Page 30 of Lion of Thunder (De Lohr Dynasty: Sons of de Lohr #5)

IN ALTERA VITA

T here were voices all around him.

Opening his eyes, he could see a golden mist and the voices seemed to be in the mist itself. In fact, everything was golden, as if he were in the midst of a golden dream. But he could smell the sea upon the warm wind, blowing gently through his blond hair, and the sun, which had been all around him, gradually retreated until it was simply a bright globe in the sky. A sky of blue that was so pure, so deep, that it had a life all its own. Everything around him had a life all its own.

The golden mist was fading.

He was walking.

Walking in this golden mist that retreated until it was only at his feet, and that was when he realized that the golden mist had turned to sand. Golden sand all around him, with the brilliant blue sky above, and in front of him, on the horizon, he could see darkened shapes trying to take form. They were undulating and moving, and as he drew closer, the shapes finally became something he recognized.

An encampment.

He’d seen this encampment before. He’d spent three years of his life here. He could see tents he recognized—the blue and white of de Royans was one. The black and red of de Russe was another. Tents of all sizes and shapes and colors sprouted up from that golden sand, and as the wind blew off the sea, it rippled the canvas sides and lashed the banners that were protruding from the poles.

It was Richard the Lionheart’s encampment.

Instead of feeling shock or confusion, he felt… joy. Joy and delight. Joy and curiosity at what he was going to find at the center of that encampment, though he already knew. Excitement filled him.

He began to run.

It didn’t occur to him that he hadn’t been able to run in years. It didn’t even occur to him that he wasn’t wearing a tunic, but breeches and boots. His broadsword hung at his side. It was his usual attire when he’d haunted the sands of the Levant during King Richard’s crusade. He stopped running as he neared the encampment, looking down at himself to note his state of dress, looking at his bare arms and chest and seeing them as they had been when he was young and in his prime. His skin was a golden brown, baked by the sun.

Aye, he knew where he was.

He knew it so very well.

He looked up at the encampment again only to see misty figures moving among the tents. They were clearer now than they had been before. He started walking again, heading toward those figures as they were moving toward him. As he watched, they took form. But then a very big wraith suddenly burst out from between a couple of the tents, and as it came close, it took on the form of something he hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Boron.

The warhorse he’d had for seventeen years, the one who had been with him to hell and back, whether upon the sands of the Levant or the green fields of England. Boron had been killed in a tournament when a knight named Dennis la Londe had deliberately speared him in the chest in an attempt to kill the animal’s rider.

Joy and awe filled Christopher as he realized it was his beloved steed.

“Boron,” he murmured, running his hands over the silver coat. “My God… it is you.”

The horse wanted ear scratches, and he happily complied. He even hugged the big animal’s neck, so very happy to see him. But then he began to hear voices. People were calling his name.

Christopher!

Chris!

Still scratching his horse, he turned to see a group gathering right at the edge of the encampment. It took him a moment to realize he was looking at people he hadn’t seen in many years, and two in particular were coming out to greet him. He fixed on them and memories from the deep came forth as he recognized them. But they looked much younger and much healthier than they did the last time he saw them. In fact, they looked to be about his age, young and beautiful and strong. The man had sky-blue eyes and neat, shoulder-length blond hair, while the woman had pale red hair and luminous dark eyes, something none of her children had inherited.

Christopher looked like his father.

Myles de Lohr reached out to greet his son.

“Boron has missed you,” he said, his eyes glimmering with delight. “He knew you were coming before any of us did. Welcome home, lad. We are so very happy to see you.”

That voice.

It was a voice Christopher had only heard in his dreams and it was just as he remembered it. Overwhelmed, he threw his arms around his father, a man he’d not held for more than eighty years. Christopher had been very young when his parents passed away of an infectious disease, both of them within in a short time. At seven years of age, he’d been orphaned along with his brother and infant sister. His parents had been older when he and his siblings had been born, so he’d only known them as older people. Not the two gorgeous, healthy-looking people before him. Releasing his father, Christopher took his mother in his arms and hugged her tightly.

“I have missed you so much,” he whispered, releasing her even as she held on to him. “I can hardly believe it. It is so good to see you both.”

“And you,” his mother said, her eyes twinkling warmly. “Look how strong and handsome you are. This is such a proud moment for us, Chris.”

Christopher grinned. “I am glad,” he said. “But where do I begin? There’s so much to tell you… so much to talk about.”

Myles put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “There will be plenty of time for that,” he said. “When we heard you were approaching, we came here to pitch a tent and wait. We assumed you would want to remain here until David arrived. And your wife.”

Christopher looked at both of his parents, so delighted he couldn’t express it. He was shocked and awed and thrilled all at once. Then he looked beyond them at the people who were standing at the edge of the encampment, waiting for him. He was astonished to see so many wonderful friends from long ago, people who had passed on. People he had missed so terribly. He could see Erik de Russe and Gart Forbes, old and dear friends, who waved to him when they saw he was looking at him. Christopher chuckled and waved back. Next to them stood Rhys du Bois, one of his closest and dearest friends, alongside his old mentor, Juston de Royans. All men who had passed away over the years, people he sorely missed, but people who looked just the way he remembered them. Young and strong and healthy.

But there was someone else he saw.

Arthur Barringdon.

It was Dustin’s father. The last time he saw Arthur, the man was dying of a sucking chest wound and, to make the old man happy, Christopher had agreed to marry his daughter. He’d been so angry about it. Furious was more like it. How he’d hated Arthur for forcing him to make that pledge. That was how he’d left Arthur—in anger.

He had to speak to him.

With his parents trailing behind him, and his mother still holding his hand, Christopher made his way over to Arthur, who was smiling at him as he approached. Even Arthur looked different from the last time Christopher had seen him, now a younger, healthier, and far more robust man who looked very much like Christopher’s son, Westley. Christopher thought that was rather humorous—he never realized how much his youngest son looked like his wife’s father. They both had the same big blue eyes and arched eyebrows. When Arthur grinned, Christopher could see Westley in that grin.

It was truly astonishing.

“I married your daughter,” Christopher said as he approached the man. “Remember? You forced me into a marriage on your deathbed. Honestly, Arthur, I wanted to strangle you for it. Don’t tell me that you do not remember.”

Arthur laughed in a gesture that looked like Westley, too. “Of course I remember that,” he said. Then he put his hands on Christopher’s shoulders, his eyes full of warmth. “I also know that your marriage was blessed by the angels. I know that you love my daughter very much and she loves you.”

Christopher’s expression softened at the mention of Dustin. “Aye,” he said. Then he glanced around. “This is heaven, is it not?”

“It is your heaven, lad.”

Christopher looked at him curiously. “What does that mean?”

Arthur shrugged. “We all have our own personal heavens, Chris,” he said. “There is not one heaven for everyone. We are allowed to choose our own. Whatever makes us the happiest is where we stay. Much like your parents, I knew you were going to be here today, so I came to greet you. You can see that many people have come to greet you, but I wanted to make sure you knew of my gratitude for marrying Dustin Mary Catherine. I know it was not always easy with her, but it was always good. Wasn’t it?”

Christopher’s lips twitched with a smile. “Aye, Arthur,” he said softly. “It was always good. It is still good. It will be even better when she arrives and we can be together again.”

Arthur smiled. “Of course it will,” he said. “Her mother is here, too. She will be here soon, but she is trying to coerce the baby to sleep.”

Christopher looked at him curiously. “Baby?” he said. “What baby?”

“The baby you and Dustin lost so long ago,” Arthur said. “When she fell down the stairs in London. Remember? The one Burwell delivered?”

Christopher did. “ That baby is here?” he said, surprised.

Arthur nodded. “He came to us a baby,” he said. “He is still a baby, but once Dustin arrives, he will start to grow. That is the way it works around here. For now, your son is with Mary. She is very happy to have him because it is a piece of Dustin, something she can tend and love. He is a delightful boy.”

It was all quite astonishing to Christopher, who shook his head in wonder. “I cannot wait to meet him,” he said. “But this… What an amazing place it is. Truly incredible.”

Arthur laughed softly. “It is a little overwhelming, at first,” he said. “But you will quickly get used to it. You’ve earned this paradise, Chris. Enjoy all it has to offer.”

Christopher was still struggling a little to overcome his astonishment, but the more he looked at Arthur, the more he thought of Dustin. His heart, his mind, was lingering heavily on her.

“Arthur,” he said, “I must say something to you. The last time we saw one another, I was not very happy. You were forcing me to marry your daughter and, as you know, I did not wish to marry.”

Arthur smirked. “I know.”

Christopher could see the humor in it. “What you do not know is that I have always wanted to thank you for forcing me to marry Dustin,” he said quietly. “It was the best thing you could have ever done for me.”

Arthur was still grinning. “Mayhap I knew something that you didn’t,” he said. “Mayhap I knew that you needed one another.”

“We did. We still do.”

Arthur’s smile faded. “Do not fear,” he said. “Dustin will be strong without you. She’ll be here before you know it.”

“I do not wish for her to die soon if that is what you mean,” Christopher said. “We have children and grandchildren that need her. My loss will be difficult for them to take, but hers… it will be worse.”

“That is not what I mean,” Arthur said. “I simply meant that time here has no meaning. Nor does night or day. The days are always beautiful and balmy and the nights are always spectacular, with more stars in the sky than you can imagine. Mayhap only a day and night will pass here and Dustin will arrive. To you, it is a very short amount of time, but for her, it could be years. And you will know when she is coming.”

“How?”

“You will be told.”

“By God?”

“By his messengers,” Arthur said. “Meanwhile, enjoy the people you’ve not seen in many years. Enjoy your parents. I like them, Chris. They are good people.”

With that, Arthur patted him on the cheek and headed off again, losing himself in the encampment that seemed to have a golden sheen on it. Christopher was just noticing that. Everything had a golden sheen on it, like a layer of gold dust that couldn’t be swept away. As he watched Arthur head off, he realized his parents were still standing with him and turned to look at them. They were smiling at him and he couldn’t help but smile in return. He took his mother’s hand again, kissing it sweetly.

“I will assume I have a tent around here, somewhere,” he said, looking around. “Mayhap we can go there and talk. You know, I never had the chance to talk to you as an adult. I had always deeply regretted that.”

Val smiled. “As did we,” she said. “We left you so suddenly, Chris. You and David and Deborah were so young. It has only been a few weeks to us here, but I know it has been many years where you were.”

Christopher nodded. “It was,” he said. “So many years. Could you… could you see me? Could you see what was happening in my life?”

Myles nodded. “A little,” he said. “If you thought about us, we could, but if you did not, we were content to linger here until you thought of us again. Your thoughts of us gave us a window into your world. It made us come alive again, as it were. But memories fade and it became more difficult for us to see you.”

Christopher sighed. “I do not know how often I thought of you,” he admitted. “You died when I was so young. The more time passed, the more you became a distant memory.”

“But here you are now,” Val said. “We know you had several children. I think the last one we saw was Myles, because you named him for your father and were thinking of him, but we didn’t see any others after that.”

Christopher smiled at her. “You will be happy to know that I have six sons and four daughters,” he said. “Because I lost you when I was young, I made a point of being close to them. All of them. And my grandchildren, too. I wanted to give them memories that would last them a lifetime. I wanted to be an influence on their lives. I hope… I think… I have accomplished that.”

Behind him, out in the desert, he could hear voices. They were swirling on the golden wind, whispered, just like he’d heard them before. Like ghosts trying to speak and he couldn’t quite understand them. He let go of his mother and took a few steps toward the vast sea of golden sand beyond, listening.

“What is it, Chris?” his mother asked.

Christopher shook his head. “I am not certain,” he said. “But I can hear voices. Do you not hear them?”

Val and Myles glanced knowingly at one another. It was Myles who came to stand beside his son, gazing out over the golden desert alongside him.

“Those voices are meant for your ears only,” he said. “They are your family, Chris. Mayhap they are praying for you, or mayhap they are talking to you. If you listen closely enough, sometimes you can hear what they are saying. If you follow the sound of the voice, you’ll be able to peek into their world a little, just as I told you. Not much, but a little. Sometimes you can even speak to them if the bond between you is strong enough.”

Christopher sighed faintly. “I would like to think it is with Dustin,” he said. “I saw her right before I ended up on these sands, but I did not speak to her. I would so like to reassure her that I am well.”

Myles put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Your bond with her is very strong, so if you hear her voice, follow it,” he said. “Tell her you are well. Sometimes it will come to her like a breeze, or sometimes a bird will carry the message for you. Sometimes it will even come to her in a dream. Speak to her and she will hear you, I promise. There were times when you were very young that I spoke to you, though I doubt you remember.”

Christopher smiled weakly. “Probably not,” he said. “But it is good to know that you heard me.”

“I did,” Myles said. “I do not know if you remember this, but once, around the time you married your wife, you asked me a question. I sent you an answer in the cry of a falcon, but you may not have heard me. Therefore, I will tell you now—my answer to your question is deeply, madly, and with all my heart.”

Christopher looked at him curiously. “What did I ask you?”

“If I was proud of you.”

Christopher looked at the man, feeling his answer hit deep. Although there were no tears in heaven from what he’d heard, he could feel himself welling up.

“Truly, Papa?” he whispered.

Myles nodded firmly. “Truly,” he said. “I have had others tell me what a great man you became. The greatest knight of your generation, some said. No man could be prouder of his son, Christopher.”

Christopher smiled at his father as tears stung his eyes. “Thank you,” he murmured. “That means everything to me.”

Myles winked at him. “Good,” he said. “Now, you must greet all of those people who have been waiting to embrace you. I fear the crowd is growing by the moment now that news of your arrival has spread.”

Myles was right. Christopher was greeted into heaven by hordes of people who were very glad to see him. Men he hadn’t seen in decades, men who had perished in battle, or due to disease. Whatever the reason, they had come to greet him and he could not have been happier. The celebration of his arrival went on for at least a day and a night until a man named Michael came to tell Christopher that Marcus was on the approach.

He greeted the man with fine wine and horses, as promised.

But more days passed and more nights, too, until finally, the moment came that he had been waiting for. Michael returned to tell him that Dustin was on the approach, so he stood at the edge of the encampment and waited for her.

His father had been right.

It had all happened in the blink of an eye.

When Dustin walked across those golden sands, looking young and beautiful, with her long blonde hair waving in the wind and her youthful figure restored, Christopher was the first person to greet her with open arms. Proof, once and for all, that true love never died.

For Christopher and Dustin, it was the beginning all over again. Christopher had once told her when they were first married of his feelings for her, and they were something that carried through, as true as love itself, to the very moment they met in eternity.

You are my reason for living, lady, and I love you with all my heart.

He meant it.

Forever.