The safety of her nurturing sits within my soul like the most valuable memory of my life, since it is real. The memories that have come back to me are deep enough to see and touch, yet somehow it still all feels like a dream.
When will Remy’s memories and mine become one?
The only ounce of comfort has come from a man I didn’t know just a month before. His room is just steps away. The metal lock of his hotel room door is propped open and my fingertips pulse as they push the heavy door to peer inside.
The cold air smells like eucalyptus and lavender from a steamer at the other end of the room. Blue shadows tell of his body lying on his side in the clean, fresh sheets. There are no more signs of the traumatic events that have taken place. Slowly, so as not to wake him, my feet pad the carpet while my white baggy shirt falls off one shoulder and I gently crawl onto the bed behind him. All I can see are his large shoulders on top of each other, outlining the strength of his frame.
I can’t explain why being near him feels easy and comfortable. After the trauma, to feel his chest rise is like the earth takes breath once again and the natural order has come back to life. Moving carefully, just an inch at a time, closer and closer to the cliff that sits between his back and the mattress—I want desperately to just fall inside. When my nose is close enough to his shoulder blades to smell his clean skin, my hand hesitantly hovers over his arm until finally my fingers drop onto his warm skin and my body molds to his.
I am grateful to absorb the movement of his chest rising and falling with each breath. My body sinks, heavy and tired, as I close my eyes, letting my cheek rest against his back. Nothing is more peaceful.
Unexpectedly, his fingers run gently down my arm, then weave one at a time until our hands are one and he pulls me closer; my body spoons his.
After a few minutes, he slowly turns as though no damage has been done, yet the remnants are in his shaved head and pink spots along his skin.
In the darkness he reaches out and pulls me closer. “It’s been so long,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry,” is all that I know to say. For a moment it seems he is about to pull his hands away from me, but I take them in mine and return them to where they had just been. “Don’t,” I beg.
He relents.
“How are you feeling?” I whisper, as my fingers trace along the healing pink skin.
“Like I’m ready to put an end to all of this.”
“You need to recover first,” I say. “You knew we were here . . . at this hotel?”
He grins as though he knows something that I don’t. “I always know where you are.”
He gives no explanation, nor do I ask for one. After a moment he drops his lips to mine, sweeping me into him until, once again, the power is so intense I can’t handle anymore, yet I want it all.
“I can feel everywhere you touch,” I whisper.
He lifts his hand to my cheek, then runs it down my arm, forcing me to grab his lips again with mine. His fingers run through my hair then wrap around my neck. His eyes roam up and down from my eyes, to my mouth, to my chin. Then he presses his lips on mine and I can feel the stubble of his unshaven face. At first, he is hesitant, but then pulls me tighter. I drop back on the bed, pulling our lips away for just a moment. He doesn’t rush back into the kiss. Rather, he takes his time. His heavy body rolls to cover half of mine. His hand travels down my arm, then entangles with mine—his fingers leaving a shock with each place they touch. My stomach tightens with hope that he won’t stop. His palm travels the skin to my chest, but it is then that he pulls away. After a moment he stands to his feet.
My lips are still pulsing as I watch him—my heart feeling the crush of distance. He begins to dress but stops to speak.
“When you fall for someone—at the beginning you think it’s love. Even for the first five years . . . ten years you might convince yourself that you’ve finally made it to a long successful marriage. But Willow, it’s not until you’ve been with someone for thirty years, fifty years, or for us . . . hundreds of years that you suddenly realize that love isn’t in the newness. It’s in the old. The things that still keep you in love after so many years together. It’s the choosing this person over every other for so many years that you’ve lost count of how many memories you have together. All you know is that you wouldn’t want those memories with anyone else. The years alone bring that feeling back to you. I know Remy is there . . . you come out occasionally, but you are still Willow. You have no memory of what made you my wife—the countless moments we chose each other. And until then . . .”
The silence falls between us while his words play in my brain.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
And suddenly, my comfort is gone. I’m grateful for the knock that sounds on the door.
“Yes?” he calls out.
“Arek?” It is Peter. Peter’s timing seems to be impeccable.
Quickly, Arek opens the door and pulls Peter inside. It is obvious the young boy feels uncomfortable when he sees me on the bed, so I climb to my feet.
“What do you need?” Arek asks.
“Briston needs you immediately.”
“Why?”
Peter looks awkwardly my way and I understand instantly. “It’s about me?”
“It’s not about you, Remy—I mean Willow . . . sorry.”
Together we follow Peter down the hall to Briston’s room. When we enter, the TV is on and he is watching several news channels at once. Some I have seen and others I haven’t.
“Navin’s trying to do everything he can to start an uprising,” Briston sighs. “The Reds and CTA have managed to put out many of the fires, but some of these things on social media and other media, especially large cities—there is no explanation for them. There’s no way to answer the questions of so many without telling everyone who we are. Navin’s doing everything he can.”
“Why now?” I whisper.
“To finally get what he wants,” Arek answers. “His followers have increased and this gives him more chance to take the Ephemes out.”
