Free 01 - The Compass Rose by Gail Dayton Page B

past Kallista’s age. Her red hair was streaked with gray, her freckled face lined with experience. Her green-brown eyes stared deep into Kallista’s.
    “Who are you?” the woman demanded. “How did you get in here?”
    “I…” How did she get here? “…I don’t think I am here.”
    With a snarl, the woman sliced her knife across Kallista’s throat.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    K allista recoiled, hands flying up to push the madwoman away. She called for Torchay as she scrabbled backward across the stone floor, her voice a hoarse croak, surprised she still had a voice. She reached up to stanch the wound…but there was no blood pouring down over her undertunic. No pain. Carefully, Kallista felt her neck. There was no wound.
    “So. You’re the new one.” The woman stood, tossed the knife on the table above. “How long has it been?”
    Kallista ran her hands over the whole of her throat. How could that knife not have cut her? She had felt its sharpness, felt it prick her. “How long has it been since what?”
    “Since I died, of course. What’s your name?” The woman poured wine from a silver pitcher into an ornate cup. “I’d offer you some, but I’m afraid you couldn’t drink it.”
    “Why not?” Kallista got awkwardly to her feet, staring at the high chamber around her. It was dark, the windows mere slits in the gray stone walls, the candles blazing from bronze candlesticks insufficient to make up for the lack of sunlight. Banners in subtle colors with strangely familiar devices attempted to soften the stone, and a fire burned on a circular hearth, the smoke finding its own way out the hole in the roof. This was the most realistic dream she’d ever had.
    “I can drink in my dream if I want to,” she said, recalling what the other had said about the wine.
    “It’s not a dream.” The woman gave her a sour look. “Not exactly. You should know that—Here, what is your name?”
    “Kallista. What’s yours?”
    The woman laughed and took a drink from her cup. As she drank, the smile faded from her eyes. She set the cup on the table, staring at Kallista in shock. “You really don’t know me, do you?”
    “Should I?”
    “Yes.” The woman had no small opinion of herself if she expected a complete stranger to recognize her and know her name.
    “Sorry.” Kallista lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I don’t.”
    “How long has it been since my death? Since the death of Belandra of Arikon?”
    Kallista stared. She was more than ready for this dream to end. It was becoming far too strange. “Belandra of Arikon never lived. She’s a story. A tale told by the fireside to frighten children and thrill young men.”
    “I never lived? Never lived? ” The woman—Belandra of her dreams—snatched up the silver cup and threw it across the room. Wine flew in all directions, none of it spotting Kallista’s pale blue undertunic.
    “How then did I unite the four prinsipalities into one people?” Belandra demanded. “How did I fight and defeat the enemies of the One? How did I—” Her mouth continued to move, but Kallista could not hear her. It was as if some barrier had dropped between them, cutting off all sound.
    In the far distance, she could hear Torchay calling her name and turned to go, to answer him.
    “Wait.” Belandra caught her arm. “How long?”
    Kallista felt Torchay’s voice pulling at her, drawing her back, but Belandra’s hand anchored her in place. “A thousand years. The four prinsipalities were united a thousand years ago. There are twenty-seven prinsipalities in Adara now. But the first Reinine was Sanda, not Belandra.”
    The older woman’s smile showed a deep affection that made Kallista shiver. “My ilias was much better suited to governing than a hot-tempered naitan like me.”
    Torchay called again, stretching her thin.
    “I have to go.” Kallista clawed at the fingers holding her.
    “Take this.” Belandra pulled a ring from her forefinger and pressed it into