Alawahea

by Sara L Daigle

  Greg stopped outside the door. He touched Tamara lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. There’s not much I can do. She’s made her choice.”

  “You could manipulate cells. There’s got to be something you can do.”

  Greg shook his head, his hands playing in the air just above her neck. Warmth and calm spread down her body. “Any disease is a choice, Tamara. Your mother has chosen to move on to the next stage. If I had seen her three months ago when she was still fighting, maybe there would have been something I could have done. But she’s riddled with the cancer now, and there’s not much I can do. She doesn’t have long to live.”

  But it’s not fair! I just learned something about her, and now I am not going to have the chance to learn about her in this new way? I lost my birth mother before I even knew her. How can I lose another one? Tamara screamed in her mind, the warmth of his touch disappearing with the wash of pain.

  She could feel Greg’s touch trying to soothe her, but she ran away. Away from the bearer of the news she didn’t want to hear, away from the gibbering thing she wanted to be. And away from the one person in the world who had always been shelter for her, but who was now the cause, not the solution.

  She walked outside for a long time before a presence behind her made her stop pacing. She stared sightlessly at one of the young locust trees her mother had planted just last summer. Justern was a cool breeze, a blue-grey glow at the corner of her eye.

  “It sucks, doesn’t it?” he spoke in a low voice, pain threaded through his whole mind. “Losing a parent makes you question everything.”

  Tamara breathed steadily in through her nose and out again. Steady breaths.

  “Especially one that you feel like you never really knew,” Justern continued. No comfort poured around the edges of his shields, only understanding. It lifted her spirits. “Learning what I did when I was in the hospital … I’ve been thinking that I didn’t know her at all. My mother. I thought I did … but she had this whole life I knew nothing about. She wasn’t who I thought she was.”

  Tamara bowed her head. “I don’t even know myself. How can I presume to know anyone else?” She glanced at the door.

  “Andreya’s not listening,” Justern told her, reading the concern there. “She’s listening to Greg and Peter and deciding her world is coming to an end.”

  Tamara lifted her head. “It is, after all.”

  They both sat on the bench under a tree. “It is what? Coming to an end? No. It may feel like it, but it’s not. You do survive death, Tamara. Even the death of someone you didn’t think you could survive losing.” He looked up at her from the corner of his eye. “Then you discover that you have connections you never knew you had, and you begin to dream again. Even to live again.”

  Tamara took the tendril he offered her and slipped behind the first level of his shields. Justern offered up memories to her, which she read and soaked up eagerly, of a brown-haired, blue-eyed woman who smelled of jasmine and lily, who always spoke gently, who loved her son to distraction. And who always missed her daughter. Justern and Tamara shared memories of their mother’s sadness, the constant sorrow that dogged her. At the time Justern had not known about Tamara, but now, looking back, it was obvious that Jasmian Dorvath had wanted very badly to know her daughter.

  When Tamara came back to her own mind, tears slid down her cheeks freely. Wordlessly, she thanked him for the gift he had given her. He pulled his hand across his wet face and sniffed, smiling at her and returning the communication in the same way. Tamara laughed and handed him a piece of tissue.

  Justern blew his nose. He gave her a watery grin and offered the tissue back to her.

  “No thanks.” Tamara made a face.

  Justern stuffed the tissue in his pocket. “I know that doesn’t help with what you’re going through now, but just so you know you’re not alone. That was something I would have appreciated nine years ago.”

  “That means a lot to me. Justy … I’m sorry. I wish … I wish things were different with this whole stupid thing with Joely.”

  Justern shrugged, his shields thickening between them smoothly, cutting off even the small awareness they shared. “It was my own stupid fault for not watching to make sure I didn’t give her the opportunity.”

  “I got her side of it, you know. I played the memory for Greg, and he’s given it to Merran so you aren’t castigated on Azelle, so there is some sort of truth, no matter what happens to you at the trial, or if you are sent home.”

