Sonder (Rise of the Omni Book 1)

by S. L. Horne

  “Six months. It feels like it’s going by so fast, but also painfully slow.” Humor brightens her face and Elara’s mind races.

  “That’s wonderful. It’s really a beautiful thing, isn’t it? Is this a gift for your baby?” Taking the neatly wrapped and twined package, Elara hands it over to Io and they exchange currency. Her heart is pounding with the possibility of who Io might truly be. “May I ask what your last name is? I’m sorry if that seems rude, but you look so familiar.”

  “Oh, that’s fine! I’m proud of my name. It took a long time to wrangle in the husband, so I’ve earned it! It’s Belmont. Io Belmont. You might have seen me before as my husband is pretty active in the community and drags me along with him all the time. Not so much lately though,” she adds indicating her baby bump again, and rubbing her hand in motherly circles over her swollen belly.

  Elara watches this gesture and a sense of longing wrenches at her gut. She remembers her adoptive mother having rubbed her own back in this same way to put her to sleep, she tries to relate it to Io, her real mother.

  A battle plays in Elara’s mind; for so long she didn’t even know this woman was missing from her life, and her love for her adopted mother does not waver. But the desire to know her real mother squeezes at her heart.

  “That could be it.” Elara smiles and looks at her, unable to believe who she is standing before. Long wavy, red hair cascades down the woman’s back and her smile is brilliant and youthful. But the soft freckles that speckle her face are where Elara sees the most resemblance. She tries not to appear rude, yet she can’t stop herself from staring, hoping to imprint a lasting image of her mother on her mind.

  “Is this your first?” Elara asks in an effort to break the awkward moment.

  A shadow of old memories carves deep into Io’s eyes as she responds. “This is our first that has made it this far. We have been trying for so many years that I was beginning to think it would never happen. She’s our miracle baby.”

  “I am so sorry to hear that, but congratulations on your little girl. I wish you the best, Mrs. Io Belmont.” The woman returns the sentiment and waddles away to look through the rest of the stalls. Elara watches her go, unblinking, trying to burn the memory into her mind. She wants to call her back, hug her and tell her who she is. She wants to cry to her and tell her she loves her.

  “I hear you are looking for me.” A man wearing a thickly quilted suit and disheveled frizzy blonde hair steps under the awning behind them and addresses Denton and Elara, pulling her back from her encounter to the reality of their task. “Come with me,” he says from beneath a small pair of perfectly circular glasses in a no-nonsense tone.

  Elara turns to protest as the stall owner has not yet returned, but then sees the vendor walking down the path with a water bottle and a bag of food in hand. The dusty looking man cuts the exchange short by insisting they follow without haste.

  He walks fast, slipping between stalls and pausing only long enough for the pair to catch up. Neither Denton nor Elara exchange conversation as they try to keep pace with the man.

  On the corner bordering the market sits a small shop with a dainty stoop at the entrance. A large cowbell on the door announces their arrival as they step inside behind their escort. The interior lighting is dim and dust floats around as snow would on a soft winter day.

  The stranger maneuvers between a maze of racks, shelves, and half walls, impatiently urging them to trace his steps. They dodge miscellaneous items either strewn about or jutting out from the shelves they’ve been placed upon. The shop smells of old books, mothballs, damp rugs, and stale old perfume. The farther they venture into the building, the harder it is to breathe. Their guide disappears behind a sheet of beads hanging over a doorway, and they part the curtain to join him. Clattering beads continue behind them, but they stop dead in their tracks with the sudden change in the atmosphere.

  Nothing of the smells, lighting, sounds, or overall dampness remains except for the beads at their back. Soft music plays soothingly, a fresh aromatic perfume fills the air, and bright plants decorate the space filled with tastefully placed furniture and counters. Expensive looking chairs and lounges sprinkle the huge room, inviting them to sit. A well-manicured man sweeps up to them and requests to remove their shoes with a polite gesture. Their footwear is whisked away and replaced with thin, shear moccasins. With the change in footwear, the plush carpet under their feet is easily enjoyed through the breathable fabric.

  A waitress greets the party with refreshments, wearing a tight black dress and comfortable looking, but dressy flats. A fountain in the room's center stands nearly floor to ceiling, water splashing down into a beautiful pool with a complete 360-degree waterfall. The noise of the water is almost deafening, yet somehow, Elara notes, calming at the same time.

  “Wow,” is all she can muster.

  “Ah, do you like it?” the man asks, his first utterance since they left the stall. He no longer appears to be in a rush, and second woman in a cocktail dress helps him take off his dingy coat. It reveals a crisp collared shirt underneath, and the woman replaces his coat with a tailored suit jacket. He finishes buttoning it up and pulls out a cigar for himself to light. “You didn’t think I’d really work in a place like that,” he says, tilting his head toward the door where they entered and wrinkling his nose. “Did you?”

