Sonder (Rise of the Omni Book 1)

by S. L. Horne

  “What do you mean?” Denton asks.

  “I’ve spent the day with her.” As if considering her words, Ili hesitates. “She’s an Omni.”

  “Omni?” both Baba and Denton ask at the same time, their surprise that Ili would even suggest such a thing apparent.

  “How… Are you… That’s not possible,” Denton protests, “they aren’t even real. Are you sure?” he asks, his voice losing volume with each word. “An Omni?”

  “I am sure.” The old woman’s face and words do not falter. “I think she does not know what she is, however, or who she is. I think she has suffered, too. When I consulted—”

  Baba interrupts this time. “You consulted? Ili, but that’s dark witchcraft,” he scolds, emphasizing the word dark. The bass in his voice wobbles and he opens his mouth to say more.

  She raises a hand to dismiss him. “When I consulted, the spirits mentioned something else. Your young lady is of one identity, but has two names.”

  “So that’s why.” Denton sits back in his chair. “That’s how none of us knew. Until she is of one solid name and identity, she can’t possess all of her abilities properly. She doesn’t have control of anything.”

  “I believe so.” The old woman frowns and Denton senses there is more she hasn’t told him. Judging by her husband’s displeasure, Denton suspects the spirits have divulged much more to Ili than she’s willing to share. Or perhaps, willing to share just yet.

  After a long pause, the woman says, “She will recover, but she needs to rest tonight.”

  Ili reaches across the counter for her husband’s hand and grasps it. He squeezes hers back and a long moment stretches between them as their weathered eyes exchange an old story not forgotten in their years. Denton sees this clearly.

  Without another word, Baba leads Ili up the stairs to their quarters in the loft. As the couple walks past a long bench, the old man points to it with a shaky finger but does not stop. Watching the pair leave, Denton goes to the bench Baba pointed at and lifts the seat. Inside is a stack of blankets and a pillow for him to make a bed for the night.

  Chapter 17

  Elara struggles to prop herself up. The room around her is cold and damp. A small candle in the corner is lit, and shadows skip across the walls as she adjusts to her surroundings. Her skin tingles, her mouth is dry, and a bitter taste lingers on her tongue. She reaches down to discover she’s sitting on a table. She takes in the thickness of the wood under her fingers and the stability of the old furniture as she edges forward to climb down. A blanket she hadn’t noticed falls to the floor. A sense of security wraps around her, the same feeling she recognizes had accompanied the young man she had been with last she knew. Denton.

  She presses down the door handle and exits the little room, seeing the tavern for the first time. Denton lays under a blanket on a long bench, his dark curly hair tousled on a pillow. He looks so peaceful, and although she doesn’t wish to disturb him, something draws Elara to him. She wants to touch him, curl up next to him, as he holds the same attraction as a fire on a cold night.

  Her foot lands on a noisy floorboard, and he wakes with a startled gasp. She patters over to him and kneels down next to the bench, catching him off guard. She looks up into his sleep-filled eyes and knows they must leave, but does not know how to communicate her worries.

  Denton slides over on the seat and pulls her up to sit next to him. He takes the blanket from atop his lap and wraps it around them both. Sensing that he wants to enjoy the knowledge she is well again for just a moment before anything else, as she does, Elara’s heart surges. How is it, she wonders, that she can understand his emotions without either of them speaking a word?

  The time comes too quickly when they both resolve to continue their journey. Guilt washes over them as they slip out into the night, not saying anything to the kind couple who helped them. Their boat waits patiently tied to the dock, and the moon’s reflection speckles across the water.

  Carrying the blanket with her, Elara takes Denton’s hand as she steps down into the small boat. It teeters side to side as he leans over to undo the lines. Someone had placed a new oar inside the boat, making a pair once more. They drift away slowly, and Elara takes the second oar from Denton’s hand. Together they paddle quietly away from the shore.

  The ocean is calm on that night, a low mist hanging over the water. They sit together in the boat, wordless, but at peace in each other's company. As if she can know his feelings, she nods her head in agreement. They will go to the nearest shore possible and look for better and hopefully larger means of transportation.

  Elara knows she is unaware of what this man has had to do to save her but also knows without being told that they need to run for more than the reason of her being an escaped prisoner. She feels a sense of mourning for the land they are leaving, unsure why the thought lingers in her mind.

  As they continue, the waves rise high into the sky and crash scores of foam over them. A sliver of land appears on the horizon as the sun wakes up the day. Paddling lazily toward the chunk of land, a long beach reveals itself holding a series of caves cut into a low-rising hillside. Rocks jut out, almost rounded from the beating of the water. Denton steps out of the boat when it’s hull scrapes across sand and drags it farther onto the beach. Elara, still feeling a bit faint from her illness, looks up from her concentration of the water’s surface.

  From the caves comes the whistle of the wind and an unknown force that pulls the pair longingly toward them.

