In another instant, I feel him feeling me—the strange fragility of my arms in his, as he treasures the touch of my buttery-soft skin, my little body with its vulnerable slim limbs and bony elbows, my maddening curves, my compelling dream-filled eyes, my delicate line of chin and the tiny hollows underneath the apples of my cheeks, the way my nostrils flare and my rounded full lips open with each light exhalation of breath, my glorious female voice. . . .
Stop! This is not me; this is Aeson perceiving me.
Or is it me?
The same way he must now see how I revel in his strong muscular body, the heart-wrenching kindness of his lapis lazuli blue eyes, the way his golden filaments of hair sweep along his noble forehead, define his wide shoulders, the hard biceps underneath the black armband, toned upper body, so very male, the elegance of his large capable fingers, and the sweetness of his genuine, fragile smile.
I love you, love you, love you.
Love you.
Aeson’s being envelops me, and I lose myself in him, even as he loses himself in me. Physical senses commingle with emotional states and depths of our conscious minds, sinking deeper yet into the unconscious realm. . . .
We are fading, dissolving.
Almost gone.
And then another explosion and a small ripping sensation happens, and it’s over.
Our link is severed.
Aeson and I both take simultaneous shuddering breaths, and find ourselves back in our own bodies.
Stupid tears are flowing down my face. And as I look up at my beloved, there are tears pouring from his eyes too, streaking along his bronzed lean cheeks.
“Oh . . . Gwen,” he whispers, breathing harshly as if we’ve just made love (which we have, on a sublime level of the soul), then takes me in a crushing hug, even as I put my arms around him and squeeze him back with all my being.
“That was indescribable,” I whisper.
Suddenly Arion’s voice intrudes upon our intimacy—good heavens! Both of us have literally forgotten the pegasei.
We believe the link is too much for your species, Arion says. If permitted to continue, it is possible it could have led to your self-dissolution. We had to terminate it. Unlike our species, it appears that yours has not evolved the safety controls necessary to put up separation membranes between your entity-selves. We hope that, however brief, this joining served you in some way, allowing you the opportunity to better know the other.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “It has! It opened so much! Thank you.”
“From both of us,” Aeson adds. “It was profound and priceless.”
As he speaks, I can almost hear the echo of his internal state, or imagine him right now, as the residual traces of the connection between us ring sweetly in my mind.
I think both of us know that these spirit echoes of our profound joining will remain with us permanently.
But now, there’s work to be done.
Chapter 86
The residual traces of our mind connection continue to ring softly inside our minds—I know it’s happening in mine, and Aeson confirms that he, too, is still attuned to me on an exquisitely intimate level. Even as he says it, he watches me closely with an unceasing, wordless smile that comes from the depths of his eyes. . . .
The two pegasei bear witness to us silently, allowing us to regain our individual senses of self, which takes some time. At some point, both my husband and I have regained enough composure to be able to face other people.
However, before we go down the hall and face my family or the SPC officers in the workroom, Aeson must now make some hard decisions as far as who is to be entrusted with the frequency and permitted to link up with the pegasei. Then he must make arrangements for the international SPC mission to begin immediately. The arduous process of global pegasei liberation needs to commence at once and there’s no time to waste.
Not to mention, all of this will now be happening alongside all other urgent ongoing tasks and missions. The golden light grids around Helios, Rah, and Septu are being monitored around the clock, with Tammuz predicted as the next point of attack. The Ghost Moon ancient ship graveyard is being explored for valuable information, while here the weather scientists are still battling the natural disasters around the planet caused by that same moon’s reinsertion into the Atlantis system. Oh, and we still have to read the rest of Arlenari’s diary and glean all its mysteries. . . .
“Aeson,” I say, as we discuss our pegasei communicator options. “I think I would like to give our family the opportunity to connect with the pegasei. What do you think?”
