As for the emissaries, Tirini sang in her bell-like voice, we can go to the council in an instant and they can send emissaries back in an instant, but once they come here they become weighted by Earth and must accomplish their mission in Earth time. So you may not know they are here immediately. But they will come. Do not fear.
We sat silent together. Outside the big windows, twilight had become night. Stars were rising out of the valley, shining over the peaks.
Before you go, I began. I struggled to find images for my request, but they already knew.
Ah, they sang.
Lillilia’s high, sweet song flowed out of their symphony. You want us to change you back, as you were when we first found you.
Yes.
Ah, they sang again. We are sad for the pain you must feel, but we understand now about aging and the need for congruence.
Can you change me back but not let me die? I don’t feel that my ulada is complete… only I don’t know what I still must do.
They watched me with their wise, loving eyes as I struggled with my confusion.
Maybe I shouldn’t ask it, since there are difficult times coming and I am young and strong… My younger friends wanted me to get involved again, to go into the streets to protest, go to meetings. I bent my head in shame at my refusal. But it didn’t feel right. Even though my body was young, my spirit felt tired.
It was not right. That is not your ulada now. Kiria’s song was clear. You have lived a long life and touched many with your light. You do not need to begin again and protest in the streets.
Then what must I do?
Write your story, they sang together.
Write my story?
Yes, Tirini sang. Write of what you have learned being old, being young, then choosing to be old again and why. Write about the seasons of life as you described them to us and about congruence. If those who read your story come to better understand their uladas and to have less fear of death, then violence may diminish.
Write about us, Kiria continued, and what we have taught you about the council. If your people understand those they call aliens are wise and benevolent, not cruel and violent as they imagine, then finally we may be able to communicate with them, and the web will shift.
Is it part of my ulada, to write my story?
We believe it is, Rosiri sang. We believe it was not chance we found you. We don’t understand why, but of all the humans we have touched, you are the only one who remembers us, the only one who knows who we are and why we came. For all the others, we are only a dream. Like Zachary, they think they were just lucky they didn’t get hurt in an accident, or that they had a miraculous remission of their illness. Zachary remembered only because of you, and he will soon forget.
I went still inside. It is a big ulada then. Important, since no one else remembers.
They gazed at me with their wondrous eyes. Yes, they sang together.
Then I will, I will write my story. Tears welled up. Though there are no words in our language adequate to express the wonder of you.
I pressed my hands against my chest. I think I will need to include what happens when I return to my old body. How will I know when the story ends?
Kiria touched my heart. When your ulada is complete.
There is one more piece besides the story. Merilea’s dark eyes smiled. You will find it.
We were silent again. I looked out the window at the dark sky. To the east I saw the stars coming close to the configuration they had been in when I first opened my eyes after the lightning strike. Fear rippled through me again. The Elirians felt it and gathered close around me.
It is true, Kiria sang. The time draws near.
How will you change me?
There is only one way we can, Kiria answered. We are healers; we don’t know how to reverse the process. We must fold time as Rosiri explained to you. Then you will be as you were when we found you. You have asked us not to let you die, so we will stay with you and keep you warm until your people come for you.
Perhaps, Lillilia sang, we can ease the effects of the lightning a little. It is hard for us to think of you in pain again.
I trembled in their arms. Gentle hands stroked me. Their voices blended. We will be with you. We will comfort you and ease your pain. Do not be afraid. Your people will come for you and you will live to complete your ulada.
And you? I asked.
When we know you are safe, they sang together, we will go to the council. When we have told them all we know, we will go home to Eliria. Our ulada complete, we will sink into her and be renewed until we are called to rise again.
I felt the love and longing in their voices as they sang of their home.
And, Rosiri sang alone in her odd, haunting voice, the song of Eliria will be forever changed because of what we have known here.
When you have returned to Eliria, will I still be able to hear your voices?
Rosiri’s response was sad. No, it is too far. But our love will be with you always.
It is almost time, Tirini sang.
I stood up, my heart pounding. Shall I go to the rock?
No need. Kiria drew me down again. Stay with us. When time folds you will be there.
I looked into their wise, deep eyes. I love you. I will never forget you.
They shifted me to the center of the circle and gathered close around me. Each one placed a hand on my heart as they linked their other hands in an intricate pattern that enclosed me. They all leaned toward the center of the circle where I sat. Softly at first, they hummed. The hum increased in intensity, a hum like no sound I had ever heard before. My skin prickled. The hum entered my body, piercing every cell until I felt charged with light, almost beyond bearing. Still it rose, higher and higher, stronger and stronger. Then stopped. The sudden silence crackled with power.
Pain crashed through my body with such intensity that I couldn’t breathe, could barely exist. I was splayed out on the rock, prone, my head turned to one side, exactly as I had been before. I saw the stars over the valley exactly as they had been before. Something sharp pressed into my cheek and I could not move to push it away. My heart raced and pounded. Bitter cold penetrated me. Mindless terror possessed me.
