by Sharon Rose
“Kena, don’t rise.” TarKeen stood against the wall near the alcove. “I will hold silence unless you ask of me.”
Metchell’s voice saying her name caught Kena’s attention.
“I will,” YefRon answered, then brought supplies from Metchell to Kena. “Metchell says this is your blood. He asked me to transfuse it to you.”
Should she insist it be saved for Antony? That would just lead to an argument that Metchell would win. Better not distract him. She lay down and let YefRon start it. He found her vein using his medical scanner, but it was Vinzlet who drew the needle out later, for YefRon had returned to Antony.
Kena shifted and leaned against the sloped wall. At least she felt better. What were they doing for Antony?
Murloff looked back and forth between Metchell’s high-tech equipment and the blue line of his simple monitor. Vinzlet hovered near, watching Metchell’s purposeful movements.
Kena closed her eyes and formed a wordless prayer deep within. Even from here, she felt closeness with Antony, as though he had come near her. She savored the moment, exhaling his name with a little smile. The sensation slipped away. Unnatural silence penetrated Kena’s awareness. Despite the crowd, uncanny emptiness sent a shiver coursing through her.
She sat up. “Antony?” A heart-wrenching absence engulfed her.
YefRon stood with TarKeen, linked, apparently. The expressions of the Erondur were all wrong. They looked at her rather than Antony. The monitor seemed to clutch her gaze, its blue line gone. How long had it been like that? What did it mean?
Kena leapt up, her heart pounding.
Jorlit tried to hold her, but Metchell said, “Support her, but bring her near.” She’d never heard his voice so quiet and oddly pitched.
Jorlit kept an arm around her waist, guiding her to Antony’s side, while Metchell removed a device from Antony’s bare chest, now as mottled as his left arm.
She stared down at his pale face. “Antony.”
No response.
Metchell withdrew the IV but didn’t seal the puncture. No blood seeped from it.
Kena put a hand on Antony’s forehead, shifting his brow upward. His eyelids parted as though no muscle held them. His eyes, vacant like a broken robot-doll.
“Antony?” she called, demanding a response. Nothing. “Antony!”
Echoes mocked her.
“Kena.” Metchell’s voice firmed. “Kena, look at me.” When she didn’t respond, he took her face in both hands and spoke with gentle compassion. “Kena, Antony is dead.”
She jerked her head free of his hold. “No! I won’t accept that.”
Metchell opened and closed his lips. His expression revealed what his silence hid.
Kena returned to English, for she had nothing else to say to them. “My lord, my beloved, you promised!”
Metchell put his medical monitor in Kena’s line of sight. No pulse, no respiration, and by far more significant, no brain activity.
Kena pulled away from Jorlit. Energy coursed through her like electricity. She gripped Antony’s limp right hand in both of hers and declared, “The same power that raised Christ from the dead, resides in Antony and enlivens his mortal body. With long life you will satisfy him and show him your salvation. He will live and not die. And besides all of these from your written word, you told me to come with him so that he would live. Now, perform your word, Lord of all, that Antony will return alive.”
Jorlit murmured, “Kena,” and touched her arm, then jerked his hand back with a gasp.
Antony’s body lay as still as death.
“Oh, my lord, in your love for both of us, you brought him to me. And now, I know how much I need him. Do not let him leave me.”
Silence as deep as a grave.
“Antony, you still have a purpose to fulfill.” Her voice squeaked. “I need you. Don’t leave me. I love you.” The tears she fought trickled down her cheeks. Pressure built in her chest. “Antony, return to me!”
The echoes faded. In the dense silence, a shuddering breath filled his lungs. Everyone but she jumped back, their gasps hissing through the chamber.
Antony’s eyelids fluttered open. His searching gaze came to rest on Kena.
His fingers closed around her hand and pulled it to his chest, as he drew another deep breath into his lungs. Words, deep and strong, flowed from his lips in a language she only partially understood.
The Erondur gasped and dropped to their knees.