  “Well, no,” Elara answers. “I mean, I didn’t know what to think. You haven’t really introduced yourself, after all.” She takes a deep drink of the tea set before them, noticing the refreshment is immensely enjoyable. She looks down in the tall flute, swirling it around in the crystal glass. She eagerly finishes the entire thing, and the waitress smoothly replaces it with another.

  “Delicious, huh?” The man winks at her, a smug look on his face. “I’ve waited a long time for you to show up.”

  “Wait. You knew we were coming?”

  “Not your friend, but you, yes. I figured it was only a matter of time.” He turns from them and walks toward another door, indicating they should follow.

  Everything in the room he enters next looks to be made of solid glass. Elara assumes this must be his office, and they once again, follow him inside.

  Denton hesitantly finishes his drink as he follows, sticking close to Elara. The man’s desk is glass, his chair, computer, everything is crystal clear and spotless. The floor is black polished marble and warm beneath their feet, the only thing in the entire office that isn’t glass.

  “Why?” Elara asks. “Why did you expect me? Who are you?” She hovers over a seat, unsure if she wants to sit down. The chair looks fragile, and she fears breaking it with her weight.

  “Sit, sit!” he says gesturing at them both. “Don’t worry, nothing will break. I know what you’re thinking. It’s not glass, though, it’s pure diamond. You couldn’t break it if you tried.” He sits down himself in the larger chair behind his desk. “And you can call me Selman.”

  “Diamond?” she exclaims, looking at everything in a new light. “How…how is that possible?” Forgetting her manners, she skips past further introductions.

  “Microorganisms.” As if what he said makes complete sense, Denton sits down next to her and gives them each a strange look.

  “Yep, definitely no idea what you mean by that, “Elara says. “Would you mind explaining any further than by a single word?” She sits uncomfortably in the chair even though the furniture is more accommodating than she expected.

  “Microorganisms,” Selman repeats. “I specialize in them. These particular ones can change any material I direct them to. The material will quickly age, compressing or reacting in ways nature would normally do over time. I commissioned all of these pieces to be carved from coal, then introduced my microorganisms to them. Within an hour or two, they compress the matter into solid diamond.” He smiles from ear to ear and leans back in his seat with an air of great accomplishment and continues with a shrug. “It’s simple. My specialty is why you were sent to me in the first place.” />
  “Wow.” Elara looks around, trying to understand how such a small thing could really accomplish such a task. “But, I don’t get why that would help us. Someone directed me to you to help me be able to understand Denton. We don’t speak the same language. How do microorganisms that change coal to diamond help with that?”

  Denton reaches over and taps her on the arm. She gives him a ‘not now’ look, and returns her gaze to the odd man.

  “It’s not the only one I have,” he replies with a note of arrogance in his voice. “I have hundreds of different micros. Each does something different, but I do have some that help your mind learn a new language. You see, micros talk to each other, chemically. They are the best at communication the world has ever seen. They work together on a single task, better than any soldier army the world has ever known. Small, but efficient. The micros modified for language purposes do not give you the ability to know any language you come across, rather they decode it and teach your brain at a rapid rate. The same way you’d learn a language as a child, but accelerated.”

  “So, hypothetically,” she asks, “how would you give us these micros? How long would it take? What’s the catch?” Skeptical of this new stranger, and his deception from his storefront to his actual office leaves her wondering what he could be hiding.

  “Catch? Nothing,” he says. “You are an Omni, and for that simple fact… Then again, even if you weren’t…” He hesitates and brushes his hand in the air flamboyantly. “Well… you, I’d still help. I particularly enjoy helping the underdog. As for how long it takes, ask your friend for yourself.”

  She looks over at Denton, finally affording him her attention. He appears relaxed now, having given up on his attempt to get her response after the look she gave him. “Ask him what? How?”

  “Elara, I think he already gave them to us,” Denton responds, but Elara shakes her head in frustration.

  “I still don’t understand. Denton’s still speaking in a language I can’t interpret.” She gets increasingly agitated.

  “Yes, it would be that way. He can understand you, though. He’s been listening to us, and his brain has heard enough to decipher it and now has no issue understanding what we’re saying. You haven’t been listening to his language though, so your brain has not had the opportunity to learn. Given time, even if you had not been given the micros, he would be able to talk in our language.”

  “You gave us them already?” She looks at him with incredulity.

  Denton looks down at the cup in his hand, drained now. “Elara, I think they were in the drink.” His words come out clear in her mind now, but she’s unsure if the micros affected him enough already to allow him to speak in her language, or for her to understand his so quickly.

  “The tea? Oh, most definitely not!” The man looks almost hurt by the accusation. “I would never! That sort of environment would devastate the entire microbalance. My beauties would never survive it. Honey, the micros transfer best through skin contact.” He slips off his comfortable shoes and wiggles his toes precariously under his clear desk. “Now, you have somewhere important you need to be, so I will walk you out.”

