He picked up a damp, gray sock pockmarked with blood and stuck his finger through a large hole. How could such a badly injured woman simply walk away? Jessit gathered his wits about him and dusted off his clothes. He heard the scrape of dirt and pebbles dancing down the narrow trail and spun around.
“Looks like we meet again—sort of.” The voice sounded animated and cheerful with a hint of deviltry that defied the image in front of him.
Her baggy pants and oversized shirt returned her to urchin status. Not even the swell of a breast could be seen beneath her mannish clothes. He would've mistaken her for a boy if it weren't for a mane of dark brown hair and the delicate curve of her chin. Large, doe eyes peered from beneath the floppy hat that shaded most of her face.
He caught a whiff of her scent, the same one he slept with the night before. Her clothes belied her sex, but the scent did not. She was a woman all right. And strangely, one that smelled of heat. He wasn't aware human females had a mating cycle the way Alturian women did. Perhaps they were more alike than he was led to believe.
Jessit's gaze dropped to her sockless foot. Her pants leg was rolled up to the knee and she wore a mud-crusted half boot that had been left untied. The injured ankle sported a crust of dried blood and a raw, angry scar, but the bone seemed whole and mended.
“Your ankle was broken,” he said in his best-clipped English. “There.” He pointed.
She paused for a moment and pursed her lips as if considering her response, throwing a casual glance at her feet. “My ankle is fine. See?” The woman waggled her foot from side to side.
“It was broken.” Jessit felt the veins in his neck throb. Was it possible the gods had blessed her?
The woman flopped to the ground and slid her right foot across her opposite thigh. She spat into her hand and wiped the dried blood off her ankle.
How crude. So much for the angelic face.
“I can guarantee you it hurts, but it's not broken.” She gestured for him to sit. “My name is Rachel Cru—”
He ignored her, dropping to his haunches and grabbing her by the ankle. He dragged her ass across the gravelly ground and drew her foot up for closer inspection.
She yelped and tried to pull her leg back, but he held on to it firmly and pulled off her boot. There was a definite scar still speckled with blood, but the bone appeared completely whole, the flesh sealed.
His brow furrowed in frustration. “Impossible. The bone was protruding.”
She jerked her foot away and pulled her knees up close to her chest. “Well, you're wrong, bucko.” Her body relaxed, and she shrugged, daring him to argue with the hard evidence of her non-broken ankle.
Her gaze drifted momentarily to above his collarbone, where his lymph gills pouted for moisture. He expected her to shrink away or become nervous, but she remained calm, glancing up into his eyes only once as if embarrassed to have been caught staring. Few humans knew of his peoples' presence, but there was no point in pretending now. They were stuck with each other.
Rachel, she called herself. Somehow it fit her. It was the name of an angel from long ago, a messenger of the gods.
“My name is Commander Taelen Jessit,” he said with flat propriety.
She feathered a hand at the base of her throat, studying him with guarded fascination.
“What are those?” Her words were soft and hesitant.
“They are moisture ducts, the remnants of gills if you wish to call them that.” He touched one of them. It puckered when it sensed the dryness of his fingers, mouthing for moisture. “You realize…I am not human.”
She crinkled her brow as if the point was irrelevant. “Ohhh-kay.” She dragged out the first syllable. Did she think he wouldn't understand her? “You don't eat humans, do you?”
Jessit rolled his eyes and begged the gods for mercy. “Not today.”
He wrung the still damp sock, squeezing out a few teardrops of moisture before handing it to her. “My team is on a mission at the welcome of your government. We are looking for something we think lives here.”
Jessit hesitated. What he was telling her was classified information on Earth. But it no longer mattered. He didn't care if the whole planet knew of their existence. He had found the gods. The humans were going to have to get used to his people. They planned to be here a very long time.
The woman seemed oblivious to his remarks, concentrating instead on her holey sock. “You speak English very well, Commander.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Soldiers always surprise me when they can string more than three words together.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I think you will find me eloquent enough for your needs.”
“Don't count on it.” She snatched the soggy boot he handed her and tugged it on. “What exactly are you looking for out here?”
He hesitated and she snapped her fingers at him. “Well?”
Brazen creature! Did women not know their place here? He stood up and towered over her. “Our gods live here, or at least one of their descendents.”
The woman looked up at him, arching one brow in response, a broad look of obvious suspicion.
Patience is a virtue, he reminded himself. But he wasn't feeling particularly virtuous today. He hurt. A lot. And this woman wasn't making it any easier.
“You are not a believer. Your reaction is understandable.”
A small smile traced her lips and her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Are you telling me you came all the way to Earth to find gods?” She got up and purred in a mocking whisper, “How exactly do you track down a god?”
Jessit folded his arms across his chest. “Why do you need to know?”
She lifted a shoulder casually. “Well, if you want me to understand the situation…maybe I can help.”
Intelligent, as well. That can't be good. Jessit mumbled a curse under his breath. The gods had a wicked sense of humor.
“We can trace minute amounts of glory, a radiation signature only our gods possess. In all our travels we have never seen indications of it again, except here. The signal has been especially strong in this region. And last night—”
“Something happened last night?” Her head tilted to one side, the blush of her cheeks softened by the cool, dewy morning.