“Agreed. Manala definitely must have the chance, and all the Larks,” Aeson says, softly caressing the nape of my neck—because now, after being inside my mind, he knows it is something I really enjoy—and sending sweet ringing warmth down my spine. “I plan to give the frequency to Ker, Oalla, Erita, Xel, Radanthet, and a number of other daimon. Will put them in charge to coordinate special ops teams with the various governments. They in turn can share the frequency with trusted personnel under their command, at their discretion.”
It is reasonable, Arion says in my mind—our minds. I remind myself that now every time Arion speaks to me, Aeson can hear him too. It’s an oddly comforting feeling—that our link is somehow still there, even via a third party.
And then we discuss the other, terribly important portion of the pegasei communication process—how exactly to find them around the globe. I made the brave promise to all the heads of state at the Imperial meeting that I can locate all the pegasei, even the hidden ones, but now I need to be able to make good on that promise.
“What do I do, Arion?” I ask. “I understand that I’m now connected to you and your species—and so is Aeson—but what is the next step to reach out and call your kind at a distance? I knew your name and your voice inside my head, so could visualize it when I sang the frequency. But what about the rest of you whom I do not know?”
It is simple. The frequency itself is the connection between us. Once you form the note and continue to hold it, cycling between it in the following sequence, it is inevitable that our voices will respond.
And Arion demonstrates the sequence. Suddenly a beautiful tonal spiral seems to take hold inside my mind, as I hear the frequency spinning around itself, with rising and falling notes forming a corkscrew around its fundamental note. It is not something I can sing with my voice in physical space, I can only “think-sing” it in my mind. Which means, I cannot actually teach it to anyone else—only the pegasei themselves can impart this knowledge directly into the minds of chosen individuals.
Is this sequence itself trans-dimensional like its originators?
It occurs to me, this sound—it is forming a double helix inside my mind.
Like a DNA strand, this is a song of creation.
Sing and we will answer you at a distance—all of us. If we are free, we will appear at your location. If we are bound and contained, our voices will call out to you like beacons, for help, until you find us.
You will recognize what direction to take because the voices will grow stronger in your mind as you approach. And if our voices fade, you will know you are moving farther away.
“Did you get that, Aeson?” I ask.
“Yes.” Im amrevu nods, coming out of the reverie of listening to Arion. “It is beautiful and complex.”
“Maybe it’s just me, but this method seems a little unreliable,” I say, feeling a pang of self-doubt. “How would I be able to tell the difference in direction from inside my mind?”
The same way you do it in the physical world when someone calls out to you. You know with your physical senses where the sound is coming from. But this sound you perceive inside you.
I am still somewhat doubtful, so I continue to discuss this with Aeson.
Don’t worry, Arion tells both of us. You will soon know how to do it. Before you embark on your mission to free us, all of you will practice.
When we get to Dad and George’s guest qua
rters, accompanied by Arion in his Sphinx form, and the other pegasus drifting in a cloud of plasma, everyone is there, including Manala. They’ve been waiting for us all this time. My family stares in wonder at the three-meter-long Sphinx, and Dad makes an exclamation of awe at the sight.
“Goodness . . . I am simply stunned,” Dad says with a chuckle, examining Arion from up-close, as the little animated Sphinx replica pads through the door on thick paws and lies down again on the living room floor at his feet, like a well-trained, oversized Doberman. Meanwhile, the other pegasus swirls in orange and mauve light vapor around the room.
Manala clenches her hands in anxiety.
Aeson and I exchange a quick, warm glance. Then I explain to everyone what they must do to connect to the pegasei.
“It’s going to blow your mind, literally,” I say in conclusion. “I mean it—it’s a weird blast in the middle of your forehead, then a gushing river of crazy stuff—images, colors, sounds, random data—”
“Please, please show me!” Manala exclaims, standing up from the sofa.
“Yes, sure, let her go first,” Gracie says with a slight amount of hesitation.
“So, you sing this note and then—what? You just connect?” George asks.
I nod and demonstrate.
