Falling Light (A Game of Shadows Novel) (13 page)

SHE WAS NEVER
sure what woke her the second time.

It couldn’t have been the storm’s end. As she surfaced to wakefulness, she sensed that they had been stationary for some time. She might have been disturbed by the scratchiness of the wool blankets piled around her shoulders, or the lumpiness of the bed, or perhaps by Michael’s absence.

Whatever the cause, she yawned, rolled over and stared at the ceiling as she registered the changes in her environment.

A pale, thin light fell into the tiny wood-paneled room from the two portholes set high into the walls. The second change she noticed was the relative quiet. The roar of the storm and groans from the overstressed boat no longer assaulted her ears. Instead she could hear the quiet lap of water. The boat rocked gently as if it rested at dock, instead of pitching and tossing in high waves.

The air outside her nest felt damp and chilly on her exposed face and neck. She stretched and slipped one foot out from under the pile of blankets. Her questing toes told her the same tale.

Her body throbbed with phantom aches from wounds it hadn’t had the time to fully assimilate. She pushed down the covers and stared at herself, her pink nipples crinkling in the cold. Silver scars dotted her torso. She touched one in wonder. It looked as if it were already months old.

Something insubstantial brushed into the room. The tiny hairs on the back of her arms rose. She yanked the covers up to her neck as she sat.

Nicholas’s transparent, shimmery form appeared, and he knelt in front of her. She received an impression of black military-short hair, hawkish features and the glitter of his intelligent eyes.

Relaxing, she anchored the blanket more securely around her torso. “Nicholas,” she said. “It’s good to see you. How is your father?”

He has not yet passed
, Nicholas said.
Perhaps there is still something that you can do for him.

Exhaustion pulled at her bones. Healing herself from so many gunshot wounds yesterday had sorely strained her body’s already taxed resources, but she tried not to let her weariness show on her face.

Just like any other family member of patients she had treated, Nicholas didn’t need to see her own struggle. She had survived more than one brutal shift in the ER. She would survive this too. “I’ll have to find some clothes,” she said. “I need to eat something too. Do you think he will be all right for that long?”

He seems to be resting comfortably enough at the moment
, the ghost said. He regarded her for a moment.
It cost you a great deal to come here so quickly. Thank you.

She had the impulse to deflect what he said, but the gravity in his indistinct gaze wouldn’t let her. Instead, she gave him a small smile.
You’re very welcome.

He rose to his feet and turned away. She had seen him do that before when he prepared to leave. It was as if the ghost needed to go through the same kind of gesture that he would have done if he had been alive.

Impulsively, she said, “Nicholas.”

He paused to look over his shoulder at her.

No doubt this was not the time to talk about things. But she was afraid that there would never be a time to talk about things, unless she just made the talk happen.

She asked, “If you were offered a chance at resurrection, would you want to take it?”

That got his attention. He turned and kneeled in front of her, and his gaze turned piercing.
There is no chance at resurrection
, he said gently.
My body has been cremated.

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean resurrection with your original body, and I’m not promising that I can make it happen.”

Nicholas lifted a wide shoulder in a shrug.
What are you talking about?

While she knew she needed to move soon, right at the moment, sitting up straight seemed like too much effort. She leaned back against the nearby wall. It felt frigid against her bare shoulders.

At any other time, she would have taken a great deal of time to think about how to tactfully approach a difficult, delicate subject with a patient.

Now she said baldly, “Yesterday morning when I examined those injured drones, the only thing wrong with them was that their spirit was gone. Their bodies were strong and healthy. If they had been really alive, they would have recovered from their injuries just fine. I see that as a damn waste, don’t you?”

He was smart. He was really smart, and he was familiar with the Deceiver’s attributes and habits. She couldn’t see the details of his face very well, but when he rose to pace the length of the small cabin, she could see that she didn’t have to spell everything out for him.

Energy poured off of him. He said, his tone rapid and bitter,
The Dark One has the ability to take over human bodies, but he isn’t human. I am.

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not human either.”

Listen to her, sounding all confident and accepting of who she was. She almost convinced herself.

He whirled to go down on one knee in front of her. Tension vibrated off of him in waves that were so tangible it felt nearly physical. She leaned forward, searching for any hint of what he was feeling in the blurred lines of his face.

