Wash

by Naomi Fraser

  My voice echoes from a loud speaker, and I stare up at the two widescreen billboard panels on either side of the town square. I’m sitting in a chair, hands cupping a water sphere. The footage from the ship repeats on a loop. I take a deep breath, letting a stoic, professional mask slip over my face. Astrakhan and the elders would have been proud. I am no longer just Tori here. I’m finally wearing my water healer face.

  That also means Qelia’s leaders will be recording my arrival for everyone to watch later. The elders on Echyion will see what’s come of me after my release. But I’ve changed in so many ways on the inside.

  The entry opens up to a huge circular arena, and guards line the perimeter. The crowd waves, cheering louder than ever behind steel barricades, waving banners and tin signs. Their shouts echo off the closed shops and a shaded platform where neatly dressed officials stand with hands behind their backs and smiles on their faces. A flight of steps leads to a huge stone podium to my far left. A building between the two must be a government facility because steel doors barricade the front entrance.

  As the sunlight strikes the ground, the walls seem to magnify the temperature, and in contrast, the shade feels too cold. I look at the top of May’s head, seeing pink scalp through her blonde hairs. She’s burning. I grit my teeth, but force myself to keep smiling. How do all the other parents cope with worrying about their children getting burnt? Rederiams are freely given on Echyion.

  I sit straighter and wave, my arm outstretched. I smile at the children, the mothers and fathers, wanting to show these people I am not superior to them. And I’m glad my hair isn’t in order like the officials, that my clothes are threadbare and borrowed and I have a child by my side. Imprisonment has given me a taste of what it feels like to be at the mercy of people in power, to live without hope.

  The crowd’s cheers become so loud, I don’t notice when Marcus stops the hovercraft at the front of the platform. When I do, I turn back to him, tears in my eyes.

  “Wait there, Victoria,” he says, in his deep, drawling voice. He jumps from the hovercraft, strides around to open the passenger door and then helps May on the ground. While the cheers and my heartbeat reverberates in my ears, he holds out a hand to me. A sheen of sweat glistens on his palm, and his gaze narrows on me as though he can see straight through the efficient and skilful persona I’m trying to maintain.

  His warm, firm grasp steadies me. After helping me from the hovercraft, he’s slow to release my hand, his fingers trailing away.

  “The minister of Flioqe is waiting up there,” Marcus says, gesturing to the podium with a wet hand. “He’s the one to the far left in the light brown coat. Don’t be scared, he’s a good man. I can’t say much for the rest of them.” Musicians break into song beside the platform, and the crowd joins in on the unfamiliar song, their bodies stock still in the sunlight.

  “What do you mean?” I frown up at Marcus.

  He presses his lips together, shakes his head, and the light shines off his brown shoulder suspenders. He stands still, singing along with the rest of the crowd, until the song ends. Then he turns his back to the officials, leaning toward my ear. “Most of them are from Qelia’s capital. Flioqe is just a small city stuck out in the middle of nowhere. They’re probably here to persuade you to move—all kind-like.”

  I shiver at the warning in his tone and glance up to the officials on the dais. The minister’s smile seems a little strained at my hesitation, and another man holds wide a white robe. I grasp May’s hand out of habit, force back the butterflies in my stomach and wave back at the crowd again who cheer for all they’re worth.

  “Water healer! Water healer!” they chant over and over, their feet stamping the ground in a thunderous rhythm.

  “I know you have to go and get your pay, but stay with me. Help me watch May for ten more minutes please. I need you,” I say into Marcus’s ear, then look up into his eyes. He holds my stare for long seconds, his black pupils growing fat, and blue irises darkening.

  A muscle leaps in his jaw, but he nods, resting both hands on the guns at his hips. “April, Casey,” he calls. “We have a mission.” He nods at Maybelle.

  April and Casey step close with Constance by their side. April cocks a shotgun and says, “She’s safe. Go do what you have to do.”

  “Thank you.” I bend down. “May, I need you to stay with Marcus for a second, please? These people need my help. I have to go up there.”