Manala copies me precisely and sings a clear, lovely high note.
Moments later, she grows still, her eyelids drift shut, and her face transforms with a dreaming, somnolent calm. The effect is unexpected, because Manala literally appears to be in a hypnagogic state, standing upright but also sinking into sleep. Maybe it is because normally she is so nervous that this response is so contrary to her usual state.
We are speaking with your sister now, Arion says. She is very happy to know us in this manner, at last. We are happy to know her also.
And even as I hear the words in my mind, Manala’s face reflects a beatific smile.
When she opens her eyes, she laughs. “The dear pegasei are true and kind and glorious, I always knew it!” And then she opens her arms wide and starts to twirl in the middle of the pegasei vapor cloud.
The rest of the day is filled with revelations for all of us. My family connects to these quantum beings, and each person’s reaction is unique. My Dad sings the proper note in a slightly tremulous voice and then takes a deep relaxing breath and holds a curiously academic, low-key conversation with the Sphinx. Dad uses his mind for much of it, but also periodically uses his vocal cords—which amounts to a weird disjointed thing to overhear for anyone who is not clued in. The Sphinx replies to him in a similar, dual manner.
George, Gordie, Gracie, all connect and react variously—gasp loudly and clench their fingers against their seat (George), pull inward and collapse on the sofa while holding knees (Gordie), start coughing while squeezing one’s eyes shut (Gracie).
At some point Aeson leaves on SPC business, taking both the pegasei with him, to begin the process of sharing their unique frequency with his trusted astra daimon and other subordinates.
“Remember, once the frequency connects us and the link is established, we need not be present in the same location in order to communicate with all of you,” the Arion-Sphinx says in his alto-tenor voice, as he leaves the room in Aeson’s wake.
And to illustrate, a few moments later, Arion’s voice sounds clearly in my mind—in all our minds, judging by the reactions of everyone in the room.
We are always here with you. Think of me and I will hear. Names are unimportant. I am a voice.
And then the second, nameless pegasus speaks:
Name me if you must, or not, but think of me and I will hear you also, from anywhere on this planet, in this space-time reality. I, too, am a voice.
“Whoa!” Gordie says out loud.
That’s when I explain to my family about the special double-helix sequence that will allow me—and anyone else who’s initiated into the process—to navigate to the locations of all the pegasei around the world.
While Aeson is gone, we turn to the TV feeds for an update on the extreme weather situation. With so many things going wrong at once, it’s hard to focus on any one given thing that’s happening.
“You know, Gee Two, between the Ghost Moon wackiness and the pegasei business, I think we kind of broke Atlantis,” George says in a deadpan tone as he scrolls through TV feed channels, flipping from scenes of flooding and hurricanes to angry urban residents yelling at reporters, and protesters on the streets. “I mean, look at it.” And he shakes his head.
“What?” I say. “You understand the pegasei situation has to be dealt with urgently.”
George left-swipes the screen. “Oh, I know. It’s not just ethics, it’s our own survival. But can you imagine for a moment something like this happening back home? What if people on Earth were suddenly told to set all their cows free because they are in fact sentient aliens? Cattle ranchers would riot. It would be World War Three—no, Three and a Half, since there’s already World War Three: Asteroid Edition, happening now.”
Gracie makes a little noise and widens her eyes.
“Why do you say ‘back home’?” Manala asks suddenly, coming out of a telepathic reverie and turning to stare at George. “Is Atlantis not home now?”
“Of course, it is,” George says in a soft voice, glancing at Manala. Then he quickly looks away, back to watching the screen. Moments later, he adds, “Apologies, I made a thoughtless joke. On the other hand, I think Arion just expressed amusement at it inside my head—though, I could be wrong. The amusement might be directed at me.”