“I really think it’s possible,” she said again, softly. “When I was looking at the two men, I could sense how the body and spirit were supposed to fuse together. But I can’t promise you anything. All I can do is ask if you want to try. Even if we did succeed, taking over a drone’s body would be a strange life for you, and I think in a lot of ways it would be a difficult one. What do you think? Are you willing at least to consider it?”

The hand he rested on his upraised knee tightened into a fist.

He said,
Yes.

 • • • 

NICHOLAS LEFT TO
go back to his father’s side, taking his powerful, whirlwind emotions with him.

Left alone, she slumped back against the cold wall again until she started to shiver. The end of her braid had unraveled. She searched through the blankets and cushions until she found the rubber band. She snapped it back on the end of her tangled hair.

Then, starving, thirsty and curious, she climbed to her feet, shook out the top blanket and wrapped the bulky material sarong-like around her torso. With one hand, she held the blanket so she wouldn’t trip over the edges. With the other, she held it anchored across her breasts. It was an awkward way to try to keep covered.

The bare floorboards were so cold they made the bones of her feet ache, but that couldn’t be helped. Her sodden socks and shoes were unfit to wear.

She stepped gingerly into the kitchenette and glanced around.

Not a kitchenette. Remember, think nautical. This would be a galley. Whatever, the galley was a kitchenette. A small refrigerator was built into the wall. She unlatched the door and peered inside, unsurprised but disappointed to find it empty.

When she saw Michael’s knife resting in its battered leather sheath on the table, she took the blanket, folded it in half and used the long blade to saw a slit through the middle of the fold. Then she poked her head through the slit to wear it like a poncho. The corners still dragged on the ground, but it covered better than before.

She looked for her clothes and shoes. Neither her nor Michael’s things were anywhere to be found. That seemed to be her cue to exit.

She ascended the stairs to the deck.

The first thing she saw was the placid surface of the Lake, glimmering in the silvery early morning light. The sun had yet to appear on the horizon. A thin layer of clouds draped across the pale sky like the last people to leave an all-night party. Land curved to either side of her, rising into a sharp incline from a rocky shore where gentle waves lapped at a jumble of rocks. The incline was covered with a thick cluster of pine trees and a tangle of underbrush.

The boat had been moored alongside a weathered pier, the nose pointed toward land, opposite a smaller, battered motorboat. As she gained the surface of the deck, she realized the pier was located in the relative shelter of a small, shallow bay.

Her socks and dingy jeans, the bullet-torn flannel shirt and her shoes were arranged on the deck to dry in the open air. Michael’s clothes had been spread out beside hers.

She heard quiet voices. As she turned the corner of the cabin, a steady breeze ruffled the edges of her makeshift poncho and brought with it the acrid scent of wood smoke. She shivered and pulled the wool closer around her torso.

At the land end of the pier there was a space of beach more or less level and cleared of rock. A path with rough staggered steps led from the beach up the incline into the woods. Michael and a tiny old woman were on the beach, sitting on two large, sawed-off logs in front of a small campfire.

Her gaze lingered on Michael. He wore rumpled black cotton pants with a drawstring waist and a flannel-lined anorak. His chest and feet were bare. Looking weary but relatively peaceful, he leaned forward to feed sticks to the bright, flickering flame. He was relaxed. Seeing that, she relaxed too.

Her attention left him and centered on the old woman, who leaned her elbows on knees almost as thin as the sticks that Michael fed to the fire. The ground around the woman was littered with bags, two thermos flasks and food containers. Her short white hair stood around her head in wild, fluffy wisps. She wore canvas mules without socks, baggy sweatpants, an overlarge knit sweater and a denim jacket that was at least a couple of decades old.

It was such a small frail body to house such a strong will. Mary swallowed in an effort to ease her dry throat and hesitated. For the first time, she realized she was jealous of the old woman, and afraid.

She hadn’t made any noise discernable over the Lake’s constant murmuring, but the pair on the shore looked in her direction at the same time.

Michael stood. “Good morning,” he said. His quiet voice carried over the water. “How are you feeling? Do you need help?”

