“You come in to collect the bodies.”
“Those passways are configured for Aggillon frequencies, not human.”
“Well, then, why didn’t you remind us? That Tohvani was there. Why couldn’t one of your people come? We were upset and frightened. We needed your help.”
“You had the link, Callie. Right there inside you.”
“But I—”
“It was a test, lass. You knew that going in.”
“I . . .” She frowned. It was true. All of it. She’d had everything, known everything she needed. The fault was hers. Why was it so hard to admit that?
The rhythmic hiss of the fluid rushing through the tubes filled the ensuing silence.
He squeezed her shoulder. “You’re exhausted. How about I take you to your room?”
She glanced at Pierce’s unconscious form, and again Mr. C knew her thought. “My people want him well as much as you do. They’ll take good care of him. And your spending the night beside this capsule isn’t going to do either of you any good.”
With a sigh, she acquiesced.
A bath—steaming at just the right temperature—was drawn and waiting in the room to which he brought her. After a long, delicious soak, she stumbled to her bed and was asleep before she knew it.
She awoke to daylight filtering past the floor-length, rose-colored bedroom curtains. For a while she lay there, savoring the smoothness of the bed sheets, the soft comfort of the mattress, and the sweet sense of being safe and loved. She’d expected nightmares after what she’d been through. Instead, her dreams were filled with light—glorious, wonderful radiance so intense it had physical substance. Even now she could feel the pressure of it wrapping about her like a pair of strong, gentle hands. Never had she felt more content. Or more at peace.
Time and reality reasserted themselves when she glanced at the bedside clock. She’d slept nearly sixteen hours. Pierce would be out of the goop by now.
Arising, she pulled open the curtains—and gasped. Her room perched at the edge of a sheer cliff overlooking ranks of pale blue ridges that marched down to a vast plain webbed with silver ribbons. The sun stood high overhead, two hours past its zenith, its strong white light flattening and expanding the landscape.
She stared in wonder, her heart swelling with a sense of space and freedom that was almost like flying. And she wasn’t afraid. For the first time in memory she stood at the edge of a precipice and felt no fear. Even when she went onto the balcony.
The demons were gone. In their place the link glowed like a door of light in her soul, a haven of joy and comfort and clarity of thought.
She turned from the balcony, eager to find Pierce.
Her tattered camos and boots were nowhere to be found, so she chose a loose white sleeveless gown and white slippers from the selection her closet provided. Leaving her hair unbraided, she set off for the infirmary, bubbling with anticipation.
The coffinlike capsule lay open, drained of its fluid and missing its occupant. The Aggillon attendant told her Pierce had been moved two hours earlier and warned her he wasn’t likely to be awake much for the next day, at least.
She still wanted to see him, so the alien escorted her to Pierce’s new room and left her standing just inside the door.
Dressed in a light blue hospital gown, Pierce sat reading in a railed bed, its head raised to support him. At first she hardly recognized him, for his brown hair curled past his shoulders, and his beard had grown thick and long. Then he looked up and smiled. It was a shadow of his usual expression, lopsided and weary, but it was Pierce.
“Hi,” he said in a papery voice.
“Hi.” She came to the side of the bed, staring at his long hair and beard. “My goodness. You look like a homeless person.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“If it keeps growing like that, pretty soon it’ll be as long as mine.”
“It’s a side effect of the gel.” He set his manual aside. “Don’t get too attached to it.”
Callie rested her hands on the railing between them, hardly knowing what to say. “So how are you feeling?”
“Tired.” He wiggled his toes. “Weak. A little light-headed.”
As he scratched his ribs, she noticed his nails were as incongruously long as his hair and beard. An IV pouch clung to his inner arm.
“They say I should be able to walk tomorrow,” he went on, “but when I tried to stand up coming in here, everything gave way. Hurt like the dickens, too. So I don’t know.” He glanced at her and smiled. “It does seem kind of fast, considering I had a broken pelvis.”