Briston explains, “Remy’s death put a crack in that crystal-clear vision that the Prophets and the Powers have been creating for years. Their mantra has always been, soon. You will get peace . . . soon . . . but not now. They strung people along until you died. After your death people questioned everything they’d ever believed. It took years for the government to earn back people’s trust. This pushed a lot of good people to side with Navin.” Briston rubs his eyes with fatigue and concern. The chaos on every channel is just a tangible reality of a broken world.
As they talk a vision comes to me . . .
Remy, somewhere as a child, in a dark room, with a rotating metal clock that looks like a cross. There is a faceless man that makes her uncomfortable. Yet this changes after a moment and once again, I see it as if it is my own memory. I am the child and uncomfortable with the faceless man.
“Willow?” Briston asks. “Where’d you go?”
I realize Arek and Briston are both looking at me with concern. I answer, “Nowhere . . . sorry.”
Arek leans against a desk with his arms crossed, never looking at the monitors—maybe out of self-preservation or, now that I know him better, irritation that he can’t do anything to fix the problem. He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m pretty sure Navin never intended to have you arrested or killed.” Briston and I both look at him with surprise, so he continues, “I know my brother. He wanted you to join him. When I was a kid, he was nearly an adult and he spoke of this prophecy often. It was his quest to find the One and show them the truth.”
Briston shuffles in his chair, looking off into space, the wheels in his brain turning. “But Remy’s arrest and subsequent death—I mean, it did what he wanted. It caused riots to break out and people to lose trust in the Velieri government, which devastated the Powers for years. Trust me, Navin got everything he wanted from Remy being gone.”
Arek presses Briston with his eyes. “Did he? Sure, it caused some
chaos, but did he get the power that he wanted? I grew up with him. He was a bully, yes . . . but he was also smart, which encouraged his delusions. Convincing himself that if he had the love of the One,” Arek looks directly at me, “that Power could signify that the Prophecy really is his for the taking. We’re not talking about a rational person here. We’re talking about a person who is delusional: if he can steal it, it’s his. If he simply says something, it’s truth.”
“Then why is he trying to kill me?”
“Is he?” Arek asks. “I know that he wants to get to you first. I just wish I knew why.”
Several channels, displayed behind Briston, show rioting through the streets of downtown Los Angeles. However, as I look closer, they give completely opposing views of what is happening. I have never seen the logo for several of these Velieri channels. Fox News gives a story about terrorists attacking outside of Biddy Mason Park, while the Velieri newscasters give an account of the same attack as though the rebellion is creating more destruction.
Briston hands Arek a piece of paper to read and he does.
“He can’t be serious.” Arek shakes his head.
“Is your father ever anything but serious? This,” Briston says as he points at the TVs, “tells Leigh that he needs to eliminate the cause as soon as possible.”
I am starting to understand . . . finally. “I’m the cause.”
“You’re causing problems in my father’s black and white world. Someone’s probably pressuring him to get you out of sight and out of mind.”
Briston stands up. “I’ve wagered a deal with him. He’ll meet us at his place.”
The discomfort of this idea pulls Arek’s shoulders to his ears. “No. Not until I can figure out how to fix this. They gave us time. They can’t take that away.”
My father places a hand on my elbow as he passes by to grab his ringing phone. “They can and they will.”
Silence looms and no amount of it seems to change Arek’s mind as Briston answers the phone.
I conjure up the nerve to break the tension. “The Prophets want me in the Cellar, yet they believe in the Prophecy?”
“Some believe in the Prophecy, but not everyone believes you are the One.” Arek nods, “The Prophets and Powers are divided. Look, people in this world see what they want to see. Our minds can convince us of anything. If this Prophecy is real and one day there will be peace between the Velieri and Ephemes, that poses a threat to the most powerful players. They no longer make money off of us. But also the hate runs deep in many people. What the Ephemes have done to us for years, some find unforgivable.”
Briston comes back from his phone call so I speak directly to him. “One of my memories is when I was a child—you and I ran in to my mother. She was with Japha.”
Briston’s ice-blue eyes share regret. “She was trying to get through to him.”
Arek looks at Briston carefully, “You believe that?”
“I have no reason not to. She was always a good woman and a strong advocate for what was right.”
“I did it. I killed her,” I whisper.
Both men look at me with concern.
“I’ll go to the Powers, to Leigh . . . whatever needs to happen. I don’t care. I want to do what’s right.”
Briston, with a calm that reveals his true nature, says, “How can anyone do what’s right when the world’s lines have been blurred?”
“Let’s go to Leigh. Let’s end this,” I state.
“He’s in Switzerland.”
“That’s fine. Whatever it takes. I don’t want to run anymore.”
The next day, one switchback to another, the car remains frigid and quiet as Sassi takes the winding road of the Alps at a quick speed. My toes are frozen beneath the black boots and heavy jeans, so I shift uncomfortably back and forth in my seat. Puffs of white air float from my mouth with every breath as Kilon opens the window for just a moment to keep the car from fogging up; the smell of clean air and pine fills my nose.