  “What? I can’t hear you,” she shouts.

  I talk into her ear, and then she nods, pulling her tiny hand from mine to grasp his. “Okay. I love you.”

  My heart melts, and I kiss her smooth, hot cheek, ensuring her hair covers the tips of her ears. “I love you, too, bub. Keep safe. Don’t run away from them.”

  When I stand, Marcus’s gaze meets mine, giving me strength. I take in a deep breath and then walk over the rough flagstones to the platform stairs. At the top, I smile back at the minister and say, “Official greetings, Minister of Flioqe. I am the water healer from Echyion, Victoria Undine. I am here to help your world.”

  He smiles with such delight, tears glisten in his eyes, and he shakes my hand, his arm trembling. “Welcome, welcome, my dear. I mean—Water Healer, we’ve waited a long time for someone like you. Please, would you wear this robe as a token of our gratitude for visiting Qelia?”

  “I would be honoured.” I spin around and face the crowd, sliding my arms into the cool, smooth sleeves of the white robe. Obviously, Qelia’s version of the traditional robes of water healers. More shouts fill the air. Once I have the robe on and the lapels flutter down, it’s time to be strong, to give these people what they need. Which means no slip ups and to conduct myself in a respectful trade.

  Clear crystals line the outside of the robe, refracting the harsh sunlight. Right. They need a break from all the heat. After a slight bow to the minister, I say, “Excuse me,” and then climb the stairs to the stone podium. The crowd starts chanting, “Water healer! Water healer! Water healer!”

  Every step up I take, the shouts and cheers grow in volume, until it becomes a deafening roar. My heart thumps along, as the people stamp their feet, clap to the tune, and children scream it, jumping up and down.

  The dusty sandstone steps grit beneath my boots, stabilising my steps, and when I reach the top, the heat is blistering. I spin around and view the thousands of people who squish into every spare inch of the city centre.

  Instead of waving, I point to the sky. My arm straight up, gaze steady.

  The crowd roars, interspersed with high-pitched screams that can almost shatter my eardrums, but I tip up my face to the heavens. The robe and my hair falls back. I focus upon the hot vault of blue. There’s no water here to call forth, but I can create it. Ripples of energy surround my hand, and I smile as I feel my old friend.

  The blue shoots true for the sky. Clouds appear, white and fluffy at first, then grow foamy and dark grey. They bubble, build, and rumble overhead. The robe, which once sparked diamond-light, dulls as darkness slides across the city.

  Most of the people have fallen silent, then they start chanting again, “Water healer! Water healer!” until thunder rumbles louder, and rain bursts from the sky.

  People scream. Droplets spatter my face, soaking my hair and skin. I lower my arm, smiling at the crowd where children stick out their tongues to lap up the water, mothers cry clutching their babies close, couples dance, and people cheer with both fists high in the air. I lift my face again, arms spread wide, loving the smell and feel of rain. Loving the hope I’ve given them.

  Ready to leave the podium, my gaze lands on a digital billboard capturing every moment. I swipe the wet hair from my eyes to get a better view. I don’t recognise myself on the screen, perhaps it’s because I spent two years in a jail, or because this is my first official welcome. A flicker of doubt plagues me, one I can’t shake off. Maybe I shouldn’t have shown everyone so much power.

  Astrakhan’s words fill my mind. You are a water healer.
You will fulfil a need for the universe, and at all times, you must be the healer you are.

  I have to show everyone sometime, but I can’t understand why I’m so worried.

  “Victoria!” someone shouts, and I spin around to the open door behind the stone podium.

  “Marcus,” I say, grinning at May by his side. I hurry over to them and clasp her other hand, smiling into her wide eyes. I look up to him. “Thank you so much.”

  “No trouble,” he says gruffly. “That was incredible. Come inside.”

  The minister and another, younger man stand in the room with April, Casey, and Constance. The minister fights back tears, appearing too choked up to speak, but he finally says, “You have saved us, Water Healer. Captain Collins, I believe this is yours. The credits will be placed in your name immediately.”