  Like an electric buzz in the air, it energizes the drowsy and exhausted Elara. She blinks the sleep away from her eyes and bends down to splash cold water on her face. She understands without knowing how that Denton wants them both to rest, and he takes the lead toward the series of caves.

  He peeks into each one, acting as though he’s concerned something might jump out at them or that they might enter an already inhabited hole. All the caverns appear to be empty, however, and fairly well lit. Finally, he chooses one at random, grabs her hand, and pulls her inside.

  Chapter 18

  One step inside the cave and they both feel the ground fall away beneath their feet. The pull of energy Elara felt before was weak compared to this. Electricity fills her every pore, and with her next step, she puts her foot down onto a large-leafed plant. The crunch of leaves and branches crack with their weight, and it plunges them into unexplainable darkness. She reaches for Denton and pulls herself close to him. As her eyes adjust, she can make out the remnants of a small fire nearby, long burned out. A structure stands erected around them made of animal skins, and vials of something unknown litter the floor on one side.

  Elara hears a rustling coming from outside. She opens her mouth about to scream when the flap of the yurt flings open. Sunlight rushes in as the sun sets in the sky, and her eyes struggle to adjust once again as a young, beautiful woman walks inside, surprise as equal on the woman’s face as Elara knows must show on hers.

  As the dark-haired woman turns to back away, Denton calls after her. “Wait! Ma’am, please wait!” He runs out of the yurt to follow. Confused by illness, lack of sleep and adrenaline, Elara’s heart races and she hesitates before rushing to catch up. She opens the flap to follow as Denton did only to find that a lush green forest now surrounds them as they stand in a small clearing.

  Vines twist on the trees and on the outside of the yurt that still sits behind them, the vines lock their tiny gripping fingers into the stitching of the structure. The woman, just ahead now, ducks below the foliage and expertly weaves in and out avoiding the touch of the branches. Denton and Elara are not as lucky as they follow in her wake, the vines and tree branches pulling and tugging at their clothes and skin. Small trickles of blood pool where the flesh breaks from either thorns or sharp tips of branches.

  “Ma’am! Stop! Please, stop!” Denton calls out again. Elara joins in, although she has no idea if the elusive woman will understand her language.

  As they run through the forest, vines explode be
hind them, blooming as Elara brushes a tree branch out of her way. The woman trips on a creeping vine as it wraps around her wrist. She falls to the ground, her luscious hair silvering at a rapid pace and her face begins to show signs of age.

  Denton rushes to the woman’s side, and looking down at her arm which has been cut open from the fall, he tears his tunic to help her bandage it.

  “You cannot be here!” the woman protests, pointing at Elara with scorn. She tries to back away from Denton, but he is stronger, and grabs hold her unwounded wrist.

  Elara steps closer, understanding the language of the shape-shifting woman.

  “Why?” Elara asks. “Why can I not be here? I don’t understand.” The woman spits at Elara’s feet, and Denton cinches the bandage tighter than necessary.

  “Leave now, you are not welcome here!” The woman tries again to stand, but Denton holds her tight to his side.

  “Calm down, I only want answers, and we need your help. We are not here to cause trouble.” Elara kneels down next to her.

  “Not here to cause trouble?” the woman scoffs. “That is all you are capable of, you Omni bitch!”

  “I guess that’s a new one. I’ve been called many things before, but that one takes the cake.” Elara laughs at her and Denton looks between the two.

  “Just answer some questions, and I promise I will leave,” Elara adds.

  “Does he know you are here?” the woman questions.

  “He? He who? Who are you talking about?” Elara stands and takes a step back.

  The woman laughs maniacally.

  “Oh, so it appears he does not! And you are with a light one, nonetheless.” She glances sideways at Denton with an expression of disgust.

  “You need to slow down and explain. Who is this he you refer to, and what the hell do you mean?”

  “You really are ignorant, Girl. He should have tossed you away when he had the chance. He has grown soft with age, the fool-hearted bastard.”

  “Who. The. Fuck. Is. He?” Elara bends down close to the woman’s face now, anger welling up inside her. She’s tired of this game and frustrated with the woman talking in circles.

  Denton lays a hand on Elara’s arm, a look of concern filling his eyes. The woman’s face brightens with amusement, she cackles, spittle landing on them all.

  “Your father, Girl! He knew a mutt when he saw one and still didn’t have enough sense to put you down like the inbred you are. You fuck with the balance. You’ll fuck with the plans, and you’ll bring nothing but trouble with you wherever you go.”

  The woman’s scornful words smack Elara like a powerful blow, and she teeters backward. Denton reaches out to prevent her from falling over and let's go of the woman. Grasping the opportunity given, the woman gets to her feet and runs off into the woods.

  Too stunned and too weary to go after her, Elara plops down where they are, and Denton does as well. She wishes she could talk to him. Denton could help her understand, she’s sure.

  Her own father? And how does this woman know about her and her family when she does not herself?

  The anger, so readily available just moments before, has already drained away, the emotion substituted with a head-spinning homesickness, and an overwhelming sense of ignorance.