  Justern gave her a one-sided smile. “I know. Greg told me you had done that. Thank you. Having both memories to judge really makes a difference, and I wasn’t … functional. There was always a chance the Council wouldn’t support me if my memories weren’t clear enough. As terrorized as it made you, it will save me on Azelle.”

  Tamara shuddered. “Watching what is basically a rape, all because she was determined to make others as miserable as herself. Greg faded the memory for me, thank God. It’s like I watched a movie years ago. Just disjointed images.”

  Justern touched her shoulder lightly, but he didn’t say anything. Tamara was silent too, thinking about what had followed the memory replaying for Merran and Greg. Her Awakening came hard on the heels of that, and it had changed her life. For the better, she thought, glancing over at the person who was also her half-brother, as he can share with me memories of a mother I never knew. And for the worse, as it’s making me question everything. She pushed her thoughts back, not wanting to dwell on them. Getting to her feet, she extended her hand to Justern. He grinned, kissed the back of it with exaggerated gallantry, and got to his feet. They went into the house.

  Greg looked up as they came in. His touch reached out, and this time Tamara let him soothe down her aura. Warmth spread through her from the contact and made her feel a little more coherent. Peter came over and put his arm around her, which also helped. “How much longer does she have?”

  “Her liver’s starting to lose its ability to function. I would say maybe a week or two,” Greg said somberly. “But it depends on your mother and when she chooses to let go.”

  Tamara could feel tears building again. “Great timing,” she said, with a sarcastic little laugh. “I have midterms in two weeks. I’d rather just spend the next two weeks with her.”

  “The professors will surely let you take makeup exams if you need to,” Greg told her.

  Peter’s grip on her shoulders tightened. “And if you have one not-so-good semester, honey, it’s not the end of the world either.”

  Tamara swiped her hand across her face. “I’ll get through it, Dad.” She gently disengaged. “I’d like to sleep at home for the next two weeks, though.”

  “Certainly,” Peter told her. “You know you can anytime.” Tamara, shaking a little, excused herself then, as Peter asked Greg some questions.

  She called the embassy from her cell phone in her room.

  “Ambassador Corina’s office. May I help you?” Janille answered the phone on the fifth ring.

  “Janille, it’s Tamara. Is the ambassador available for a quick call?” Tamara asked, hoping she could get through the call without crying. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the video call feature.

  Janille glanced up at something. “Let me check, Tamara.” She gave Tamara a small smile. “You are looking good.”

  “Thank you,” Tamara replied, swallowing the lump in her throat. She tapped on the edge of the phone impatiently.

  When the contact came, it was not through the phone. She was still on hold, but suddenly Merran’s presence seeped through her mind. What is it, akila? Is everything all right? Janille says you need to talk to me.

  I just wanted to tell you that Greg saw my mother today, and she’s— Tamara lost the ability to form her thoughts into words. She let him read the memory instead. I … want to spend the next nights until … well, I want to spend the next few nights with her. Is that all right?

  Of course, was Merran’s instant response. You didn’t even need t
o ask, akila. He wrapped his mind around hers, making her feel as though he had just given her a hug. I’ll keep my trip as short as I can. I’ll contact you when I arrive on Azelle.

  Tamara didn’t say anything, but she let him read her gratitude. He severed the connection, and Janille came back on the phone. “He’s in the middle of a very important meeting, Tamara. Can I take a message?”

  “No, that’s all right.” The second part of the conversation was for the benefit of other ears, should anyone be listening. Tamara was sure of that. Janille must have known Merran had talked to her, but she didn’t reveal that she knew. “I’ll try again later. Bye.”

  Janille nodded. “Goodbye.”

  Tamara turned away from the phone, feeling suddenly lonely. The next two weeks are going to be hell.