“Last night, I spoke to a son of Anu, god of gods, Father of the Hundred. He blessed you, Rachel. I am certain of it. I saw him approach and touch your ankle. The son of Anu himself restored you. Gilgamesh mended your broken ankle.”
The mocking smile disappeared, and the color drained from her face. “What did you call him?” Her voice was dry as paper.
“He said his name was Gilgamesh. We do not know all the names of Anu's children, but he knew the ancient tongue, and he knew Anu.” Jessit smashed a fist on his thigh. “Of all the time for weakness, I would have learned more had I not lost consciousness.”
Rachel fell silent for a few moments as if he had taken her unaware. “We should get moving, Commander. It gets hot pretty quick in these canyons. If I can get my bearings, we should be able to find a ranger station.”
Jessit studied her. A spill of dark hair framed a pretty face, smooth and brown from the sun. The woman's eyes gleamed bright as ironstone and just as cold. Was she back to mocking him? It frustrated him more than he expected. “I know what I saw, woman.”
“We both nearly kicked the bucket out there, ET,” she said, pointing to the now placid stream below. “You can believe what you want, but the chances are stronger that what you experienced was a hallucination brought on by exhaustion and blood loss.” She gestured toward his wounds. “The only thing I believe in is myself, and if you want to make it back to civilization, I suggest you follow me.” She trudged up the gravelly trail and out onto the open face of the cliff.
His logical side wanted to agree with her, but he couldn't disregard what he saw last night. The god, Gilgamesh, had appeared to him. For whatever reason, he blessed this heretic and performed a miracle. Rachel was his closest li
nk to the truth, and may the gods curse him if he let her go now.
Jessit caught up with Rachel and snatched her by the arm, pulling her close to him. He startled her, but her fiery eyes gleamed in defiance. He tightened his grip. “Know this, woman. If my faith dictates that I follow behind the path of a nonbeliever, so be it. I saved you out of pity, but perhaps Anu had another purpose in mind.”
Rachel jerked away as if he had scalded her. Angry. Contemptuous. She uttered the ultimate blasphemy in thick, measured words. “There are no gods, Commander Jessit. I know that better than anyone.”
Chapter 3
Rachel scanned the broken horizon for any trace of discarded civilization. Dust devils whipped around her feet and danced like little dervishes, coating her skin in fine pink desert sand. Hours earlier, she had talked Jessit into leaving the ravine for a more westerly direction, hoping it would lead them back to the Verde plateau where there was sure to be an aid station.
She climbed the highest ridge in the area but there wasn't a ranger station in sight. If they didn't find help soon, her grumpy companion could die. He was slowing down and she didn't like the way he had paled. He had lost too much blood.
“We are lost!” Jessit kicked a rock that skipped up the trail, birthing a mini avalanche as it tumbled back down. His voice was loud enough to scare canyon wrens off their roost and a furry tarantula back into its den.
Rachel seethed. “We are not lost!” she yelled down at him. “And I am sick and tired of you huffing like a train engine every time I want to make a course correction. I'm the one who almost drowned. You don't hear me griping like an old woman.”
She stamped her foot at him, but the ground was more treacherous than she realized and she slipped, scraping down the hill with nothing to grab but more loose rock.
This was going to hurt. It was at least thirty feet to the bottom and she was gaining momentum. She latched on to a small scrubby bush and breathed a sigh of relief at her good luck, but it was short-lived. The roots gave way, tossing her down an even sheerer slope.
She screamed, and her na'hala urged her to break out of her body while there was still time. Time had slowed down and a million things raced through her mind.
At the top of her list was finding a good handhold, but she worried about Jessit too. Where was he?
Another branch sped within reach and she grabbed it, but as she lunged for a handhold, it snapped and she dropped—straight into Jessit's arms.
He buckled under her weight, but he kept her head from kissing rock before he collapsed into a heap.
Rachel scrambled off him as he groaned in agony.
“Taelen.”
His eyes were shut tight and he rolled, protecting his left arm. A red inky blotch spread across the front of his tunic.
“Taelen!”
Her hands shook. Crap. What could she do to stop the blood? Her teeth chewed on her lower lip as she worked up the courage to open his shirt. “Please, Taelen. Say something. Tell me you're okay.”
But he didn't say anything, just lay there in a semi-fetal position.
She ripped open his tunic but she wasn't prepared for the black-and-purple bruises mottling his chest. Fresh blood gurgled from a reopened wound.
Rachel covered her mouth with the back of her hand. The smell of blood and infection sickened her. She wasn't used to sick people, and this one was suffering because of her.
He shivered when she touched him, but he didn't open his eyes. Instead he groaned between shuddering gasps.
Rachel tore off her bandana and used it to apply pressure to the biggest gash. He was bleeding out and she was going to lose him if she couldn't cauterize the wound.
His suffering forced an involuntary impulse from deep inside her. A thin tendril of silvery energy snaked out of her body. It reached out to taste him, then pierced him like a snakebite.
Kin, it told her. What the hell? Jessit had his own na'hala, or at least a rudimentary one.