  Chapter 20

  Elara and Denton step off the curb of a busy street and hail down a taxi. “Remind me again why we can’t just take a byway,” he mutters, the disdain on his face clear. The clouds are gloomy overhead and threaten a downpour any minute.

  “I just…” She hesitates. “I’m not really sure. I guess I want to know a little more, see what things were like. You know, understand why my mother gave me up, if that’s possible.” The question still bothers her, how could the woman who looked so eager for her newborn child, ever have given her up? They climb inside the cab, and Elara leans forward to direct the driver where to take them.

  “Okay, fine. I just never could really get into this automobile fad.” With a frown, Denton sits back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. For the first time, possibly because they are now speaking the same language and able to understand each other fully, Elara notices just how grumpy he can be and rolls her eyes.

  The journey is short-lived, and they travel it in silence. With her mind on other things, Elara stares out the window until they reach their destination. The storm has arrived and rain patters against the windows and bounces off the pavement. Denton steps out and hurries around to her door. He takes her arm as she climbs out, and they rush together underneath the awning of a tall, yet plainly decorated building.

  The shape of the hospital is rectangular in appearance and the face of the facility the widest portion. Walking up to a map located near the entrance doors, they try to determine where they need to go. The interior is boxy in nature, and seems fairly easy to navigate, but the map does not indicate much more past where the ER, exits and restrooms are.

  Entering the main lobby, they gravitate toward an information desk. Elara notices the counter is much shorter than she remembers, and assumes the hospital must undergo a number of renovations over the next two decades or thereabout.

  The differences have her worried she may not find her way around with the layout so unlike her recollection.

  “Excuse me, Ma’am,” she says, addressing a nurse in dark blue scrubs at the desk. They exchange polite greetings, and the nurse behind the counter instructs the pair to sign in on a clipboard she provides and supplies them with visitor tags. She points them to the passageway just beyond the vending machines on the right to the maternity wing.

  They walk in the direction the hospital employee pointed them, fluorescent lights buzzing softly above their heads. As they reach the vending machines, they turn left, and the nurse who initially directed them stands up to call after them.

  “Um, Ma’am! I said the right. You’re going the wrong way.” Neither Elara nor Denton turn back to respond to her, too far out of earshot to hear.

  The corridor they enter is sparse of any decorations or even frames on the walls. No cheerful pictures have been hung to greet people, no congratulatory pamphlets have been shoved in racks next to chairs. Nothing to suggest the wing is for delivering babies.

  They spot a couple dressed in hospital attire standing in a corner and talking quietly.

  “Pardon me,” Denton starts. “Can you tell me if we’re in the right place?”

  The couple turns around, and their eyes grow wide. “Sire!” the woman exclaims, recognition clear on her face. Her shockingly unnatural white hair is pulled tightly into a ballerina bun atop her head with not a single strand out of place, and her eyebrows are dark and perfectly shaped on a youthful face. She balls her left hand into a fist and kisses the half-moon at the base of her thumbnail. Just as she is about to say more, her companion tugs her arm down.

  “Shut up!” he says between his teeth, his remark barely audible. Elara notices right away his eyes behind the clear lens of his glasses, one dark brown and the other a golden hazel. aHe has a tattoo of a moon and sun on his left cheekbone and spiky black hair. Without taking his eyes off Denton or Elara, a large grin spreads across the man’s sand-colored face. “How can we help?” he asks.

  Looking between the two strangers, then at Elara, and back to the woman, Denton asks, “Do I know you?”

  “Oh, of course not,” the man responds a little too quickly. He shakes his head in denial and his glasses slip down his nose. He takes a moment to readjust them before going on. “You said you were looking for a particular area? We might be able to help. Where are you headed?”

  Shrugging off the awkward moment, Elara steps in. “The maternity wing. Can you point us in the right direction? I think we might be lost.”

  “No problem. You simply took the wrong turn, but you almost had it right,” the white-haired woman says, smiling now. Denton flashes Elara a look that says he also felt something odd was going on but does not wish to push the subject. “Just go back to the vending machines. There’s a waiting room across from them. Then take the other corridor. You should find it from there pretty easily.”
/>   “Thank you,” Denton and Elara say at the same time, and turn to walk away, the awkward exchange clinging to the air.

  “What was that all about? Did you know her?” Elara whispers as they move away.

  “No idea; I’m just as confused as you are.” They slow down to investigate what the vending machines have to offer before they pass them by again.

  Denton says, “She seemed—” Their conversation is halted by the bluster of raised voices coming from inside the waiting room at their backs.

  Elara steps closer to the doorway with Denton right behind her. They stop to listen to the heated conversation between two men in the waiting room, their voices returning to something more of a whisper.

  They exchange words, mostly inaudible, but one of the men is obviously upset over something. “I can’t do that! There’s no way!” he says, his voice rising again in anger. Not wanting to be seen, Denton and Elara hold their breath and continue listening.