Ah! Their song of compassion floated down into me. I felt Kiria’s hand on my back over my heart. My heart slowed and steadied. We are here with you, they sang. Do not be afraid. We will care for you. Many hands rested on me, over all my body, sending warmth into me. One hand lifted my head, brushed away the sharp thing, and slipped something soft under my cheek. Their warm bodies clustered close around me.
I wept, all rational thought swept away by the stark terror of finding myself paralyzed on the rock again, and the blessed relief of their presence. They sang and stroked me. Little by little I was able to think, to remember why I was there, what I had chosen. As terror receded, the pain became less and I was able to send my thought to them.
Thank you. Thank you. I am doing better now. Even though I knew it was coming, it was a shock. Thank you, Kiria, for holding my heart. It scares me so when it races.
I felt Kiria’s warm fur on my face as she bent over me. I will give you a gift, she sang softly. A steady heart until your ulada is complete.
We must not change too much, Merilea cautioned. Part of her ulada is integrating this experience.
Just the heart, Kiria answered.
And ease the head blow, Lillilia added. I felt her hand on my brow, penetrating the black pain with light.
Merilea sang again. We will sing you to sleep so that you may rest until morning. We are here with you, our love around you.
They sang. The beauty of their song, the depth of its resonance, swept away all awareness of pain. I became lost in it, as I had been the first time I heard it—music of the spheres, the stars dancing their circles in the vast depths of the universe.
&n
bsp; I woke to dawn light and the sound of Robin’s voice. “I remember this waterfall. It’s close now. There’s a deep pool.”
“Pray she’s not in it.” Greg’s voice.
A flurry of movement around me, the Elirians’ song within me. We must go now. Our love is with you always. The spaceship swung into my view as I lay, still paralyzed with my head turned to one side.
The silver door was open and Tirini hovered there. Farewell, Clara.
Farewell, farewell, they all sang as they floated up and away from me into the open door. I felt the sharp chill of early morning as their warmth left me. The door slid closed at the same moment that my sons appeared on the rise above the waterfall. The silver sphere hung above their heads, then moved upward.
The Elirians’ sweet song of love and farewell sang within me at the same moment that my ears heard Robin cry, “Mama!”
Chapter 11
My sons knelt beside me. Robin spoke first. “Mama, are you okay?” His eyes, close to mine, were frightened.
I struggled to speak. Several tries, and a croak emerged. I tried again and managed, “Not okay, but alive.” I smiled, suddenly delighted that I was alive.
“She’s smiling. That’s good.” Greg touched me. “What happened, Mom?”
“Lightning.”
“Lightning! When?”
That stopped me. My mind spun. When indeed? “Last year.”
They turned toward each other, then back to me.
“Mom, that doesn’t make any sense. When did you get hit by lightning?” Greg bent to look into my face.
I couldn’t answer. It was too hard to speak. I closed my eyes and drifted.
“Call the rescue team.” Robin’s voice was urgent.
“Right. She’s not walking out, that’s for sure.” Greg stood up and moved a few steps away. I opened my eyes. I could see his feet, caught scattered words—“We found her… No… bad shape, lightning… GPS—” and a jumble of numbers.
Robin stayed kneeling beside me. “Mama, it’s going to be all right. There’s a rescue team just down the valley. We’ll get you out of here and taken care of.”
There was a small white flower by his hand. Behind his head the rising sun touched the tops of the peaks. Greg came back and knelt by me. “Can you move?”
“Can’t move.”
“Whoa!” Greg came closer and knelt on the white flower. “There’s blood. Looks like you cut your head.” He touched my head and I gasped in pain. “Oh, sorry, Mom. God, you’re soaked. Are you cold?”
“Cold.”
Robin took off his jacket and laid it over me. From down the valley I heard a loud “Halloo.” Greg jumped up. I saw his feet move away. “Up here!” he called.
I tried to speak, just to say Robin’s name, but it was too much effort. Pain crescendoed, and I slipped away.
What followed was a jumble of scattered perceptions. Many men’s voices. “Hit that krum tree square on.” I was lifted. “Careful of her neck.” Somehow turned over, still stiff and immobile. In the sky, high above the peaks, I saw the tiny silver disc. Even as I glimpsed it, it winked out and was gone. I let out a cry of loss. Robin bent over me. I looked into his eyes, weeping. “They’re gone.”
“It’s okay, Mama. They’re right here taking care of you.”
Blankets were laid over me. Straps were tightened around me.
Men’s voices. “She’s soaking wet.”
“It’s a wonder she survived. It was below freezing up here last night.”
“Hypothermic.”
“She seems to be paralyzed.”
Greg’s voice. “What’s this?” My eyes opened. He was standing where I could see him, shaking out a silver cloth that was iridescent in the dawn light.
I jerked into consciousness. The silver blanket. The blanket they had made for me from their fur when they first found me. That’s what they had slipped under my cheek in the night. I would have reached for it if I could.
I summoned all my strength. It must not get lost in all the confusion. “Greg!”
“I’m here, Mom.”
