Dark Challenge. Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 5

Barack took the initiative, as he always did lately when anything involved Syndil. He shrugged his shoulders with his easy, fluid grace and sauntered with seeming carelessness after her. She was already moving through the twisted, charred acreage, her hands weaving a strange but fascinating pattern in the stillness of the air. She glanced over her shoulder at Barack, a slight frown on her face.

“Do you hear it, Barack? The ground is screaming in pain. This fire was set deliberately by something evil.” Syndil’s voice was soft and gentle, a mere whisper, yet all of them, with their acute hearing, could clearly understand her.

“Evil as in…” Barack prompted her.

“Not a fire-lover. Neither is it a human.” She had already turned her attention back to the blackened trees and soil, dismissing the source as unimportant to her. If the men wanted to deal with such a terrible being, that was their right and privilege. She was of the earth, was part of it, as surely as it was a part of her. She loved the soil, the trees and mountains. All of nature sang to her, wrapped her in loving arms. It was as necessary to her as breathing. Nothing could have stopped her from going forward to help her beloved earth.

Julian watched as she bent down and touched the charred soil with caressing fingers. He swore the dirt moved around and over her hand, wanting the contact with her. He found himself holding his breath, shocked at what he was witnessing. Where Desari’s gift was her voice, Syndil’s was evidently much different. She held a deep affinity to the earth itself, could cure what was diseased or damaged. He moved to the door of the bus and watched in awe as her hands buried themselves deep in the blackened soil, weaving the same beautiful and intricate pattern beneath the dirt so that above ground ripples began to shape themselves in an ever-widening spiral.

Julian stepped from the bus and moved to one side, careful to stay out of Syndil’s way. Desari laced her fingers tightly with her lifemate’s. Darius and Dayan were deploying as they always did, guarding the perimeter of the area, their attention on the skies above them and the trees around them. Something was out there, something that had set a trap, something evil that had known Syndil would be unable to resist the screaming of the earth.

Part of Julian could not turn over guardianship of Desari to the other males even for a moment. So he remained at her side and simply watched Syndil, fascinated by the ever-widening circle of richness, spreading, growing. The color of the ground itself was slowly beginning to change to a rich, fertile, deeper black unlike the charred dullness that had been there before. He became aware that Syndil was chanting in the ancient tongue. It was melodious and beautiful, the words an ode to the soil, the essence of the earth. He understood the ancient language, thought he had heard every poem, every lyric, every healing art there was. Yet this chant was completely new to him. Julian easily interpreted the words, found them to be mysteriously soothing, yet joyful. The words spoke of rebirth, of green growth, and glittering, silvery rain. Of tall trees and lush vegetation. He found himself smiling for no reason. Syndil had never looked more beautiful. She shone. Rays of light surrounded her for all to see.

Desari slipped her arm around his waist. “Is she not as I said? Magnificent. Syndil can heal the worst scars on this earth. Anything will grow for her. I am so proud of her abilities when I see her like this. Anything of nature responds to her. Yet it can be so hard on her; part of her takes on the pain of the destroyed forests, the soil.”

“Our women are truly miracles,” Julian said softly, more to himself than to her. None of his people had known of this. Not a single Carpathian male alive had known a woman old enough to have gifts such as Desari and Syndil displayed. Their remaining women were miraculous in the light and compassion they brought to the darkness of the man, but they were far too young, mere fledglings, to have developed their own powers.