  She had almost forgotten her search for her biological family, the events of this new world having thoroughly distracted her. So many questions left unanswered and no one to ask.

  Resolved to find a place to rest her head and the need to clear her mind, she stands up again, Denton following her actions without question. This time she takes his hand in hers, and they walk back to the yurt. The inside of the makeshift shelter looks fairly new, the dirt freshly pounded, the grass yet to invade the floor.

  Glass containers litter the ground filled with plants, herbs, small bones, and other items Elara cannot discern. She picks one up and shakes it, and the contents rattle around. Opening the jar, she reaches inside to pull out a plant. The dark green stem with a tiny yellow bloom at the end changes form, the flower turning pale white, almost ghostly in its pallor. The sudden change has her placing the item back in the jar and setting it down, feeling as guilty as a child who’s meddled in her mother’s things.

  Denton watches Elara, wishing he could convince her to rest. He can barely stand at this point and knows she must be just as tired.

  He looks around the space, finds a stack of skins left over from the building of the yurt, and gestures for her to join him. He takes a small pile of straw and covers it with one skin, creating a pillow for their heads to share. She walks over to him and sits down in the dirt. Denton puts his arm around her waist and gently pulls her down to lay next to him. He covers them both with another of the animal skins and within moments exhaustion catches up to them, and they fall fast asleep under the blanket.

  Morning breaks into the yurt as a gentle breeze moves the skins covering the opening, allowing light to filter in at intervals. Birds chatter happily to one another outside, and the pair awaken to the soft light. The sounds of the forest are soft and calming, but their stomachs ache with hunger. Feeling well-rested they peer out the flap of their shelter and look around for any sign of the witch.

  A small dirt path leads away from the clearing, and they step onto it. Branches snag at their clothes again, but when Elara brushes the branches out of her way, they become enveloped with a dark green vine. She follows behind Denton and neither notice the plant trailing them.

  He stops with a suddenness that causes Elara to run into him, and she grabs hold of his outstretched arm so as to keep from falling. Barring her way around him, he peers through the remaining few trees to see a traditional cottage standing in the middle of a bright green lawn.

  Their hunger roars loudly in their guts and forces Denton to take a chance. Hand in hand, they walk up to the door and knock. A long minute passes as they stand on the doorstep. Just as Elara raises her hand to knock again, the door swings open, and a middle-aged man stands inside looking out at the two.

  “Yes?” he questions while adjusting his glasses. The man stands poised, silver streaking his hair, his eyes holding maturity but still a fair amount of youth. “Are you all right? You two look beaten. Please do come in. I will make you something to eat and get you some drinks.” He steps aside and ushers them in as a father would his teenage children.

  The man guides his visitors into the large kitchen, and they follow, eager for food. Elara senses Denton is starting to understand the feeling of loneliness she felt earlier that comes with not being able to understand the words of others nearby. He holds tight to Elara’s hand, unable to communicate gratitude or even concern.

  Elara responds to his thoughts and squeezes his hand in reassurance. Denton smiles back, and their host seats them at a long granite bar in the bright naturally lit kitchen while he prepares them something to drink.

  The man’s questions are brief, and he appears unconcerned with their motives, only their health, and next destination. Elara is relieved by his words and readily eats the food he has put in front of her.

  A short time later the front door opens, and the man’s head looks up from his skillet, interest on his face. “That must be my wife. She is due back from her business trip this morning.” He takes the pan off the heat and washes his hands in the sink. Taking the small hand towel with him, he excuses himself from the room and dries his hands while exiting to greet his wife.

  Two sets of footsteps enter the kitchen a minute later, and Elara and Denton look up from their plates with a gasp.

  The old witch-woman walks into the room with a fake smile on her face, her husband’s hand on her waist as he introduces her to their guests. “Sweetheart, these two arrived this morning. I saw they needed a good meal, so I’ve whipped them up my specialty. This is Elara, and the boy doesn’t speak much, but I have gathered his name to be Denton?” He puts a question on Denton’s name while looking at Elara for confirmation.

  She shakes her head as if to clear her mind of sh
ock, seeing who just walked in, and swallows the bit of food in her mouth. “Y–yes, um, yes. You are right, his name is Denton.”

  “Well, Dear,” the old woman begins, “I have had a long flight. I think our guests have had enough to eat and better get on their way,” she says with a sharp undertone. Her husband looks at her, and his smile fades away. He stutters to reply, but Elara saves him the confrontation.

  “It’s all right. We thank you, Sir, for your hospitality and the wonderful food. She’s right, though, we do need to be on our way.” Elara looks at the man as she speaks, but the tone is directed toward the woman.

  The man tries to protest again, but his wife interrupts by grabbing onto his arm. She pulls him from the kitchen toward the bedroom, a tired expression Elara knows is exaggerated on her face.

  Denton and Elara wait in the kitchen, bewildered and feeling no longer welcome. Just as they decide to let themselves out, the woman reappears without the man.