The fact that he was going to be all right finally penetrated, and a joy so poignant it hurt swept through her. Suddenly she wanted to touch him, hold him, feel his lips on hers more than anything in the world.
He grimaced. “Do I look that bad?”
“You look wonderful.”
“Then why are you standing there like I have leprosy? This rail does move out of the way. I’d put it down myself, but I’m afraid of falling out of the bed.”
She let the rail down and perched gingerly beside him, as if he were a crystalline formation that might shatter if she were to jiggle him too roughly. He smelled like the capsule room—oranges and spice.
She couldn’t speak, her emotions suddenly so tangled, so powerful, they washed her mind blank. She could only sit and stare and try not to burst into tears.
His hand closed over hers. “It’s all right, Callie. We’ve made it.”
“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered.
She touched his brow, his cheek, his lips, slid her fingers through the beard and into the strange long hair, and he pulled her down into his arms and kissed her. Suddenly she was drowning in him, intoxicated by his touch, the musky scent of him beneath the orange, the tickle of his beard, the hard muscles of his chest and arms, the heat of his hands sliding over her skin—
When they broke apart, he held her away from him, wide-eyed with surprise.
She fingered the new scar where the quarrel had pierced his chest. “I thought you said you were tired and weak.”
“I am. And a good thing, too.” He straightened the folds of her dress over one shoulder. “You never know when someone’s going to walk in around here, and anyway I intend to—” He stopped and let his hand fall away, averting his gaze.
“What?”
“Never mind.” He rubbed his face, then covered a yawn. “So what about the others? How many did we lose?”
She sat back, her emotions cooling reluctantly. “Well, Evvi had a fractured skull. Anna had some kind of brain injury. Karl and Jesse were hurt pretty badly, too, but seeing what our hosts have done for you, I expect everyone is okay.”
When she said no more, he looked up. “That’s it?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“I thought it would be more. It seemed like we were in that cavern forever. I kept hearing people screaming, moaning.” He frowned. “Arguing?”
With a grimace she told him how they couldn’t find the gate, how Ian had wanted to surrender, and John was going to go out and search for another opening, and Brody meant to kill himself before they got him. “We were pretty pathetic.”
“But we made it.”
She sighed and toyed with the hair along his temple. “I thought it would be simpler than this. They shoot at us—we shoot at them. I didn’t think I’d have to fight myself so much.” She let her hand fall back to her side.
Pierce covered another huge yawn and shook his head. “Wow. They said I’d be sleepy, but I didn’t figure it would be this soon. Seems like I just came out of the tank.”
“I should go.”
“It’s not that bad. Tell me what it’s like out there. Is it all as beautiful as this?” He gestured at the flower-trimmed lawn outside his window, already streaked with afternoon shadow.
“From what I’ve seen, yes. I haven’t paid much attention, actually. You were in pretty bad shape, you know.”
“Yeah. They told me.”
He covered another yawn. “The rocks blew right after I’d sent you off, and I thought—” His voice broke. He swallowed and his eyes slid away. “That’s when the quarrel hit me. . . .”
Silence stretched between them. Then she roused herself and changed the subject, telling him about her room, and her calm joy on the edge of the cliff. “I think it’s the link,” she said. “It’s so strong here. I can’t see how I ever ignored it.”
“Maybe we’re closer to the source here.” He yawned again. “Or maybe there’s not so much interference.”
She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. “I saw a plain from my room. That’s the Inner Realm, isn’t it?”
He read her thought and smiled. “Don’t borrow trouble, Cal. We’ll get there when we get there. Besides, we’re doing well.” He covered yet another yawn. “Very few witnesses get as far as we have. The last group was something like seven years ago. Apparently we’ve acquired quite a following.”
“A following?”
“Of Aggillon.” He smiled and his eyelids drooped, fluttered open, drooped again.
Callie pulled her hand free of his feeble grasp and patted his hand. “I’d better go.”
“Sorry, Cal,” he murmured, “but I . . . feel like I’m gonna . . . pass out.”
