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You feel it the instant you arrive. In your chest. In your belly. Deeper. Lower. It has been so long, and their renewal by teleport so sudden, that the emotions nearly overwhelm you.
She is here.
You scan the sky without hesitation. The clouds are too light for rain, but within seconds of your arrival, you see them begin to shift and darken. The rest of the party is oblivious. They are greeting the resort guests, making happy introductions, and eagerly spewing the patchwork quilt of the story. You hear snippets. “Chaos” "Rain King" "Lake of Serpents" “Elemental”
The name creates a fog in your mind - dense, aching. Once again, the question emerges. Is this you or her?
The people around you blur into a sea of murmurs, their voices dulled by the fog. You realize your eyes are fixated on the clouds above, and with an embarrassed glance around, you feign interest in the people bumping up against you.
Across the sea of faces, you catch Roderick's eye. He glances up at the clouds for an instant as if to say he knows she is here. His face does not seem to hold the joy (fear?) you hold. It is stern. Defiant.
And then, the rain begins. It arrives in an instant, without the usual warning drops. The crowd gasps in surprise and people begin to jog toward the long house. They do not understand. They never understand.
Soon, the crowd has thinned. A young resort woman tugs your hand to guide you toward cover. You resist without thinking. She laughs it off and runs ahead to avoid the rain. A native girl then approaches from behind and takes your hand, her fingers interlocking yours.
In her perfect, musical voice, she says, “Welcome back, husband.”
She is smaller than usual - though not as small as when you last saw her in Shiriki. Her black hair is dripping wet and her golden skin clings enticingly to her sheer dress. Her breasts, as always, are perfect. They call to you and your body reacts.
“You have never seen Ranita,” she says quietly, her eyes watching the thinning crowd around you.
“The city is a wonder to these people. Perhaps it does not compare to your great cities, but it has the finest the Dyanaî can offer, and its rulers share a luxury that some kings only dream about.”
She looks up at you, locking her gaze on you. “You cannot be the Rain King, Roget. The Lomasi would never accept you. The priests will crown their new king under the harvest moon. I want you there to see it.”
She looks away toward the long house. Curiosity pulls your eyes to follow. In the doorway, Roderick is looking back at you. Can he see her? Does he know?
You glance back and she is gone.
Time drifts forward. Seconds. Minutes. You are frozen in a dream. You can still feel her hand holding yours, and you know deep down that if you move even an inch, the feeling will fade.
Roderick is standing next to you. “Come on, Roget. The villagers all want to hear the great tale. Dhersion has already started.”
Reality fades back in. The fog in your mind begins to dissipate. You have a job to do. One more bout of public relations to wrap this whole affair up. But then what? Spindrift? Rota? Ranita?
“By the way,” Roderick continues, as you walk toward the long house. “Who was that young woman holding your hand? She seemed a little out of place. I mean, I know some cultures don't have a stigma about childbearing out of wedlock, but I didn't see a husband and I've not seen a pregnant native woman in these parts without a husband hovering nearby.”
The fog in your mind clears with a snap. Your memory fills in the details obscured. Below the perfect breasts. The small bulge under the clinging dress.
The rain falling around you makes a music that only you can hear. “Our son,” it says, “will rule this coast from north to south. With your help, he will be a king greater than any this land has seen for a thousand years.”
Later, inside the long house, Dhersion tells the Grand Tale to an enraptured audience. After his story (which, you note, differs significantly from reality) concludes, you catch his eye and call him over.
He finishes his polite schmoozing and crosses the room to you.
You look at him silently for a few seconds. He seems to understand the gravity of the coming conversation – which is probably a good thing – so you just start in.
“Hrm. I'm not good at this. Orders, I understand. But this…this is a request. They need the Staff, Dhersion. It's the center of their culture, their way of life, and it is, quite literally, central to their survival. I know it's immensely powerful, and I know how much you've learned with it. But they crown a new Rain King at the Harvest Moon, and he should have it. I haven't met him yet, but I'm fairly certain I can keep him in line…but I'm getting ahead of myself.
“I don't have anything of value to exchange for it, obviously. All I have to offer is three parts of the same arc: a story, a secret, and a prophesy.
“And….even harder for me to say, but it seems to be in place:
Please.”
Dhersion smiles for an instant. Behind his eyes, you see the wheels turning as he forms his story. He has always been so good at this…
“While this may come as a suprise,” he begins, “I generally strive for the greater good in all that I do, even though it may seldom seem so. I originally accepted the burden of the staff at significant peril to myself and our party only under the burdening realization that left behind, it would almost certainly prove our undoing. Having undergone the trials we have faced and come out blessed and triumphant, I must admit, I was sorely tempted to retain the staff for my own uses. In my chosen trade, however, it is hard to avoid the manifold accounts of virtuous souls brought to ruin by the seemingly innocuous union of their own good intentions and powerful magics. Even so, it was not a simple decision to make. Nevertheless, the decision was made, dreams of laurels and power cast aside, and contentment found in the release of a decision well made.
“Having cast the staff from my future, however, it became my burden to find your standing in this plot, which, to my thinking, would be told in full in the manner you chose to make your request, when the time came. And here you stand before me, bristling with virtue and humility, as I knew you would.
“The staff is in your charge now, my friend, and I hope you find it a lighter burden in your custody than it proved in mine. Take it to the Dyanaî, crown their King, and make amends with your wife! For my part, my chapter in the tale of the Rain King is now closed, and I do not regret my part in it, from the raising of the curtain to this, our quiet denouement.
“But come now! Drink a fine draft with me to our continued good fortunes, and think not of the perils we have left in our wake! Our ways will be parting soon, and only the Gods know if they shall cross again!”
( much drinking ensues )