Later, when we’re having niktos meal, and Aeson is still away, there’s a soft knock on the open door, and Devora Kassiopei, the Imperatris drops by. I haven’t seen my Mother-in-Law since the day of the Wedding, and Devora explains that it’s tradition for the Bridegroom’s Mother not to interfere in the married life of the Newlyweds for at least one week after the Wedding. Knowing how busy it’s been for us, she didn’t want to be in the way, so stayed away a few additional days, but now wanted to check in on me.
“Goodness! Welcome, Sovereign Lady Devora,” my Dad says with a startled, warm smile, at the sight of her arrival. “Please come in, by all means, and share our lovely dinner—apologies, niktos meal. I expect your son will be here shortly. Amazing work is keeping him very busy.”
“Thank you, Ter Charles.” Devora smiles in return and sits down with impeccable posture on the sofa next to Manala, folding her hands gracefully in her lap. “Hope everything has been well and pleasant for you and your eldest, since you’ve arrived, especially after the Wedding.”
“Oh yes, daily wonders, one after another.” Dad chuckles.
“And your health is?”
“Much better, thank you.”
Devora sighs with an expression of relief. She then turns to Manala and pats her on the arm. “Have you been living in these quarters, child? I hardly see you anymore, my daughter, can hardly find you anywhere except when you’re feeding Khemji.”
“Oh,” Manala says, with a slightly flustered look at her mother. “I like to visit here. I hope it’s okay.”
“Manala has been extremely helpful in every way possible,” my Dad says. “We love having her here.”
“Very well, then,” the Imperatris says. “Child, please go pour me a glass of aeojir.”
Manala stands up obediently and goes to the serving station.
In that moment Devora leans forward and says softly, in confidence, “Ter Charles, I wanted to personally thank you most profoundly for looking after my daughter. She has been transformed in a very positive way by spending so much of her time with you and your children.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Dad says with a fond glance at Manala. “I’m starting to forget she is not one of my own.”
“Princess Manala played a very important role in helping with the Ghost Moon mission,” George says seriously.
“Oh yes.” The Imperatris nods. “So I’ve heard, and my heart is full of pride on her behalf. Her Logos voic
e is now fully manifested and she is turning into a very accomplished individual. I must thank you for looking out for her as well, George.”
“Oh,” George says with surprise. “You know about that too?”
In reply, Devora merely smiles.
Next, she turns to me. Her gentle, perceptive gaze peruses me closely—on so many levels, it seems—even as a smile plays at her lips. She pats the seat on the sofa next to her, indicating for me to sit down beside her. “Gwen, my dear, how are you?”
“Very well, thank you,” I say a little awkwardly. And then I realize how foolish and inadequate it sounds. “I am—everything is truly wonderful, actually,” I add. “I mean, the rest of the world might be in a real crisis and horror show mess, but Aeson and I are—”
And then I shut up, feeling a sudden hot blush coming on. Just like that, my whole head is on fire. Because what can I say in front of my family and Aeson’s mother?
We are twin flames, burning together as one, sprung forth from the same source of fuel, and we’ve looked inside each other’s souls. . . .
But Devora nods wisely, and reaches out to place her hand over mine. “You are both very happy together, I can see that.”
Or I could’ve just said that. Seriously, I’m an idiot.
I smile at her, then glance at my Dad who observes me fondly, with a soft smile and a serene expression of rare comfort on his face. I suddenly understand that Dad understands. He understands how it is with Aeson and me. It was probably the same way with him and Mom. . . . And Dad is relieved and happy on my behalf.
Manala returns with Devora’s glass of aeojir tea—which was but an excuse for the Imperatris to speak frankly with my Dad about her daughter. And then Manala settles in next to her mother on the other side, so that Devora is sandwiched between us.
We begin to tell her much of what’s been happening—about the pegasei, and about the ancient diary of an unknown Kassiopei found in the mysterious ancient sarcophagus on the Ghost Moon, about what is yet to come. It turns out, the Imperatris knows more than I assumed. But then, her Imperial Husband probably keeps her at least partially in the loop, and she likely has her own sources of information.
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