I wasn’t on the ground anymore. There were men all around me. I could see their belts and the bottoms of their jackets.
“It’s precious, the blanket. Keep it safe.”
“Okay, Mom. How’d you get it under your face when you couldn’t move?”
“They put it there.”
“They?”
“The Elirians.”
“Someone was here with you last night?”
I had spent my strength. “Keep it safe,” was all I could manage.
A man’s voice said, “Ready?”
I slipped away again, wove in and out of consciousness, aware of being carried, brief glimpses of cliffs, peaks, trees tilting over me. The ambulance, swaying as it wound down the canyon road. I opened my eyes. Matt sat beside me.
“Hi, Matt,” I whispered.
He looked surprised. “Hi there,” he answered smiling. “How did you know my name?”
“From before. My sons?”
“They’re taking your car down. They’ll meet us at the hospital.”
In the hospital, hands lifting me, peeling off my wet clothing, wrapping me in heated blankets. Tapes on my brow. Antiseptic smell. Wires. A needle in my wrist.
A woman’s voice saying, “Rest now. You’re going to be all right.”
The remainder of the day was a confused blur. I was handled, moved about. There was an X-ray room. Voices of strangers intertwined with Robin’s voice, Greg’s voice. I was aware that one or the other was always with me, touching me, comforting me. The hospital room. Monitors hovering around me, an IV bag hanging over me. Pain, aching heaviness in my limbs, the black headache. Darkness again.
In the night I woke from a frightful dream, flinging myself about, crying, “I can’t move! I can’t move!”
Lisa was beside me. “It’s all right, Mother. You can move. The paralysis has passed.”
I lay still. Felt my left arm flung over my head. Lisa. I must be dreaming.
“Let’s bring your arm down here. We don’t want the IV to come out.” She moved my arm to my side, then massaged it gently with her wise, strong hands.
I opened my eyes to the hospital room, to her face bending over me, her brown curls falling forward. “Lisa? Is it really you?”
“It really is.”
“How did you get here?”
“On the first plane I could catch when Greg called me.”
“So fast.”
“I was already in the states, remember? Teaching in California. I called you to wish you happy birthday and told you, night before last.”
I remembered then, but that had been over a year ago. My mind swirled in confusion.
“Oh,” I said. “I can move?”
“You’ve been moving all around.”
I signaled my legs and they straightened under the sheet. They ached, almost unbearably, but they moved. Immense relief. I sighed and closed my eyes again. Lisa came around to the other side of the bed and began massaging my right arm. I drifted away.
Clear daylight came through the window when I woke. I lay still, feeling tired, but at rest, the pain eased. Someone was talking, an unfamiliar voice, a woman. Quietly I turned my head. Lisa and Greg and Robin were all there, standing near the door of the room with a woman I didn’t know. She was speaking.
“We’ve checked her over thoroughly. Fortunately there are no burns. Although she’s had a concussion and survived a lightning strike, there’s only slight disturbance in her brain waves. X-rays of her spine show no injury. She’s come out of the paralysis. Her heart is surprisingly steady considering all she’s been through and her history of arrhythmia. We started last night bringing down the sedatives, so when she wakes we can get a better sense of how she is. She
may have some amnesia and persisting headaches for a while. But all in all, it looks as if she’ll make a good recovery. Not too many eighty-year-olds roam around above tree line. She’s a strong woman.”
“She is,” Greg said. “Thank you, Dr. Martin. That’s all really good news.”
“I’ll stop in later and see how she’s doing.” Dr. Martin shook hands with each of them and went out.
“Hi,” I said.
They came and gathered around my bed. Greg beamed down at me. “Hey, Mom.”
Lisa bent and kissed my brow. “Good morning, Mother.”
Robin took my hand.
“How long have you been awake?” Greg asked.
“Long enough to hear the doctor’s report.”
“You were just lying there quietly listening?” Lisa teased.
I smiled, happiness flooding me at the rare event of having them all there together. “I figured I had as much interest as anyone. They’ve had me on sedatives?”
“Yes,” Lisa answered, “but they’re cutting back now.”
“Tell them to stop entirely,” I ordered. “I hate being befuddled.”
“You were in a lot of pain, Mama,” Robin said. “They wanted you to rest.”
“Okay, I’ve rested. I don’t want any more of that stuff.”
Greg chuckled. “She’s getting feisty again.”
“How are you feeling?” Lisa asked.
I went inside to explore. “Everything aches, but not too badly.” I stretched a little. “I am so grateful I can move again.”
They stayed with me through the day, brought me food from Whole Foods across the street to replace the paltry hospital fare. I drowsed off and on and woke to find them still there—such a comfort.
In the afternoon, the nurse got me up to sit in a big easy chair. With her support, I found that my legs could carry me the few steps between the bed and the chair, but the short excursion exhausted me.
I will be better, I promised myself inwardly as I sank into the chair. It’s just the result of the lightning. Being old again doesn’t mean I will be this bad until I die.
Never Again Page 18