He had left her too long. He should have come back sooner. The priests had chosen her because she was a virgin,beautiful and pure. If not for their vow years ago, she would not have met their requirements. As he filled in the grave, he kept an eye on her, and he knew what he needed to do to keep her safe.
Once the grave was covered he lifted her and carried her up the path to the spring. He removed her white shift and his own clothes and lowered them both into the spring.
She looked into his blue eyes and smiled. "You came."
"Of course."
She shifted in his lap. Her long blond hair floated on the water like a fan around her. She leaned close to kiss him, and feeling his need shifted again to offer him entry. It was all his fantasies had suggested and more.
"Heart of my heart," she murmured. "Will you always be there to rescue me?"
"Always," he responded eagerly, claiming the one who would have been the most beautiful of Valkyries as his own.
He opened his eyes to the darkened Medical Center and licked dry lips. His eyes found Helena's and they smiled at each other. "Well..." he quipped. "I didn't expect to fight a god for you, just a possessive husband."
"Thank you for coming to my rescue." She leaned toward him and said conspiratorially, "I'd rather be with you than be a Valkyrie any day."
He chuckled. "Do we ever just have a quiet life together?"
"I don't know. Are you ready to try again?"
He hesitated only briefly as he considered the last life and their activity in the hot spring. It would be hours before she would be off duty.
"Yes, let's try."
The market place was crowded and pickings should have been good. Daughter of an infidel streetwalker and a nameless crusader, she supplemented her mother's meager income by stealing. She dreaded the day she knew would come soon, when her mother would insist she join the family profession. She would rather take her chances in the marketplace.
A Christian knight was haggling over the price of leeks while his squire stood behind him with a basket. Her hand closed around a pomegranate and a hand closed around her wrist. The merchant's portly wife held her fast, and she knew that to be caught stealing would mean losing a hand. Her heart pounded with fear, but she was held fast.
The young squire laid his hand over that of the merchant woman. In a soft voice he said, "No, good woman. She was handing it to me."
The woman was speechless as the squire took the fruit from her hand.
"Thank you for reaching it for me." He smiled as his green eyes met her blue ones. His yellow hair was wavy and longer than her own black braid. She smiled and slipped back into the crowd before the surprised woman could utter a sound, still in possession of both hands.
She saw the young squire frequently around the town, sometimes at the side of his knight, sometimes running errands on his own. They spoke sometimes, when the knight wasn't with him. She learned that the knight was his brutish brother-in-law, wed to the boy's older sister to pay a debt. He had been sent to the Holy Land by the boy's father, the knight's liege lord, mostly to keep him away from the manor and the boy's sister. They were from an island far to the north and west of Acre.
Her new friend didn't like her to steal, and made sure she had something to eat each time he saw her. They had planned to meet by the fountain near the knight's garrison on the day Acre fell. He came on horseback instead of on foot. "We have to leave," he cried as he rode up to her.
"We?" she asked.
He held out his hand and pulled her up behind him. "With your blue eyes you won't be safe here either. Come with me."
She was already settled behind him, arms around his waist, head nestled against his shoulder. "Your knight?"
"Dead. We're going home."
"Together?"
"Always," he replied firmly. By dark they had left the ill-fated town of Acre far behind.
He floated in a half trance-like state and answered Helena's curious questions.
The young people made their way across Asia Minor and Europe. They stopped at the first Christian church they passed and prevailed upon the priest to marry them. When their money ran out they worked for food. They were young and healthy and happy to be together. The boy's father welcomed them home with open arms. The manor the boy would inherit was small, but respectable. As Lady of the Manor in later years the girl kept the household clean and free of rats and fleas thereby avoiding the plague that raged around them. She bore him children. They cherished each other over a long and happy life.
He surfaced again to his familiar life in the familiar Medical Center with Helena by his side, supportive as always. She had been at his side and he at hers in a partnership that spanned lifetimes and he was just as glad to return from those stormy lifetimes to his own current one.
He smiled and took her hand. "It's good to be home."
"Taking a closer look at these... dreams. Do you feel that it has helped?"
He pressed her hand to his lips. "They do tend to be explained by your theory. We've been together before."
"It's not a theory. There's no real way to prove it." She touched his cheek gently. "I'm sorry I haven't always gotten there in time."
He shook his head. "It's not your fault. It would be worse if you hadn't gotten there at all."
"I'll be there for you, I promise."
He kissed the palm of her hand, reveling in his reclaimed ability to enjoy her touch.
"Always?"
She confirmed, "Always."
Ellen Lindow
April, 1998