by Owner
"Can you just, uh, close the door?" I backed away from her until the panicked sensation in me ceased.
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She did as I asked, then stood as far from me as possible in the small room. Over near the bed, I started to pace, a million thoughts at once tumbling through my brain. Should I trust her?
Could I trust her? Where to start explaining? What if she couldn't or wouldn't help me?
Finally, I stopped. Useless worrying wouldn't get me anywhere. Take a leap, I told myself.
"How much has Caelan told you about me?" I asked. She didn't look up from the floor. "That you are the human from his vision, meant to lead us against Nevan in victory."
"Okay," I said, thinking. "Nothing else?"
"No."
"All right." I tried to figure out how best to explain without revealing my major weakness: I had no idea how I'd done what I'd done to defeat Asha. And therefore had no clue about the scope of my own abilities, where they'd come from or how to control them.
"So here's the thing, I..." I trailed off when I noticed she still wasn't watching me. I realized I might have just committed another alien faux pas. "You can look up." She immediately brought her gaze up to mine, and I could see the pride burning there. She'd submit herself to me, but that didn't mean she was carpet to walk on. I started to say, just treat me like you would anyone. I'm not really your leader. Except...I thought that being their leader, even for pretend, might be the only thing keeping me alive. So, I kept my mouth shut.
"Okay, so as I was saying, I have these dreams. Weird ones." I continued pacing. Now I was the one staring down at the floor. It was easier for me to concentrate that way. "And in them I keep hearing these little bits of sentences, in another language." I looked up at her then. "The same language I heard you and Caelan speaking, I think."
I waited for her to protest that it couldn't be. But she said nothing.
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"Anyway, I was hoping you could maybe help me." I stopped pacing to stand as close to her as I dared.
"You wish me to translate the words into your language," she said. A faint frown furrowed her brow.
I nodded.
She shook her head. "Unless you allow me to touch your mind while you are dreaming–"
"No," I said instantly, then tried to soften it. "I mean, I don't think that's necessary." I stepped a little closer to her. "I've been having these dreams for the better part of two years now. I can tell you the words, the sounds, I just don't know what they mean." She stared at me for a long moment, her eyes cold and flat. But then she said, "You may begin."
"Tay vassas a nee." I stumbled over the unfamiliar sounds. Namere shook her head slightly, a frown pinching her forehead. "It cannot have the exact meaning in your language, but it is something like, you are going here."
"Tay retas abatra."
"You stay still."
"Sel voto e na' tay."
"They are not devoted to you..." she paused, "No. They care not for you."
"Jol vatre ne' tay."
"I will go from you never."
"Eenashi." I struggled over the last word, the one I always heard just when the darkness closed over me. "Or something like that. By then her voice, or whatever I'm hearing, is always fading away."
"Eenashi." Namere frowned. "I am not certain–"
"An'Ashi. It means blessed one, or in this case, gifted child." Caelan's voice sounded in the room, startling me. I looked up to find him standing in the doorway with a pile of clothes in his hands, but I hadn't even heard the door open. 128
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"How did you–" I started to ask.
"You hear the words correctly in your head," he said.
"Caelan is far more gifted in hearing thoughts than I am," Namere said.
"It doesn't mean anything," I said to Caelan, referring to the now-translated phrase.
"That is the correct translation into your language," Namere said. She hesitated, then continued, "If you do not believe what I have told you, then I await your punishment."
"What? No." I shook my head at her. "God, no. You did what I asked you to. Just...it's okay."
"It confirms what I told you of your dream earlier," he said.
"That you were a child and you were near Observers at that time. There is no other explanation for your knowledge of our language."
"But it's not possible." Anger started to build within me. "I was born in 1977. You didn't arrive here until 2001, so it can't be..." I stopped myself, words trailing off. "Unless...you didn't." I stared up at Caelan and Namere. "Unless you got here long before then and revealed it only when you were ready." As soon as I heard myself say the words, I shook my head. "That's nuts, forget it."
"I came to show you evidence that everything is not as it seems." He lifted up the pile of clothing he still held. "When you are ready. There is a bath down the hall, if you wish it." I noticed then for the first time that he must have showered recently. Dampness still colored his hair a shade darker than its normal brown, and days of stubble were now gone from his face, further revealing that marvelous mouth. He had new clothes too, a v-neck gray sweater worn untucked over a different pair of jeans. He looked good. Better than good. Touchably good, which made me only that much more aware of my dirty and disheveled state. I caught a flicker of a smile on Namere's face, the first 129
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expression of positive emotion I'd seen from her. But I didn't like that it seemed to be at my expense.
"Yeah, a chance to clean up would be good." I shifted a bit uncomfortably.
"Keep the tape dry," Namere instructed. "I will await your call again, if you require." And then she left, ducking her head to me as she did.
"I feel like I should ring a bell for someone to bring me my throne and scepter," I muttered.
"The order of power is all we have, so we uphold it fiercely," Caelan said.