He uttered perhaps four or five sentences, then peaceful silence settled around them.
Antony held Kena’s hand against his chest, which rose and fell in strong rhythm. His eyes closed tight, his nostrils quivering. Power coursed through both of them. Blotches faded from his chest and arm. Normal color returned.
“Remove the bandage,” Kena said, her voice so low she barely recognized it.
No one responded.
Remembering Antony’s tool, still on her belt, she grabbed it, flipped out the laser knife, and sliced through the fabric along the top of his shoulder. The crusty pad flopped aside.
She smoothed her fingertips over light, baby-soft skin. Her wet eyelashes fluttered, as joy and relief sparked a tease in her voice. “Feel better?”
He chuckled, flexing his arms. Biceps rose up equally on both. He tried to sit and seemed surprised to find cloths anchoring him to the table.
“You were thrashing,” Kena said, and sliced through them with the laser knife.
Antony swung his legs over the side of the table and pulled Kena to his chest. What bliss to be held in his strong embrace.
After a couple minutes, he loosened his grip and looked into her face. He lifted a hand to smooth her hair and wipe a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I won’t leave you,” he whispered. “My morning star.”
“Huh?”
“You preceded the dawn, my love, and still shine in the morning light.”
Oh, from the song. Kena sniffed and smiled. His gaze seemed distant, almost dazed, despite his strength. “Do you need to rest a bit?”
He nodded. “Not on this.” He braced a hand on the table and reached his feet to the stone floor.
Kena wrapped an arm around his waist as he rested his hand on her shoulder. She guided him to the alcove and, with a deep sigh, settled next to him on the woolly rug.
Her myopic focus widened. Oh, the gaping audience they had! Even Metchell and Jorlit stared at them as though they were from a bizarre alien race, never before encountered.
“All is well,” Kena said, first in Prednian, then repeating it in the Erondur language. She smiled, making eye-contact with each of them.
“Kena,” Metchell said, “what just happened?”
How to phrase this? “Antony’s spirit and mind left his body, so it died. Then, he returned, so his body lives again.”
YefRon tried to speak, sounding strangled. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is this…normal…for a Human?”
“It’s uncommon, but it does happen on rare occasions.”
Metchell fumbled for one of his med devices and came nearer. “I, uh…I need to understand what is happening to his body.”
She nodded, giving it a moment of thought. “We are spirit beings, so our physical bodies respond to spiritual truth. That truth is, Antony will continue to live in the physical realm, so his body is returning to a healthy state.”
Metchell stared at her, then closed his eyes. “Did I expect to understand you?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Does he still need treatment, and if so, what?”
“Probably just food. I suggest you monitor and record.” Kena remembered the giving culture of the Erondur and turned to them. “Antony needs water.” That got them off their knees.
Metchell reached for one of the packs and pulled out some crackers. She almost laughed, for she suspected Antony would prefer something much hardier. But he ate them and drank the water Turglund brought.
Jorlit still hadn’t moved. His eyes were almost as round as a Prednian’
s, and he breathed through parted lips.
Kena went to him. He backed a step away from her, but she gripped his shoulders. “Jorlit! Am I not the same Kena you have known all these months?”
“Are you?”
Such strain in his voice. She tilted her head. “Am I not the woman who once reached an impossible distance to rescue a dying Tenelli?”
A degree of understanding lit his eyes. She realized one of his arms was trembling. Oh yes, he had touched her and jerked away while power flowed to Antony. She slid her hand down his arm, feeling a different sort of power flow through her. Soothing. By the time she wrapped her fingers into his hand, the trembling had stopped.
He looked at their clasped hands. “What was that I felt when…when I touched you before?”
“Power from our creator. Just a little too strong for you, at that moment, because it was meant for Antony’s need.”
He no longer looked stricken, but still his face was solemn. “It was all over you.”
She laughed low in her throat, remembering the exhilaration. “Yes, I noticed. I am Human, you know. All is well.” Something occurred to her. “By the way, can you reach Ghent?”
Jorlit nodded. “We have comm.”