Her na'hala had never roused without conscious thought before, nor did it go around piercing mortals. That was dangerous. But if Jessit had his own soul umbilical there was a chance she could help him.
The wounds must be sealed.
She hesitated, hoping Jessit wouldn't notice the psychic presence, but he looked to be in too much pain to care now. She formed a small ball of heat energy and pressed it against the worst of the wounds.
His head jerked back and he gasped as she seared the wound shut. He was saying something in his native tongue, but she didn't understand him. It was either a curse or a prayer. Considering their circumstances, either one seemed like a good idea.
She should've pulled back, but when her essence touched his, she flinched. They were more alike than she suspected. As her na'hala wandered inside his body, it absorbed strange images and feelings of inadequacy from this man.
Who was he? What was he? He was hiding something. Even now she could feel him close himself off to her as she ventured deeper into his consciousness. Whatever he was holding back had to be big.
She pulled out of him and felt the drain of bolstering his shell. He was out of danger, but still weak.
Rachel shook him gently. “Taelen. Can you hear me? I didn't know you were so hurt.”
He opened his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.
“What?” She leaned in closer.
“You are heavier than you look,” he said with a groan, and closed his eyes again.
She sat back on her haunches and grinned. He was going to be okay. She made a bandage from the bottom half of her T-shirt and wrapped it around his largest gash. It was the best she could do with what little they had between them.
Her lower lip trembled when she surveyed more of the damage. “Damn.” She peeled the parts of his shirt still matted to his wounds. “Taelen, I'm so sorry.”
Rachel wadded up her bandana and wiped away the grime from a wound on his cheek, clearing a few inches of territory until she could see skin again. She looked up to find him watching her. Did he know? Had she given away too much of herself?
His jaw stiffened into straight angles and he studied her with the scrutiny of a judge.
“Why do you keep staring at me?”
“Because you are unlike any woman I have ever known.”
She curled a shoulder back in self-assurance. “Because I'm an archeologist.”
“Because you are an enigma. You are many things, yet none of them. Every time I think I have solved your riddle, you strike me with something new.”
Jessit struggled to a sitting position then tugged the kerchief away from her, but she wrenched it back with a scold. “Let me take care of you.”
His body tensed, but he kept his gaze locked on her. She felt his eyes boring into her soul and stealing her secrets.
“I am fine.”
“You are not fine. You're badly wounded.” She scanned the interminable desert. “And I need to get you some help.” That part she said for her benefit alone.
He had a na'hala, she reminded herself. She had to keep her distance. If she could see into his soul, he could also see into hers.
When her essence touched his, the sensory input startled her. Na'halas absorb pieces of information from each other whenever they touch. And Jessit left her with images and emotions she didn't understand.
He was a soldier, that much she gathered from the many images of battle, but she didn't understand the rest of it. There was white smoke and graven images, golden temples and a closed door. His na'hala imprinted her with one final image, a picture of Jessit naked, and an old man with a knife. What does that mean?
All she hoped was that she hadn't revealed as much to him.
She caught sight of a nearby copse of desert vegetation. “Can you walk to that little grove ahead?”
Jessit nodded, but he didn't look too convincing. Rachel helped him to his feet. There seemed no place to put her hands that didn't already have an open wound. She tried not to hurt him any more than necessary
as she struggled under his weight. They stumbled to the small stand of scrub trees and giant succulents.
Rachel knelt in front of him and took off her denim shirt. She folded the cloth around his injured arm, leaning forward to fasten the makeshift sling around his neck. His hot breath feathered across her chest, tickling sensitive skin.
Beneath the blood and dirt lay skin burnished to a soft brown, and his long black hair was sprinkled with strands of silver that sparkled in the sun. Every detail of his face sharpened in an instant and she felt her insides melt as he breathed a subtle thank you.
A warm wide hand reached up around her waist, sliding to the swell of her hip before snapping back in hasty retreat. He looked away and adjusted his sling. “Perhaps you can climb that hill again and see what is on the other side.”
Rachel's hands mirrored his while she fussed with the sling, an errant caress along his arm. “Why'd you do it?” Her knees felt like water and she wavered in front of him, willing him to touch her again.
The sun broiled the desert, distorting the landscape into something surreal. Sweat evaporated almost immediately, and the overheated air pounded them into submission.
Jessit tilted his head with a look of puzzlement. The hot winds, which had blown nearly nonstop, died down in that instant and their voices were the only sounds in the canyon. “I do not understand the question.”
Rachel looked down at her hands. Soiled, bloody hands. “Why did you save me from the flood?”
Jessit pursed his lips, taking time to consider his words before he answered. “Colonel Chavez was not going to risk his men on you. I knew if I jumped, they would launch an immediate rescue.” He looked around their tiny oasis. “Of course, I did not think it would take them this long.”
“Guess we should have stayed closer to the ravine. I'm sorry.” The apology was sincere. She could survive a lot longer than he could in this desert and regenerate at will. But mortals died, and they died cruelly. The memories his na'hala imparted to hers told her he had suffered greatly in this life, and in previous lives. She stroked lightly down his bad arm. “Thank you for rescuing me…again.”
True Believers Page 4