His eyes closed and soon his breathing deepened. Despite her words, Callie didn’t leave. She was content to sit and watch him, delighting in the healthy flush of his skin, the peace in his expression.
“Miss Hayes?” She turned to find Jaalel standing in the doorway. “They’ll be serving dinner in about half an hour. I wasn’t sure if you knew.”
“I didn’t. Thank you.”
The Aggillon’s gaze went to Pierce. “He’ll be out for the night at least now, ma’am. His body is still in accelerated recovery.”
When she said nothing, he started to leave. She called him back. “I have a question for you.” He waited, watching her. The perfection of his features was heartrending. “The bodies we saw in the Devil’s Cauldron,” she said. “The ones the Trogs had—”
He guessed her concern before she voiced it. “Not everyone comes to the Inner Realm through Elhanu’s Gate, Miss Hayes.”
That’s right. There was Mander’s elevator. And the route the slave traders used through the Canyon of the Damned. Probably other ways as well.
“Their Unchanged bodies can’t pass through our collection gates without disintegrating.”
“So the Trogs collect them instead of you.”
“Yes.”
“Which means . . . when they die, they’re dead. I mean really dead. They don’t go back to Earth.”
“I’m afraid not.”
She paused to consider his answer. Then one more question pressed, one that had been bouncing around the back of her mind ever since she’d awakened.
“One other thing.”
A blond brow arched.
“Our friend, Mr. C. You called him ‘my lord’ last night. Why?”
“Because that is who he is, ma’am.”
Callie’s pulse accelerated. It was obvious, from the deference the others showed him and the difference in his uniform, that he was set apart. But could it really mean what she thought it might? She hesitated, not sure she wanted to know.
“So he’s not just any Aggillon, then.”
Jaalel’s blue eyes pierced to her heart. “He is our king, ma’am. Elhanu.”
CHAPTER
25
Callie found the others waiting outside the dining room, in considerably better shape than when she’d last seen them. The women wore gowns like her own, the men loose, long-sleeved jackets belted over trousers in various colors. Brody, Dell, and Jesse all appeared completely on the mend, betraying evidence of their exposure to the healing gel in their freshly cut hair and the new, tidily clipped beard on Brody’s face. Unnoticed, Callie watched them from the periphery, marveling at what had been accomplished: that they had survived mutiny, disaster, and a climb over perilous mountain cliffs; that they had crossed two hundred miles of trackless wilderness and actually found the entrance to the promised Safehaven; that six had walked into a camp of hundreds and lived to reach that entrance, rescuing sixteen others in the process. It boggled her mind, and she knew they couldn’t have done it without Elhanu.
Elhanu. Mr. C. She still struggled to get her mind around the notion of their being the same person. It made sense in the big picture, for there’d been indications. But she had always imagined Elhanu as someone removed—a powerful, untouchable, incomprehensible being. Mr. C was more open and approachable than anyone she’d ever known. Images spun off the spindle of memory: his grin, his assurances atop the rappelling cliff, his conversations with Pierce and Tuck before the evening lectures, his unflagging support of Pierce’s leadership, the way he’d opened Callie’s eyes to the possibility of love. He was a friend, a confidant, a surrogate father. Now he was Elhanu, as well.
Whit finally spotted her and hurried over, John and LaTeisha trailing after him.
“He’s going to make it,” Callie said in answer to their unspoken question. “Has already been on his feet once today.”
“With a broken pelvis?” LaTeisha exclaimed.
Callie explained about the tank of super-healing gel, and Whit nodded. “Karl and Jess had the same treatment, and they’re well on the road to recovery, too. Must be pretty effective.” He wore midnight blue sparked with silver threads and a new eye patch. Clean, rested, and shaven, he was a new man, right down to the unexpected white hairs threading his mustache.
“What about Evvi?” Callie asked.
LaTeisha frowned. “Don’t know. Anna died before they got her to surgery, though.”