Now she was on her feet and had been moving around, she wasn’t feeling as steady as she would have liked. Still, she shook her head. Under the combined weight of their gazes, she found a space in the boat’s railing where a hinged bar had been propped open. She stepped onto the pier.

A sharp gust of wind lifted a flap of the blanket and exposed the long line of one slender, honey-colored leg up to her waist. Though her thin nylon panties didn’t offer much cover, she was grateful she wasn’t totally nude under the poncho. She gripped the edges of the recalcitrant blanket to hold it in place as she walked toward the waiting pair.

The old woman watched her progress with a neutral expression. Her wrinkled face was classic. Mary could see in it the ghost of the beautiful woman who had appeared in her vision and the dream. With a pronounced bone structure and high cheeks, she could have been at home on an American Indian reservation, or a Greek island, or the streets of Moscow.

Michael said, “After the trip we had, I thought you would sleep longer. If I’d known you would wake this early, I would have brought you the dry clothes Astra brought. At least you’ve managed to find a solution for yourself.”

“It’ll do for now, but I could wish for a little less breeze,” she said wryly. “And my feet are freezing.” She shook her head at the seat Michael offered. Instead she held herself erect as she turned to meet the shrewd black gaze that watched her with an inscrutable patience. Feeling at a complete loss, she said, “Hello, Astra.”

ASTRA’S DARK, UPTURNED
eyes filled with a sudden glitter of tears, and her delicate, papery expression reformed. “Thank you, Creator,” Astra breathed. “It’s been so long.”

Without warning, a huge, tangled wave of emotion welled inside of Mary, like the creature from her dream that had risen from an immeasurable depth.

Deep gladness, grief, anger and pain, and a baffled kind of love. To her intense shock and embarrassment, a sob broke out of her. The sound cracked through the quiet.

Astra lifted both hands to her. She sank to her knees and took them. Then she leaned forward to put her face in the old woman’s lap. Her shoulders clenched as she tried to rein in her emotion. Astra leaned over and held her tight.

“I’m so sorry,” Mary said when she could speak. Her breathing had turned ragged as she struggled for control. “Sometimes I don’t understand myself.”

“Don’t hover, Michael,” Astra snapped over her head. “This is mine to deal with. Go away.”

“Mary, would you like me to stay?” Michael asked. She felt his large, warm hand press against her back.

“It’s okay,” she said, swiping at her eyes and nose with the corner of her blanket. Regardless of whether or not Astra could hear her, she added telepathically,
I need to talk with her, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t go far.

I won’t. Call if you need me.

Thank you.

She felt his fingers brush her tangled hair. His departure was noiseless, but she knew without looking when his presence had moved away. She lifted her head from Astra’s lap and sat back on her heels, rubbing her scratchy eyes.

After a keen, searching glance, Astra turned brisk.

“I brought down hot tea and water, biscuits and bacon,” she said, taking one of the two thermos bottles and pouring a measure of hot brown liquid into its lid. “There are more amenities up at the cabin, of course, but I also have a couple of visitors. I thought it would be better if we could have a little privacy before we head up.”

Mary said, “When Nicholas brought your message, he told us that his father is here.”

“Yes. Nicholas’s young nephew Jamie is here as well.” Astra’s gaze stayed focused on the hot drink she held. “Michael and I also didn’t want to leave or disturb you, so I fixed a snack to bring down here for when you woke. Here, drink up. It’s sweet.”

“Thank you,” Mary said.

She sipped with care at the steaming cup. She wanted the tea badly but her thirst was too strong to be assuaged by delicate sips. Before she could ask, Astra handed her the second opened flask. She set the tea aside to gulp at the cool fresh-tasting water until the flask was empty.

In silence, Astra offered her other things. Unable to face solid food just yet, she shook her head at the plastic container filled with biscuits and bacon. When the older woman dug into nearby canvas bags and held out a pair of thermal socks, she gladly accepted them and tugged them over her chilled feet.

Then she edged as close to the campfire as she could without sitting in the middle of the coals and setting herself on fire. After she had tucked the blanket around her cross-legged form and picked up her tea again, Astra spoke.

“What is it that you don’t understand about yourself?” the old woman asked as she picked up a long stick and poked at the fire. “Why you bawled, or why you’re so angry with me?”