  Marcus frowns and takes the bag of coins from the minister. Five guards at the door stare on but remain tight-lipped.

  Next to the minister, the younger man strides forward and stops in front of me, holding out his hand. Up close, the smooth shine in his brown hair is more visible from the light bulbs, and he’s smiling. “You are truly magnificent.”

  “Thank you.” My gaze swerves to Marcus, wondering if he’s been dismissed, dreading it, but he’s still looking at me.

  “This is James, my new assistant from Qelia’s capital,” the minister says, stepping closer. Then he keeps talking, but my gaze strays to Marcus who tosses the coin sack, over and over, the coins jangling with a hard smack into his palm.

  “Please follow me,” James says, leading us through another door into a wide corridor to a conference room with concrete walls and long, wide windows. The temperature from the grey sky filters onto the rectangular, granite desk, cooling the room.

  The minister waits until all the other dignitaries file inside to take their seats. Then he recites the official welcome for all present, a long-winded speech Astrakhan told me I’d receive many times.

  I smile and stand still, my hands clasped around the minister’s. Marcus is right, the expression on the leader’s face is genuine. I used to dream of this moment, closed up in the facility on Echyion. I will play my part on Qelia, acting with a detached professionalism with the other bureaucrats when need be.

  At the hollow feeling in my chest, I set my jaw, trying not to think I’m about to lose the people I’ve come to know. I am reminded of the cold cardboard cutouts Astrakhan would use for roleplaying. Arm out. Smile. Nod. Speak. That’s how I need to behave, but I just feel like I’m dying inside. Deep down in my soul, I long to go outside and dance with the people in the rain. I want to be with Marcus.

  My gaze strays to him, and I blow out a breath because tiny spots of water trail down my neck. How do I say goodbye to the man who rescued me from Detera and helped save my sister’s life? My heart aches. I don’t think I can, yet I can’t grow too close to him when I have so much work to do around the universe.

  James starts talking to me, and my responses are wooden enough to be rude to the smooth, suave assistant. My water healer face is firmly in place as I step up to the long desk.

  “Wait,” Marcus interrupts, throwing the bag to Casey and then striding up to the desk. His right arm brushes my left. “We’re not going anywhere until Victoria gets settled in.”

  A smile forms in my heart, and I inhale deeply, then he goes to say something else but catches the look in my eyes. He grins, and I study the others seated around the desk. Although the minister nods readily enough, dark shadows hover over the other officials’ faces.

  Chapter Fifteen

  At the government’s headquarters in Flioqe, the heavy downpour echoes inside my suite, high and low, while thunder rumbles in the distance.

  I adore the sound of rain. It reminds me of cleanness, of washing away dust and debris in a mighty storm. The vibrations around me aren’t so dry anymore. Lightning flashes behind an oblong, tinted pane above the massive bed, which will be mine for the duration of my stay. Curious, I reach up to touch the cool, smooth screen, and the sheet of glass retracts into the wall.

  I draw back my hand. The screen isn’t an entertainment pane, but a window, and a dark, curved overhang obscures the grey-smudged sky. Cold droplets pummel in random spurts through the mesh. Water beads spatter my cheeks, and I breathe in the delicious scent, so clean and calm.

  Windows don’t open like this back on my home planet; touch response is usually reserved for entertainment purposes. But I know from my training each planet will have different technology, and some initial disorientation is expected.

  My suite has dense walls—mud over sandstone. Stone pillars stand in the centre of the room on top of low partitions, dating the architecture. Back on Echyion, the entire wall overlooking the city centre would be flex glass with voice-operated windows. Gardens and the lovely colours of nature stretching as far as the horizon.

  The two remaining windows in my suite are smaller and must work by touch as well. The room has a feeling of emptiness, like the stones remember the land where they were cut.

  Rain drowns out the sound of Maybelle in the shower, and shadows blacken across me in a thin line, until the sky disappears in a dense mist. I used to sit cross-legged in the sun on Echyion to learn a list I can never forget: greet a planet’s leaders, show my capabilities, state my intentions, stay long enough to heal them, and then move on to the next planet.