  They ended up being worse than she’d imagined, in a way she could not have foreseen. Jeanine slipped badly after that day, sliding into a delirium. Her father ran himself ragged taking care of her and juggling Justern’s case at the same time. Tamara dragged herself to class with barely enough energy to care how she did. Her professors knew what was happening and were sympathetic, but Tamara insisted on continuing forward anyway, even though the quality of her work suffered. Everything faded from her mind but her mother. She spent long hours alone, struggling with her thoughts and fears and watching as her mother slipped further away. The fact that Jeanine Carrington had not borne her became irrelevant and meaningless. Tamara loved her anyway, and that was all it took for the intense pain to set in as she helplessly watched her mother’s decline. Greg helped some, as did an almost daily conversation with Justern and Mellis—and, oddly enough, Alarin.

  Tamara lay on her bed almost a week later, having managed to get through classes that week. She had just talked to Merran and was missing him terribly when the doorbell rang. She shivered. Too busy being miserable to rouse herself to get up and answer the door, she sank back into the dark gloom that surrounded her.

  A knock on her bedroom door made her jump. “Who is it?”

  A mind brushed her shields, making her quiver with sudden, nameless emotion. Tamara scrambled back on the bed, pulling her legs up to her chest, and gave him permission to enter.

  Alarin walked in, his mind open and calm. He closed the door behind him. “Hello, Tamara.”

  “Hi.” Tamara’s heart pounded a little, causing some of the depression that pressed down on her to lift slightly.

  There wasn’t much of a place to sit in her tiny bedroom other than on the bed with her. He settled on the edge of it. “I wanted to make sure you are all right.” His spoken words seemed almost meaningless, absent any emotion. The offer in his mind, however, shone brightly—his shields were wide open and invited her to touch minds with him without pressuring her.

  Tamara’s bottom lip quivered. A moment to get away from the hell in my mind, she thought. Dangerous to her sense of self, but strong, his mind offered support and blessed escape. Merran expected to be on Azelle for another week at least, with little to offer but words in the meantime. Too enmeshed in his own upheaval, Justern could not truly help her either. The emerald green of Alarin’s aura glowed beside her, as he patiently sat saying nothing, only offering.

  She reached out tentatively. Tendrils of his aura curled around hers, sensuous and soothing at the same time. Cool green water slid silkily around her. The pain eased, lessened, and flowed, until she breathed freely. As the relaxation spread through her, she caught her breath in a sob. She collapsed on her bed, still entwined with Alarin, curling up into a ball and letting go for the first time since she had learned of her mother’s impending death.

  She felt him move in her mind before he touched her. Warmth pressed against her back and she cuddled close, still wracked by sobs. He let her cry, absorbing rather than soothing. She poured herself into his depths, pain cascading through and out, until she had nothing left. She obliterated herself in his mind, burying herself in the depths.

  When she came to herself again, she lay prone on her bed. Her body felt unreal, as if drugged, but her storm of emotion was gone. She could sense the cool pool that had absorbed all her pain—terror and sorrow still spread beneath her, still open and inviting. Turning her head, she met his eyes.

  “How did you do that?” She coughed, trying to clear the thickness out of her throat.

  Alarin tightened his grip around her and smiled. He lifted a hand to brush a tendril of hair away from her face. “It’s a little trick I learned from my Healer sister.”

  “Greg can’t do that,” Tamara protested, too exhausted to do more than lie there.

  “He knows the technique. It’s just a rather drastic one, used only in very special cases.” The cool green pool radiated warmth, comfort, and gentle support.

  “Can everyone do it?” Tamara asked him, testing the edges of her new serenity. His presence, enmeshed with hers, made it hard to know whose calm she was experiencing.

  “No. Healers are the ones who know it and a few of us others who know Healers. There are some requirements before it’s usuable, though.” Alarin did not elaborate, and his mind, so open before, pulled a thin veil over its depths. He did not fully disengage, but the depths grew murky over an awareness—a forbidden awareness. The withdrawal made her cold. She didn’t want to let him go, yet she didn’t want the return of the real world. Tamara pressed against him, both physically and mentally, feeling like a child bumping for the comfort of a bottle or a mother’s breast.