“I don’t get it,” John mused. “If we can be resuscitated and sent back to Earth, why not just put us back into the game and let us try again?”
No one knew, but the question reminded Callie of her talk with Jaalel. Whit must’ve seen a change in her expression because he cocked a questioning brow.
She looked around at them, wondering how to tell them. “I saw Mr. C last night,” she finally said.
“He made it?” John cried.
“Not exactly. He didn’t go through the Cauldron.”
John’s blond brows drew together.
“What are you saying?” Whit asked.
“That he’s Aggillon?” LaTeisha suggested, wryly.
“Elhanu himself.”
Shocked disbelief froze their faces.
After a long minute, LaTeisha shook her head. “Someone’s putting you on, girl.”
“Jaalel? I doubt it. Besides, it fits, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s hard to believe, and yet . . . it’s not.”
Silence followed as each of them pondered Callie’s revelation, their expressions turning blank and flat. No further protest followed, but they seemed as disoriented by the notion as Callie had been.
Then the dining room doors swung open and it was time to eat. Inside, a linen-covered sideboard held dishes of every color, temperature, and texture, from kiwi-exotic to mashed-potato-plain. Delicate radish roses, turnip irises, and cucumber fans garnished platters set among elegant flower arrangements and ice carvings of a dolphin and a swooping hawk. A table lined with high-backed chairs stood at room center. Twenty place settings of silver and crystal gleamed against white linen. Crisp-uniformed Aggillon stood ready to assist, pulling back chairs, pouring drinks, carrying away emptied plates, while one played quiet melodies on the baby grand piano in the corner.
“What a spread!” LaTeisha exclaimed as Callie settled beside her at the table. “And not a hair in the lot of it.”
“None of it burned, either,” Callie said dryly.
They laughed, then sobered as they realized their comrade could well be gone.
“As maddening as she was,” LaTeisha said, “she had her good points. I never knew anyone as unrelentingly optimistic.”
“Or as devoted to the manual,” Callie added, finding herself more concerned about Evvi�
�s recovery than she would have expected.
They talked and ate and marveled, and afterward lingered over truffles and coffee, ribbing the former Morgan-supporters for their poor judgment. Hope, it turned out, was no simple rest stop. A veritable resort, it boasted two Olympic-sized swimming pools, three spas, tennis and racquetball courts, Ping-Pong and pool tables, weight rooms, a movie theater, a well-stocked library, and a network of trails that wound through acres of gardens, ranging from tropical paradises to the stark beauty of wind-sculpted rock.
“The ultimate getaway!” LaTeisha pronounced.
“Rowena would die, wouldn’t she?” John said. He was slouched back in his chair across the table from Callie, arms folded across his chest. “To find Pierce proven right—and in spades! Ooh!”
“Why is she so down on Pierce?” Callie asked, stroking the handle of her coffee cup. “She’s not even rational about it anymore.”
“I figure they were lovers once,” said Tuck, popping a truffle into his mouth.
“Nah,” LaTeisha said. “Pierce is a regular Victorian. No sex outside of marriage. Not her type at all.”
“That was the problem,” John said. “He was the only man she went after and couldn’t get.”
“Get out!” LaTeisha scoffed. “She never went after Pierce.”
“She did, Teish. Big time. He turned her down.” John brushed at the crumbs on the tablecloth before him. “After she recovered, he became a sort of hero to her. To Garth, too. Remember when we first knew them? Pierce could do no wrong—he was the man everyone wanted to be with in a pinch. But after the Trogs had him, it was different. He wasn’t a hero anymore. He was just a man, and it was much too obvious.”
They fell silent, mulling over his words. Callie stirred cream and sugar into her freshened coffee and admitted to herself that John’s explanation made sense. She remembered her own disappointment on first seeing Pierce’s weakness, even though she’d understood better than most how debilitating—and humiliating—panic attacks could be.
“Well,” she said, “he’s sure back to hero status as far as I’m concerned.”
“Amen to that,” Whit murmured.
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