“He’d probably like to know that Antony and I are fine. Maybe just leave it at that. I don’t want the, uh, inexplicable part on comm.”
She turned from him and went to the PitKree. YefRon stood with med scanner in hand beside TarKeen, who had not moved. Kena smiled at YefRon. “I think Antony would let you record whatever confirmation you might like.” YefRon left them, and Kena looked up into TarKeen’s face.
After a moment, he said, “I realized you were different the day I met you, but I didn’t realize how different.” The corners of his mouth tightened. “I suppose, I still don’t understand it.”
She grinned. “I was never more surprised as when you walked in.” She looked around at the others in the room. “Not quite so surprising now.”
He followed her gaze. “I’m glad you perceive meaning in that.” He broke a pause. “Leonfir sent me because the triad needed to confirm that you are…” His lips groped for words. “…in good health.”
She laughed low in her throat again. “You may tell them that I am in excellent health.”
“I will.”
“Is there some problem I should know about?” Kena asked. “Perhaps, regarding Jenarsig?”
“Since you named him, you must already know. He will yield nothing.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Kena. I’ve only spoken to him once. Plenty to create mistrust, but not enough to reveal his motives.”
“Mm. Please tell the rest of the triad that I will return to Pernanyen very soon.” She frowned. “I’m not sure when would be the best time to tell them of…Antony’s death and return.”
TarKeen’s hairline drew back. “That’s really what it was? Death?”
“Oh, yes, TarKeen. Antony’s body was quite dead.” She took a step back. “I must go talk with—” She turned as she spoke. Her mouth stopped where it was, for Antony was conversing fluently with the three Erondur. She couldn’t even understand everything he said.
“Can it be,” TarKeen asked, “that you don’t realize everything, either?”
She flashed a smile at him. “Quite, but I don’t mind. Without mystery, there would be no joy of discovery.”
Antony used the word emfrel in a sentence. Metchell participated in the conversation, and Antony translated. Sairit, Plynteth, and Ghent were all mentioned. Describing emfrel acclimation, no doubt. That would enable Ghent to link with Turglund and learn their language. He could deal with the Erondur directly, freeing Kena and Antony from the need to stay on Dur for communication.
Kena motioned to Jorlit, and he came to her. “Where is Ghent?”
“On the Ontrevay, but he will come down on the next craft to descend the tether. From the data you sent us before, Metchell thinks Erondur can easily acclimate to Plynteth.”
She nodded. That made sense. “What else is going on that I should know?”
“Ghent told me to bring you and Antony up to the Ontrevay as soon as possible.” Jorlit opened his hand to one side, Tenelli fashion. “By now, Tevd has probably taken the raepour craft to the hills to gather plant matter for the reconstitution test. Piert and the rest think there is a good chance of success. If they’re right, we should be able to feed the Erondur until their first harvest.” He turned his hand to the opposite side. “Ghent has been talking with Plynteth administration, as well as Gordahl. This is all still in the works, but it’s likely a Plynteth-commissioned ship will come to deal with the long-term issues.”
Jorlit looked at TarKeen. “You’ll like that, I think. The position of Plynteth makes it unnecessary for the ship to cross between the nebula and PitKreelaundun space.”
TarKeen inclined his head. “We greatly appreciate that.”
Kena raised her brows. “I didn’t even know that the Plynteth had commissioned ships.”
“This is the first.” Jorlit’s lips twitched into a tiny smile. “It’s constructed and partially crewed by my race.”
Kena grasped his arm. “Oh, Jorlit, where would the Collaborative be without the Tenelli?”
His eyes scrunched as he used a Tenelli figure of speech. “We think it would be harder to find. More where? Less here.”
“What do you mean?” TarKeen asked.
“The Tenelli are explorers,” Kena said, “finding races and encouraging their inclusion in the Collaborative. Or, in the case of the Plynteth, facilitating their involvement. Plynteth are a low-population race with limited resources, hence their need to obtain a ship from elsewhere.”
