collected it on her fingertip. "Stick out your tongue," she repeated.
A salty fingertip touched her tongue.
She simply remembered how to sing.
She greatly wanted to sing.
She needed to sing.
She couldn't understand how she could live without singing!
He had been her best audience. She would sing for him a last time.
Nori. She had a name she could keep, but it meant nothing to her. There were other people - she couldn't remember them, she could only remember remembering them. She could only remember that the memories were powerful, vivid, vital - and forbidden.
"Admiral!"
Fidelity woke from the dream of having memories. Samson lay beside her with his head on her leg. Rafael sat with head bowed, the setting sun illuminating his white hair around the rim of his silhouette, the wind tossing his mane of white behind his neck. She looked to the broken Rhyan who had called to her. He lay nearby, his good arm flexing in the air, fist clenched, as though that would ease the pain. Great masses of cumulonimbus clouds formed a wall above the blue ocean and lightning flashed through their decks and tiers. Whitecaps washed upon the black sand near Daidaunkh's feet. The coconut palms rattled in the rising wind. She put Samson's head out of her lap and stood to get circulation back in her legs. She gathered up the materials she had prepared. She walked back to the Rhyan. Samson cried, holding out his hand for the admiral to come back to him. She hardly noticed him, whichever part of her was responsible for him.
The memory of having unbearable memories was itself unbearable. No matter how hard she tried, the people and places would not come back to her. Only the pain of loss remained. They couldn't be normal memories, but whatever they were they belonged to her, even if she didn't know how or why. They must also still be inside her, hiding. Something was awakening within her, frightening her, yet demanding her curiosity, her acceptance, and her death. She was no longer Fidelity Demba. Her strong component, that warrior among the personalities coalescing into the person she might become, fought down the eruption of emotion, and ignored the questions without answers.
"Rafael! I need your help. I'm ready to set Daidaunkh's broken bones."
It was a harrowing affair for Rafael and her to do what they had to do for Daidaunkh. The Rhyan tried valiantly to refrain from voicing his pain but the arm was too much for him. His wail sent Samson hopping on one leg and holding hands over his ears. The Rhyan's leg had a simple fracture and swelling and only needed protection and stabilization. When it was over, Rafael retired to the slim shade of a palm tree, sat with his back against it, and let his head nod forward as though he would take a nap. Fidelity made Daidaunkh as comfortable as she could, then went to get Samson where he had fallen. He was curled up on the black sand and he pushed her hand away as she touched his shoulder. She could not have been a good mother, for nothing made her want to console Samson. She went to where Rafael sat and took her place on the other side of the palm tree.
It had been night in Florida. Here in the Pacific it was daytime. She knew Rafael would be tired. He had labored at the easel almost constantly, working on her portrait. She didn't have to sit in the rattan chair all the time and he would often go find her and stare at her, then go back to the easel. She was amazed at how much detail he had put on the big canvas in so short a time. Now the miraculous portrait was gone forever, consumed by fire.
"Your art." She spoke quietly, not expecting Rafael to hear her above the thrash of waves upon the beach, and over the wind in the palms.
"My finest painting," Rafael said mournfully.
"Your wife," she said. "Your home. Your friend Gator. I'm terribly sorry I brought this upon you, Rafael."
"You simply brought the wind, Fidelity. Everything was already set to be blown away."
She stopped speaking to him, as part of her realized she was only reminding him of tragedy. Or did emotions work that way? Would more words accelerate, rather than delay, the closing of the wound? She was out of words for Rafael. Her thoughts scattered to all points of her spinning compass, but for a moment they settled on the translation to this location from Rafael's destroyed home. She knew Etrhnk had winked them here, but why all four of them? Why do it at all? Was he simply not ready to mete out his final punishment for her? She would settle for that explanation. It hardly mattered. She had no control over anything but the comfort of her companions. And sometimes she could find some control of herself.
1-23 Tundra in Pink Tile
"Do you know where we are?" Daidaunkh inquired.
He was speaking to her, which Fidelity supposed was a positive sign. She regretted breaking his arm and leg. What was done in the fire of violence seemed convenient at the time but now it appeared cruel. She would, no doubt, continue to make excuses for her actions.