Coming back to the place this entire journey started gives me the feeling that we have made no progress and never will. The calm voice of a Velieri podcaster fills the car, her subtle tone strangely unnerving, “I’ve never seen anything like this and although my grandmother always warned of it, it’s quite possible that I chalked it up to an embellished rumor. Yet, here we are, the world closer to implosion than I’ve ever seen. Ephemes are closer to finding out about the Hidden than ever before. The Reds, the CTA, the Powers, and the Protectors have more fires than they can put out all because of the rumor that ‘she’s’ returned. Yet nowadays how do we ever know what is rumor and what is truth?”
Kilon swiftly presses the off button, catching sight of me in his peripheral vision, and we are in sudden silence.
“Who are the Reds?” I ask.
Arek looks up from his phone. “A group of Ephemes sworn to protect the concealment of the Velieri.”
That is all he’ll say. The tension is palpable as we make our way back to battle with Leigh, while Navin and Japha wreak havoc.
“Why do you always drive?” I ask Sassi, trying to change the mood.
“It’s what I do well.” She smiles in her rearview mirror.
“Why?”
“Because I know what the other drivers are thinking. By their body language and movement, I can read them. My father, who wished to be a racecar driver well into his 2000s, taught me to be one with the car and immediately took notice of my skill.”
Arek’s rough voice fills the car, “She could have been a Protector.”
Sassi smiles. “I could have, but it seems you need particular heredity to be in that group: power and politics.”
Arek smiles. “Unfortunately, that has been the case.”
I am curious. “So, can others be just as good as you even if they don’t come from your line?”
“Maybe,” Arek admits.
Kilon speaks up, “It doesn’t happen very often. Maybe if we were able to mix lines, we’d see people begin to have more abilities that expand beyond their own.”
“You don’t mix blood?” I ask.
“A child from a mixed bloodline has never lived,” Sassi reveals quietly.
I look at Arek, my eyes wide. “We aren’t the same bloodline.”
“No,” is all that he will say.
“Certain Velieri can fuse with Ephemes, but some believe these children can lose their longevity. That was something Geo’s grandfather took the time to try and prove wrong.”
Geo’s calm voice chimes in, “My grandfather wanted unity. He fought for it.”
“Epheme vs. Velieri,” I nearly whisper, taking a moment to allow a new revelation.
“What?” Sassi asks.
“Velieri are superior in every way . . . but one. Ephemes are threatened by your gift of life, of years, of knowledge and understanding from all those years. Yet Ephemes will always outnumber the Hidden.” I run my fingers along the window, pushing the fog away to reveal the ominous outdoors.
“I remember when they weren’t going to let you two get married,” Beckah says while Arek continues to stare out the window; his jaw clenches as she says it. “First with Mak and then with Arek.”
“Why’d they allow you but not Mak?” I ask without thinking through how it might sound. It is only in Arek’s response that I am made aware.
“One was meant to be and the other wasn’t. Besides . . . I wasn’t going to accept anything less.”
I watch him for a moment as he taps his fingers on the door, but he won’t look at me.
High on the mountain’s edge, beside a steep cliff, is a rustic cabin surrounded by a thick forest—very different than Arek’s home in the meadow. The terrain is so difficult that it takes a four-wheel drive to get there, but finally Sassi’s headlights land on the dark structure. As she turns off the car, she smiles at Kilon, “Home sweet home.”
He squeezes her hand.
Inside, I notice it is larger than it appears from the outside and, once the lights
are on, it’s not nearly as threatening. It reminds me of the old lodge my grandmother had once taken me to where a bunch of stodgy men hung antlers on the walls and played poker till midnight, cussing like sailors and drinking scotch while emphatically selling their souls to the gambling demons. However, our group isn’t gambling with cards—just lives.
It is obvious why we have come to rest here before meeting Leigh. No one will ever know where we are or how to reach us. It is clear by their reaction that it has been years since even they have been here, as I catch sight of Kilon and Sassi sharing a kiss in the kitchen.
Before long we all sit together at the precipice of war—the generals and their army—knowing that Leigh is preparing the arrest. Sassi makes coffee and tea, and all I can do is watch the dance of the steam coming from my hot liquid while I pull my sweater closer. Outside, ice collects along the glass windows, making thin layers of crystal snowflakes.
“Leigh will meet us tomorrow.” Arek says.
Sassi can’t hide her feelings as she stands at the end of the table. “Leigh knows exactly what he is doing, and we are walking right into it . . . willingly.”
“We have no choice,” I say quietly.
“There is always a choice,” Arek counters.
Before this, I was always reminded that life would move on, whether I chose to go with it or not. If I pull the brakes, would the train continue to run away down a steep mountain? This was always mine—Willow’s —downfall, never believing the brakes would work. And as everyone’s phones ping suddenly, sweeping the table one at a time, it is like a crash course along the tracks. Each one of them becomes a casualty as they pull up whatever has been sent and each of their faces warns me of the danger that I have been expecting. My phone rests somewhere in Arek’s things, probably out of battery or no longer with service.
Kilon speaks to Arek in the other language for just a moment, obviously hoping I won’t understand, and most of it is too fast. “Don’t show her,” is all that I can make out.
Out of the Shadows: Book One of the Velieri Uprising Page 18