Zonaton (16 page)

           
"Wh-what am I going to do now?"

           
These are your people. You must remain here.

           
"I can't stay here," she replied bitterly. The mere thought of having to stay among those who had killed her truest and dearest friend and love felt like a physical blow to her stomach.

           
You cannot go back to your cave. It is not safe there, and there is no one to watch over you.

           
"I'll watch over myself. Zonaton taught me how to defend myself. He taught me how to find food. Please, let me go to my real home. I can't stay here."

           
You must. This is your real home. Your natural home, despite what you think.

           
The geron reared up, and Emmala turned to see the other two gerons were clutching Zonaton's body between them.

           
It is time, but one of us will return at the end of day to see if the villagers have obeyed our command.

           
Wiping her face once more, Emmala gave Zonaton one final hug. When she drew back, a single silvery scale came away in her hand. Palm-size, it sparkled in the sunlight like a bright jewel. Bringing it to her lips, she kissed it and inhaled the barely tangible scent that still clung to it.

           
Good-bye, my beautiful friend. My dream lover. My love. I will never forget you. I promise.

           
Getting to her feet, she moved away, never taking her eyes off Zonaton's lax expression as the gerons lifted him into the air. The villagers were silent as she watched the one creature who had loved her, and who had proven his love to her over and over during the fifteen years they had spent together, grow smaller and smaller as he was carried toward the mountains.

            Once the gerons finally vanished from sight, the villagers disbursed with nothing more being said, leaving Emmala and two other people alone on the podium. She remained oblivious of them as she tried to deal with the pain inside her chest. Pain that threatened to eat her from the inside out. Pain that wouldn't abate, no matter how hard she wept.

            "Emmala."

            Emmala gritted her teeth, but didn't turn around. Her fingers curled around her knife, gripping it until her knuckles were white. "Go away, Mommy. In fact, I will no longer call you Mommy. You're not my Mommy any longer. You are Kell. You are a killer and a detestable person. I no longer want to have anything to do with you, so don't talk to me, and don't even attempt to talk to me. And don't you ever raise your hand to me again, or I swear I will cut it off." For emphasis, she raised her knife to shoulder level, making sure the woman saw it.

            There was a soft gasp behind her. After a few more moments, she heard her mother depart down the steps, her feet making flat, slapping sounds on the rock. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Emmala turned around to see one solitary figure standing at the far edge of the podium. She shot the man a dark look. "What?"

            He held up a hand. "Hear me out, Em."

            "Why won't you leave me alone? Go away, Papa.
Leave me alone!
" She practically screamed at him.

            "I know you're hurting."

            "Shut up! You know nothing!" She clenched her fist to keep herself from running over and pummeling the man. "You're just as guilty as Mommy. You let her do those terrible things to me!"

            "No." Her father shook his head, his face wet with his own tears. "No, I didn't. Not deliberately. Inadvertently, yes. I'm guilty for not realizing sooner how sick Kell was, or finding out how she treated you when you were younger. I'm sorry I never came to your rescue, Em. Can you forgive me?"

            "Just go away."

            "You need a place to live."

            "No. I'm not coming back to live with you. Not ever." Emmala shook her head emphatically.

            "I didn't mean with your mother. I meant with me and Markeem."

            She sniffed. "I don't understand."

            "Your mother and Markeem... Let's just say there was a falling out between them. I took Markeem's side, and that's when I finally got to see how ill Kell was. I moved out and divorced your mother. Markeem and I live on the other side of the village now." Her father glanced up at the sky. "You have nowhere to go. I offer you a home with me and your brother. Please, Emmala. At least give me the chance to make it up to you."

            She looked down at the geron blood, now a large, dark pinkish blot drying on the podium. Little rivulets filled the uneven surface in the stone, until the rock appeared to be veined with the blood. Common sense told her to take the man up on his offer, if only until she could decide what she wanted to do with her life. Nodding once, she sheathed her knife and silently left the podium to join her father, whom she allowed to drape one arm over her shoulders.

            Together, they left the center of the village and headed for her new home.

Borin

            It was odd, not having wings. Zonaton lifted his shoulders, which were unusually light.

            "How do you feel?"

            The featureless figure standing a short distance away glowed with a pale blue iridescence. The brightness lit up the area surrounding them, but not so much that he had to shield his eyes.

            "I feel well."

            "As you should. Do you remember your name?"

            "Zonaton."

            "That is good."

            Zonaton could sense the figure was smiling. Perhaps even laughing inwardly, although there was no sound.             "Who are you?"

            "I was once known as Borin."

            Borin. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but the memory was as hazy as the figure.

            Zonaton gazed down at what should have been his arms and hands, but there was nothing solid there. Only light. A muted, silvery-white aura. He peered up at the figure.

            "Am I dead?"

            "That which had been you is dead. This is the beginning to your new life. Your second life."

            "I do not understand."

            There was movement. He got the impression the figure was motioning for him to look down.

            There was a body lying at his feet. Zonaton stared at the geron that he had been. At the head with its lifeless eyes, one of which bore a punctured socket. At the holes in the chest, and a belly that was smeared with congealed blood. At the long, ragged tear in the abdomen.

            "That was me."

            "Yes, it was, but no longer."

            He reached up to touch his beak, but met only air.

            "What is wrong with me?"

            "Nothing is wrong with you. You are reborn. You can now live your second life."

            "Where are my wings? My hands? My beak? I feel different."

            "It is because you have no distinct form or shape. You are reborn."

            "How do others see me, then?"

            "The same way you see me. As a mass within a light."

            "What do I do now?"

            The figure gestured outward. "Go and live your new life as you wish."

            "Go where?"

            "Anywhere. Everywhere. It is entirely up to you."

            He looked up and around. He didn't recognize his surroundings, but he had a vague notion where he was. "We're on the other side of the mountains," Zonaton stated, surprising himself.

            "You were delivered not too long ago by the Elders," