Spirit Walk_ Old Wounds (Book 1) - Christie Golden [16]
The only light was provided by candles, torches, fires, and, of course, the lava pits themselves. Rooms were sparsely furnished, and only with the rudest of chairs, benches and tables. There were no beds, only mats on the floor covered with animal hides. Bathing was limited to whatever one could manage with a basin of water. Meals were served twice a day and consisted entirely of traditional Klingon food. Tom had actually learned to like gagh, and to his eternal surprise, found that he agreed with the Klingon assertion that the worms were, indeed, best when eaten live.
B’Elanna handed Miral to him, who wriggled and kicked in his arms. Whatever annoyance and resentment Tom felt at being on Boreth always melted whenever he held his daughter. He knew he was fortunate to be able to spend so much time with her. He smiled down at the infant.
“Who’s a good little Kuvah’Magh then?” he cooed, bouncing her a little. She blew a spit bubble. He thought it adorable and amazingly clever.
B’Elanna had shrugged out of her tunic and now reached for the baby, bringing the hungry infant to her breast. She settled down on the thick animal skin on the stone floor. Tom felt deeply content as he watched them.
“Madonna and child,” he said.
She glowered at him, utterly destroying the image. “You keep bringing that up.”
“Well,” he said, changing out of his own sweat-encrusted clothes into something resembling clean ones, “and why not? It was really meeting Kohlar and his ship of the faithful that rekindled your interest in your Klingon heritage. And that led us here.”
She sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
He sat down beside her on the skin that served as their bed and stroked her bare shoulder. What he didn’t say was that encountering the Klingons who believed that their child was a savior had changed him as well. Tom knew that B’Elanna pooh-poohed the whole thing, but he wasn’t so sure.
“Have you thought about my suggestion?” he ventured carefully.
“Clubbing Kularg, snatching Miral, and…what was your phrase, ‘blowing this joint’?”
Tom laughed and kissed her shoulder. “No, the other, less potentially painful suggestion.”
“Yes, I’ve thought about it. I don’t know, Tom. It might not be less potentially painful in the long run.”
“They really need to know, hon,” he said, more seriously. “I know the Doc shared all his medical knowledge with Starfleet and the Empire, but the Klingons really ought to know the whole Kuvah’Magh story.”
“The Empire knows.”
“They know a dry, impersonal log. They don’t know how closely Miral fits the prophecies. And besides, you can’t tell me you aren’t just a little bit curious to see what else is out there that talks about our daughter.”
“Coincidences happen all the time, Tom,” Torres said, exasperation creeping into her voice. “It’s only in stories that they mean anything.”
“Still, it’s a nice chunk of Klingon history, and whether or not she is the Savior, I would like to know if there are any other scrolls about her.”
“About her? Who, Miral or the Savior?”
He ducked the question in a rather devilish fashion. He got behind her on the bed and began massaging her neck. She closed her eyes and said softly, “Mmmmm…that feels good.”
“And that?”
“Mmm…yes, right there.”
“And…that….”
“Very…um…very nice….”
“Talk to them tomorrow about getting permission to visit the scroll room?”
“You cunning little…oh. Oh. Come here.”
Libby Webber,