Shocked by the directness, she took a deep breath. Unsure of how to respond, she hid her face in her cup. The steam from the liquid warmed the cold end of her nose. “I didn’t know I was so obvious.”

“You know,” Astra said after a moment. “You probably don’t remember this, at least not yet, but the decision to come after the Deceiver wasn’t just a group one. Each of you had to make the decision for yourself. The understanding was that if either one in a mated pair chose not to come on this journey, that one’s partner would abide by that choice and stay home.”

“No, I don’t remember that,” she muttered, keeping her head bent.

“All of you chose to go after the Deceiver with me, and you followed me here. None of us could have known how long this fight would take.” The seams around her mouth deepened. They seemed to cut as deep into her face as fractured granite cut into the earth. “Is that why you’re angry?”

Mary listened intently, picking through the information Astra offered in an effort to see if any of it matched with her emotions. When the other woman finished speaking, she shook her head.

“That’s not it,” she said. The thermos lid of tea had cooled enough for her to drain it. “I could say that seeing you felt like coming home, but it doesn’t. Other than one recurring dream where we all drank the poison, I don’t even remember what our home was like. Seeing you feels more like seeing some long-lost member of the family.”

“Do you even know why you’re angry?”

She grimaced. “This doesn’t make any sense. It isn’t rational, and I know it’s not fair, but I’m mad at you because you’ve been with Michael for so long when I wasn’t able to.”

Astra’s face went blank. Then she barked out a laugh. “That explains it too,” she said. They fell silent again. Astra sighed and looked over the water. Her expression turned dreamy. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not that you don’t remember home,” she said. “We could see colors that humans can’t even imagine. When we heard the vibration of each other’s energy, it was like listening to the most beautiful singing imaginable. I remember everything, and it hasn’t made it any easier to be here.”

On impulse, Mary reached out and touched Astra’s knee. Astra covered her fingers with a gnarled, blue-veined hand. She felt a subtle, delicate probing through their joined hands, quite unlike the straightforward vigor and assured authority in Michael’s presence.

In a deliberate act of trust she forced herself to maintain physical contact. She thought she caught a glimmer of approval in those bird-bright eyes before Astra’s manner changed.

“Come on, fool,” the old woman scolded, leaning forward to reopen the plastic container of food and shove it under her nose. “Eat a biscuit. Michael told me everything that happened yesterday. You’ve accomplished some undeniable miracles, but that body of yours has taken some harsh punishment. There’s a limit to what you can demand of it. Be nice to it and feed it something.”

“I’m pretty tired,” Mary admitted. Obediently she chose a biscuit, broke it in half and took a bite. To her intense pleasure, it was light and flaky and rich with a buttery taste. It melted in her mouth. She bolted the rest of it down and, having rediscovered her appetite, she reached for a slice of bacon.

Astra poured her another cup of tea. “I’m glad the Lake likes you and decided to bring you two here.”

Mary stared, the half-eaten piece of bacon held suspended in front of her open mouth. She lowered her hand, swallowed hard and looked over her shoulder. The sun had crested the horizon with a glorious blaze of color. The serene water winked with a reflected array of light.

“I had a dream about the Lake last night,” she said. “But I thought it was just a dream.” Feeling like the fool Astra had called her, she hurried on to say, “I mean, I dreamt that I had a strange conversation with this entity that—it didn’t seem to make any sense, so I thought I made it up.”

Astra chuckled. “Since when did you get to decide that all creatures have to make sense? You don’t make sense all the time. You just said so. What does ‘make sense’ mean anyway, operate on human logic?”

Her cheeks washed with color. She muttered, “I’m newly reawakened to all this, remember?”

“I know, I know.” Still grinning, Astra shook her head. “Don’t mind me laughing at you. You managed not to jump in after it when it sang to you, like a lot of humans do when they hear the water spirits. They’re beautiful but eerily seductive. Half the time you can’t trust a word they say. Whatever the Lake coaxed out of you made it happy, so you did just fine.”

Mary stared at her, appalled. “You trusted it with our rescue?”

“I trusted it as much as you can trust any wild creature, to do what is in its own nature,” Astra said. She looked out over the water with a flash of calculation in her black eyes. “I figured you and Michael would end up either safely dead or back here. Turns out I was right.”