"Yes," she answered. "Eastern Hemisphere, northern Asia, near the Arctic Circle. It's interesting to see the mosquitoes like Rhyan blood." Perhaps her comment was unkind, given his state of mind and body, but his response contained some humor.
"They prefer it. Why are we here?"
"I don't know. You seem better. How is your pain?"
"The pain is doing very well," Daidaunkh said. "I hurt like hell."
"Can I persuade you to not try to kill me until this journey is over?"
"I can't imagine why you should have that concern. I'll stop talking now so I can listen to my bones." The Rhyan started taking deep breaths with eyes squeezed shut.
/
Rafael and Samson crested a rise in the tundra-covered barrens. Rafael walked slowly, partly to stay with Samson and partly because he could move no faster himself. Samson used a piece of antler for a crutch, unsteadily planting it and hopping past it. Rafael watched him carefully, his hand extended near to his elbow, ready should he stumble.
Rafael concentrated on the small things now, finding satisfaction in helping the crippled child. He tried to make Samson talk to him, to work out his feelings. From what little Samson had uttered Rafael knew the boy was vastly inexperienced in knowing how other people thought and felt. He reassured him that the admiral was more concerned for him than even for herself, and Rafael was sure that was true.
"But she is a very complicated person," he'd said to Samson. "Things are happening inside her that cause her great difficulty. Try to be patient. Everything will be alright."
/
Through the whine of mosquitoes Fidelity heard a woman's voice say: "Move close together." She turned around to see who spoke to her and saw no one. The hair stood up on the back of her neck as she immediately thought of Samson's imaginary friend. So clear was the voice that she accepted it as proof that Milly was real. She wanted Milly to be real, to prove Samson was not mentally ill. With no other prospect of hope for their situation, she heeded the words. She looked at the man and boy who approached. She looked back into the low sun at the crippled Rhyan who lay on the ground. She stepped back to Daidaunkh. She knelt beside him and waited for Samson and Rafael.
The old man and the boy stopped a short distance away and stared at Fidelity. She beckoned to them. Rafael limped forward. Samson remained away.
"Our little camping pit is over there," Rafael said upon reaching her. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"You remember we didn't stay on the island very long," she said.
"They know where to find us."
"Samson!" she called. "Samson, listen to me."
Samson slipped down to sit on the ground, letting the antler fall. He didn't look toward Fidelity. The low sun reflected off tears in his Asian eyes. She thought he might be mourning Gator. He and the dog had become close friends.
"Samson, Milly says to stay together."
Fidelity had been stern with him on the tropical beach, feeling that he was demanding too much of her. She was unaccustomed to providing emotional support to a child and was disturbed by his rapid shifts in mood. She thought she would need to go to him and fetch him back but he finally turned a questioning face to
ward her. After a moment of consideration he leaned over and put his hands on the ground. He walked himself across the ground on hands and knee, keeping the automedic on his severed leg from striking the ground. He reached Fidelity's side, and pulled within the circle of her arms. She hugged him, glad he came to her.
"Milly is a big liar," Samson said.
"What do we wait for?" Rafael asked. "And who is Milly?"
The sun disappeared and along with it, the sky and the land. Air pressure changed with a gentle clap. Darkness enveloped them.
"What?" Daidaunkh said in the dark.
The ground shifted beneath her then stabilized. Daidaunkh and Rafael both tilted away from her on either side. Fidelity got up and carried Samson to a glass door. Outside she could see other buildings, a few lights in windows, and stars in the night sky.
"We're back in Florida," Fidelity said. She had consulted her ephemeris and her time standard - functions of her data augments. She noted that no time had passed during the translation to this location. A transmat would have required a large fraction of a minute to process four entities. She could only assume her augments were in error.
Daidaunkh wasn't so quick to assume misperception. "That wasn't a transmat! And I'm still sitting on the same ground!"
Fidelity found a chair in the dark and set Samson in it. She walked over and operated a manual light switch next to a door. The room filled with light.
Rafael and Daidaunkh
Keshona Far Freedom Part 1 Page 39