  When the childlike feeling transmuted into something else, she was never quite sure. She pressed against him. A slow tension broke through her comfort, a slowly growing awareness that disrupted the solace, as warmth spread upward from that murky depth. His touch changed from soothing to caressing. She lay against him, feeling the tension wash through her. Still entwined with him, she could feel his heart speed up and hear his breathing catch as blood raced through his veins. A pressure pumped against her thigh as his body moved slightly closer to her. She turned her head to meet his eyes and saw recognition in them. There was no lying. There could be no pretending, not wrapped around each other as they were. Her own breathing went ragged as they looked at each other, warmth flaring into heat.

  Which one kissed the other first, she didn’t know. But Alarin met her with tongue and lips as his arms pulled her close. A noise escaped her mouth and he shifted against her, his breath coming hard through his nose. His hands explored where his mouth did not, and he pressed harder against her body, his legs trapping her beneath him.

  He broke the kiss first, holding himself above her. The length of his body hovered just above, their auras mingling slightly at the edge. Currents flashed between them. “Tamara, wait. Do you want this?”

  It was hard to clear the smog of desire from her brain. The aching of both their bodies called to her, a clamor almost too loud to ignore. Tamara struggled to sit up, brushing against him as she moved. His muscles quivered as he pulled back. His jeans did nothing to hide the physical evidence she noticed when she lay back down. Still wrapped up in his mind, she didn’t know what she wanted. His desire tugged at her as images flashed through her mind—Alarin nearly naked as she woke up in his bed, Alarin showering in Merran’s bedroom as she sat joking with Greg outside, the oddly familiar feel of his mind as he entwined his aura with hers. “God,” she whispered. “Yes, I do. But …” Confusion danced wildly through her.

  Alarin withdrew from her mind gently, pulling shields up between them to spare her the awareness of his discomfort. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

  Afraid he was going to leave, Tamara shook her head. “Don’t go … I … please.”

  “I’m not,” Alarin assured her. “I’m just trying to get a little more comfortable.” He sat with his back against the headboard of her bed, one knee pulled up while the other leg stretched out in front of him.

  “I just—I’m sorry, Alarin. I—I don’t know what this means.” Tamara lifted a shaking hand to her temple, finally managing to si
t up herself. “How—how can I feel this way about you when I still feel the way I do about Merran? I don’t understand. Is this normal?”

  “Your Awakening changed us all, Tamara.” He lifted his head and looked at her steadily. “It’s not unheard of on Azelle, although I wouldn’t say it’s common.”

  Tamara rubbed her cheek, not really hearing him. “I don’t want to cheat on Merran. We have an understanding, I think, and I don’t want to betray that trust.”

  “Merran called me and told me to make sure you were all right. He knows how I feel, Tamara.” Alarin took a deep breath through his nose. “He may not realize you share it, but he knows there’s a good chance you do. We couldn’t have done what we did at your Awakening and not have been left with some kind of effect.” He took another deep breath. “Our people have a saying. Alawahea. The literal meaning is what is, what was, what will be. In this case, it means that we need to accept what has happened, that the reason doesn’t matter. We have what we have.” Tamara stayed silent, struggling with alien concepts, trying to understand what he meant. He shielded from her. Reaching out a tendril of his mind, he brushed across her aura. “Don’t worry about it right now, Tamara. You have more than enough on your mind as it is, and this particular issue can wait for Merran’s return.”

  “You can’t mean—” Tamara took a deep breath. Some huge awareness hovered at the edge of her senses, something she didn’t want to know or acknowledge. Too much to process, she thought. “What’s—what do you mean, it’s not unheard of? That you’re attracted to me? That I’m attracted to you? That Merran knows?”

  Alarin raised his eyebrow. “There’s more to it than that, Tamara, and you know it. Your Awakening tied all three of us together. What we are going to do about it needs to include Merran.”

  That was it. What she felt about Alarin was not simple, and far from casual. She had determined to keep it buried, because like it or not, she was with Merran. But to know Alarin shared it—for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few weeks Tamara felt as though her world was shaking, twisting on its axis, and collapsing around her.