Mary threw her half-eaten piece of bacon in the fire. She snapped, “It creeps me out how you and Michael talk so casually of killing and dying. I like being alive, thank you very much. It’s taken me a lot of hard damn work to get here. I would appreciate it if you would treat my life with more respect.”

Astra looked at her, all amusement gone. “I do, you know,” she said. “In all the ways that really matter.”

She covered her face with her hands, breathing hard.

She forced herself to think of the difference between physical death and total dissolution. If they died, they could be reborn. If they were destroyed, they were gone forever. She remembered the keening noise that had come from Michael’s trapped spirit, a sound so unbearable she would do anything to avoid hearing it again.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Like I said, I’m still getting used to this. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Astra told her. “I’m too old and jaded. I’ve had this single goal in front of me, leading me around like some damned pillar of fire for so long I sometimes forget about other things that are also important. You’re right to remind me. All life is sacred.”

“Speaking of which,” Mary said. Astra’s attention sharpened on her, her black gaze hardening. “I promised Nicholas that I would see if there was anything I could do for his father as soon as I could.”

Astra hunched her thin shoulders in the shabby denim jacket. “Jerry is very sick.” She gave Mary a keen look. “Maybe you can do something to help him. It would be a blessing if you could. He’s an old friend and a good ally. But you also almost died a couple of times yesterday, and I know you’re running on empty. There’s no shame in admitting that it would be asking too much from you.”

Mary looked at the path. She said, “If he wants my help, I’ll have a look at him and do what I can. I can rest afterward.”

Astra threw the rest of the tea on the campfire, gathered up the various scattered items and stuffed them into the canvas bags at her feet, pushed against her knees and stood. “Come on then.”

Mary stood as well. Even though she was not a tall woman, Astra was still several inches shorter. She paused, looking at the fire that sputtered fitfully. “Shouldn’t we finish putting it out?” she asked.

Astra picked up the bags and grunted, “Michael will see to it. He’ll get the wet clothes and shoes too, and bring them up.”

He’s not your servant, Mary thought. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself. With an effort, she managed to keep her surge of resentment from showing in her expression.

Instead she said with care, “He’s tired too.”

A sly blackbird gaze slid sideways toward her. “Yes, but unlike you, who’s sensibly exhausted and no doubt quite happy to think of a hot bath and a real bed in your near future, he’s itching to do something manly and useful. Hovering is not useful. Cleaning up our mess down here is.”

Mary struggled with her unruly temper. Astra was her elder and held valuable information. She should show respect.

She asked, “Can I carry those bags for you?”

Astra chuckled and handed to her the heavier one filled with the food and thermoses. “So polite. You were brought up well in this life, I can see. Michael was a gifted, horrible little boy whom his parents spoiled dreadfully. I couldn’t stand him for years. I don’t think he liked me much either, but I was useful to him. We’ve made our peace, though.” She tilted her head back, white hair waving in the languid breeze. “Just wait and see. You and I will too.”

Mary struggled with mortification as she followed Astra’s slight figure up the path. She gritted, “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

“To me you are,” Astra said over her shoulder. “And I could go down on my knees and thank the Creator for it. I’m a paranoid old bitch, and I have fretted so over you, for such a long time. But you, bless your heart, are as clear and as transparent as that silly Lake can be on a sunny day. There isn’t a deceitful, corrupt atom in your spirit. Michael tried to tell me, but I had a hard time listening to him. Sometimes I just need to see things for myself.”

“You and he have some things in common,” Mary said.

A sharp twig jabbed her foot through the sole of her sock. She watched the path with more care.

An old green awareness canopied them. The forest they moved through felt similar to the one where Michael’s cabin was located, only more intense and alive. The rustling of the wind in the trees sounded like whispers. Greedily she took breath after breath of the rich fresh air. A tightness that had settled in her chest, one that she hadn’t even realized she carried, eased away.

“He and I have discussed this,” Astra said. “We share some of our least attractive traits. I acquired mine over the centuries in order to survive. Unfortunately, I think Michael was just born with his. You have my deepest sympathies.” She stopped moving, and her voice changed, acquiring a lighthearted malice. “Oh, hello. Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves, you know. It’s axiomatic.”