I stepped forward and took the clothes from him. "You want to show me where I'm supposed to wash up?" He nodded and led me out into the hall. At the far end of the hallway, a door opened into a huge bathroom, probably designed for communual use when the lodge had been up and running. I hoped it had been cleaned since then.
I peeked in. The floor seemed clean, and the tub, an old freestanding one, was free of mold and grunge. The shower stall was obviously one of those throw-together-in-a-weekend kinds, and the toilet had a cracked tank lid, but other than that it seemed okay.
I slid past Caelan into the bathroom. "Thanks." He raised an eyebrow. "Call if you need assistance." Then he turned and left.
I closed the door. Assistance? He wished. It might take me a little longer than normal, but I'd figure it out. I found clean towels, a washcloth and a bar of soap under the sink vanity. See? No problem. Then I stripped off my clothes carefully, ran the water in the tub–the shower would definitely have gotten my bandages wet–climbed in and found my first problem. I couldn't bend at the waist to reach most of me. Every time I tried, the dull pang in my chest sharpened until it took my 130
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breath away. So I did the best I could, but anything below my midthigh would have to get clean just by being in the warm soapy water.
I wrang out the cloth and wiped down under my arms, my chest and neck, trying to keep the water rivulets from reaching the bandages. It wasn't anywhere as good as really being able to scrub up, but it helped. Then I reached for my hair to remove the rubber band from the tangled, sweaty rat's nest of a mess and found my second problem. I could barely lift my arms above my head long enough to even pick at the knots of hair that had wound themselves around the rubber band. Plus, I had no idea how I was going to soak my hair. I couldn't bend forward, so the sink was out, and I couldn't bend back, so the tub wasn't an option either. I sat there for a long moment, tears beginning to prickle in my eyes. After all I'd been through, it seemed ridiculous to cry at this, but I couldn't help it.
A soft knock sounded at the door. "Do you need help?" Caelan's voice.
"No," I said loudly. But the idea of spending who knows how many days with greasy, stringy unwashed hair and itchy scalp forced me to cave in quickly. "Yes," I said a moment later, sniffling. "Just a second." I knew Caelan better than any of them, so while I didn't want to need help at all, I'd rather it was him than one of the others who might try to drown me or something. I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around me. "All right, you can come in." I wiped under my eyes with the edge of the towel.
The door opened, and Caelan stepped in. Suddenly the room seemed very small or he seemed huge, because I felt like I was standing too close to him, even though I hadn't moved. Perhaps it had something to do with him being dressed and me not having a stitch on under that towel. But to his credit, he kept his eyes on my face.
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"I want to wash my hair, but I can't...bend the right way." It sounded foolish, and I hated having to ask him for help. He stepped closer, and I skittered out of the way. But he didn't say anything about it. He went to the vanity and knelt before it, taking out more towels and a bottle of shampoo that I had forgotten to bring out.
"They keep it well-stocked here." I cringed. I sounded like an idiot.
"All of our homes are well-stocked," he said. But before I could ask him what he meant by that, he dropped a folded towel on the floor in front of the tub and gestured toward it "Sit." I knelt first, trying to keep my towel closed–it was worse than a hospital gown–and then I sat, my back pressed against the tub. He brought another towel and slid it behind my neck, protecting the bones from the harsh edge of the tub.
He turned the water on, and checked the temperature by sliding his hand through it. It seemed so human, so concerned, that it made me uncomfortable. I tugged my towel tighter around myself.
Caelan dried his hand on the third towel he'd brought over and then pulled his sweater off over his head, revealing a plain white cotton T-shirt, such a contrast to his dark skin. I knew that I'd seen him in less than this, but somehow seeing him take his clothes off in this situation affected me differently. For one thing he wasn't injured and bleeding and for another, did I mention I was naked under the towel?
He knelt beside me and slid his hand along the back of my neck. I immediately bobbed my head forward, so it wouldn't lay in the palm of his hand.
He arched an eyebrow at me. "If you want this, you must relax."
I sighed, then slowly let my head back down. After a few seconds, warm water coursed over my scalp and I closed my eyes 132
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and shivered in delight, forgetting my discomfort. He soaked my hair until I could feel the weight of it pulling me back toward the tub, but he kept his hand at the base of my neck for support. Cold shampoo squirted out of the bottle and into my hair. I shivered again.
Opening my eyes, I watched his face as he worked the lather through my tangled hair. It was strange, he showed no sign of lust or hunger or even irritation at being asked to perform this highly personal task, just peace. The furrow in his brow had evened out, the color in his eyes was balanced between silver and brown, and his mouth was full and relaxed.
Without thinking, I reached a hand for that mouth. But then he said, "I would have translated the words for you." I dropped my hand back. "I know."
"But you did not trust me."
I sighed, the warm, easy feeling inside of me starting to fade. Did we have to have this conversation now? "You have different priorities than I do. I thought you might try to slant what I'd heard to support them."
He paused in pouring water over my hair to look down and meet my eyes. "My priority will always be you."
"The me from your vision, though," I pointed out. He nodded. "You are one and the same." That was his opinion. But I didn't want to get into that right now, not when I was feeling so relaxed for the first time in days, maybe years. "We'll see, I guess."
He nodded, leaning forward to squeeze the water from my hair, an act that brought his chest brushing lightly against me and his mouth inches from mine. Wanting surged inside me. Dazed by the close contact and not thinking too clearly, I let him see how I felt in my eyes, in the curve of my mouth.
But he turned away, bringing a towel to wrap around my hair, and disappointment settled hard over me. If I'd been a little more 133
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myself at that moment, I'd have been relieved, I think. He helped me to my feet, holding the towel around my hair with one hand and pulling me up with the other. That motion brought me against him, full body contact, intentional on his part, I was sure. But it felt so good, I didn't complain. He released my arm and leaned into me, his face just inches from mine. "My feelings for you are genuine," he said. Heated blood began to pound through me. He traced my collarbone with one finger, starting on the right side and sliding all the way across, just barely touching. "Your body recognizes it." My chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his touch. He dropped his finger down to the upper curve of my breast, just above the edge of the towel, where my heartbeat shook my whole body. "So does your heart." He lifted his eyes, the brown drowning out the silver, to meet mine.
"But your mind resists. That I cannot change." With that, he released me and walked out the door, closing it behind him, leaving me suddenly cold and shivering. 134
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Chapter 13
I managed to get dressed in the clean clothes, a sweatshirt, Tshirt and jeans close to my size, and towel-dry my hair on my own. It took me longer than it should have, even considering my broken state. I think I was trying to delay the inevitable: facing Caelan again. But he was right outside waiting for me, his face as impassive as ever.
Before we left, I used the cell phone Caelan had left me to call Scott again. He didn't answer, but it was almost 10:30 on a school day, he probably had class. Or, he could have ignored me and flown home to Texas. So, I tried his cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail, which actually made me feel better. He'd have had it on if he were at home. He always had it on, except when he was at class. I'd have to try him again later. If I found out he went home even after I'd told him not to, I'd have to figure out a way to wring his neck long distance.
Caelan led me down the stairs and out of the lodge through the back door in the kitchen.
"So, where'd you get the money for this place?" I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of the leather jacket he'd handed me before we'd walked outside. "Or, did you just hand them a pile of old newspaper and make them think it was cash?" Hey, if I had their power, that's what I might have done.
He looked over his shoulder at me, frowning a bit. "This property is ours through a legitimate purchase." I looked back over my shoulder to the two-story structure, complete with wraparound deck on the back. It was probably a hundred thousand dollars, easy.
"Did you knock over a casino?" I was half-joking, but in a way, it would have made sense. It certainly would explain the 135
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house and his expensive little cell phone. Because it wasn't like they could work regular jobs or apply for a mortgage. But he could use that handy little mind-altering trick. It wasn't like anyone would expect the vault to be anything but full of money and empty of aliens. So, the guards would see only what they expected to see until Caelan was out the door, on his way to the high life. Instant super criminal, the likes of which would put Lex Luthor to shame.
"We learned quickly that currency is necessary for successful existence in your society. Without it, we were vulnerable, dependent on the kindness or foolishness of those we found." He shrugged. "So we gathered and sold what we had of value." I frowned, hurrying up so I was even with him. "What did you have that you could sell? It's not like you woke up with pockets full of jewels or moon rocks or something...." I trailed off, realization leaving me open-mouthed for a second. "You're the one."
He nodded.
; About a year and a half ago, this guy from Minnesota, Rick Sutton, one of the few remaining dot com millionaires, claimed he'd found a large portion of a stasis tank, a relic from the Observers' journey to Earth. Because of the Observers' strict ban on sharing technology, he immediately became the center of media attention and controversy's latest darling.
Allegedly, stasis tanks were what allowed the Observers to make it to Earth. The length of the journey exceeded their normal life span, but these tanks essentially froze them in time, stopping all body functions until receiving a command to restart them. Our scientists had been playing around with this concept for a while for future use in our space program. But from what I'd read in Time, I think it was, they hadn't quite figured out the defrosting part–at least, not without melting the brain a little bit. Our development of this particular technology was hampered by the fact that no human had actually ever seen one of the tanks, which 136
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was where Rick Sutton and his discovery came into play. Of course, the Observer Council released a statement denying Mr. Sutton's claim. But when tests were run, the compounds making up the fragment could not be identified against anything known on Earth.
About six weeks later, Rick Sutton disappeared. The official word was that the stress had gotten to him and he'd decided to take an unplanned vacation to get away from it. Most people thought he took an unplanned vacation from life instead. Of course, once he vanished, no one could find the tank remnant, if that's even what it had been to begin with. A search began almost immediately to find out where he had gotten the piece of whatever it was, but no one had been able to determine the original source. Until now.
"You know there's a lot of people looking for you because of that," I said.
He nodded. "It is unfortunate Mr. Sutton decided to release information about his purchase to the public. We warned him of the potential dangers."
"Apparently not well enough," I muttered.
"So how far away is this place?" I was falling behind again as I wasn't in the best condition for a long hike. The cold air made it hard to take deep breaths and lots of short shallow ones hurt my ribs just as much.