YefRon returned to TarKeen. “I have pertinent information, and, obviously…” He glanced at Kena. “They have no need of my services.”
“We will go, then,” TarKeen said. “Kena, please convey the local courtesies to Turglund from the PitKreelaundun.”
“I will.” She extended a hand to him, which he received on his forearm. “It’s good to see you, though I wish it had been longer. After I link with Pernanyen, I would like to visit with you.”
TarKeen inclined his head. “It would give me great pleasure.”
Antony exchanged a nod with TarKeen as the two PitKree left. He probably should’ve spoken to him, but…Antony inhaled, wavering between empowered and overwhelmed. The Erondur were his highest priority. After Kena.
She returned to him, and he drew her to his side. She was so beautiful! Beyond anything he’d realized before. He savored a long look into her vibrant eyes, their greenish tint heightened by the mint-green cami she wore. Her hair clumped, and the ends curved every which way. Probably sweaty like her cami. And him.
He must be a mess. No shirt. Two days’ beard growth. His hair…ugh, he didn’t even want to touch it. He glanced around and caught sight of his boots. He gestured to them, and Murloff handed them to him.
Antony shoved a foot into one. “Is everything okay with the PitKreelaundun?”
Kena nodded. “Yes.”
“Why were they here?”
Her elfin smile crimped at the corners. “Oh, I don’t think the stated reason is the real one. We can talk about it later.”
Oops. He’d been speaking English and shouldn’t be. A disconnected feeling kept sweeping over him. What else was he messing up? He tugged the other boot on and looked over the packs scattered around. He pointed and spoke Prednian. “By any chance, is there a shirt in one of those?”
“Sorry, no,” Metchell said. “Med supplies and food.” He stood and started to collect his gear.
Antony tucked his chin and looked sideways at his shoulder, just barely able to see the new skin. It wouldn’t hurt to let that show, for he was going to have an unbelievable story to tell. He rubbed a hand from his cheeks to chin. “Shirtless goes with my scruffy style.”
Kena shook her head. “Too short to be scruffy. Your beard has a good natural shape.” She trace
d her fingertips down his jawline. “I like it.”
Goodbye shaving!
Kena turned to Turglund and touched his hand. A link, perhaps, though she spoke in the Erondur language to all three of them. Antony understood every word. Amazing and yet not. One of the many things he wanted to tell her. The realities of his journey still pulsed within him, more substantial than this cave. Though Kena didn’t understand the Erondur as well as he, she hit the perfect note when explaining why they must depart.
“The PitKreelaundun,” she said, “came to meet us, because they have need of me. A need as great as yours.” She smiled in that way that made her eyes tilt. “Though much quicker to solve. We will see you again and share a meal with you.”
Turglund raised and settled his shoulders. “We will not prevent your gift to them. Instead, we’ll lay our hope for your return.”
Interesting phrase. Their word for hope had a connotation of joy. Antony shifted his legs, and Kena clasped hands with him. Together, they stood, leaning back in mutual assistance.
It took a little while to get out of the cavern, particularly the vast entrance chamber. Some of these people had seen Antony carried in, and they pressed close, staring at his shoulder. He permitted, moving slowly, but not stopping until he recognized a face just past the huge doors. The one who first spoke to him by the plateau and got him on the back of the lawpyez. As the Erondur pressed his hand to the healed wound, Antony surprised him still more by thanking him in his own language.
Fortunately, Turglund kept a pathway clear. A few more steps at Kena’s side and Antony caught sight of the craft, farther down the valley. A reminder of all that was unfinished.
Chapter Forty-Three
TarKeen disembarked in one of the small bays.
Leonfir was waiting. “Come. I have little time and must see you to your quarters.”
TarKeen strode at his captain’s side, guards ahead and behind. Leonfir asked no questions, perhaps not wanting anyone to overhear if the news was bad. That concern, TarKeen could relieve. “I spoke with Kena,” he said. “She is well and asked me to tell you and Travannesal that she will return to Pernanyen very soon.”