  Lesson after lesson of the correct priorities. Studying geology, the quickest routes to implementing a permanent water system regardless of human selfishness or intervention. Lessons on how to focus on the children, ongoing generations, and our interrelatedness to each other.

  We are interdependent with the universe.

  A crack of lightning makes my heart jump. I can still hear the townspeople celebrating, their cries of happiness piercing the storm. I imagine children pressing themselves out their bedroom windows, faces twisted up, tongues out to drink the rain, smiling at the dense, wet grey. Families standing, just watching the rain.

  I hold tight to the promise of the images, because even though I know what I need to do, I’m fighting a knot of pain around my heart. The quicker I heal this planet, the faster I leave.

  I push my hands against the cool walls, breathing deep, unsure of where we’ll end up after my tenure on Qelia. I can’t stay around Marcus forever.

  The more I stand and breathe, the more I allow him to infiltrate my thoughts, and I remember the way he laughs. How his eyes fixate on me with startling clarity. His boundless energy, the sheen of sweat on his forehead while on board the ship, and his alluring magnetism.

  The way his fingertips brushed my skin, and tingles skated up my arm when he slid the communication bracelets on my wrists before he had to leave the city centre. Correction—before Qelia’s officials basically forced him and the crew outside. He certainly didn’t want to leave. I will never forget his face when he looked over his shoulder at me as the guards closed the doors. Rain lashes down heavier now, rumbling and troubled.

  Tight and unfamiliar, the bands are colder than I expect. A digital clock lights the rectangular, flat surface on top beneath the solar charge. When the bracelets meet, it’s possible to sync-in with a live screen, which alerts the person with an alarm, but I haven’t tried it yet.

  I feel like a child, standing on the edge of a cliff, rocks crumbling away at my toes. The first time I tried water-healing in a deep rock gorge, I had the same feeling. Overwhelmed.

  I want to stay with him. A fierce relief skips in my heart the second I truly admit it to myself, and my knees shake so badly, I need to take in a deep breath and lean further against the wall. It’s wrong—I know it, I’ve learnt independence my whole life. I have things to do after this. Places to be. People to help.

  I know duty. Right and wrong. But what of my heart? Do I deny it or follow its dictates?

  Is this why Astrakhan told me never to use my feelings?

  My responsibilities outweigh my personal needs, and people need my
help. Qelia’s leaders expect my presence for a formal dinner tonight, and I have to see this thing through, no matter how much I ache inside.

  I turn from the window to study the snow-white gown hanging by the curved cupboard. The material flows soft and smooth to the flagstone floor. I can’t give away the Old Order blouse and walking skirt yet. The new clothes aren’t mine, either, but every time I wear different clothes, it reminds me I have no home. That never bothered me before I left Detera.

  Water healer training is not about holding possessions in high regard but valuing the things that restore life. I need to understand different cultures, drop everything if need be—yet I’d also like to have someplace warm and familiar.

  “Have faith,” Nana used to say. “There’s precious little else to call your own in this universe. When everything else is gone, that’s all you’ll have.”

  My brow creases at the same time the bathroom door clicks open. A cloud of steam escapes, and Maybelle’s tiny figure hurtles across the floor to her adjoining room. The dark towel tents her head. She catches sight of me, freezes, then grins. “I forgot my clothes.”

  “They’re in the cupboard in your room. Choose whatever you want to wear, not what they’ve laid out for you,” I say, with a small smile. “When you’re finished, stay in my room until I come out. I made sure your door was locked.”

  Her lashes flicker. “One of your locks?”

  “Yes.” I stroll into the bathroom, which now has as much hot water as we want, because the ground has done its job by heating the pipes. “If you need me, yell out.”

  She smiles. “Okay, sis. I will.”

  The offer of assistance in getting dressed was given earlier by two women after my tour of the government’s headquarters. I turned it down. I don’t need a maid, and I don’t trust others lightly with my sister’s welfare. Needing people is not a good idea—because, like my mother, when I least expect it, they tend to leave.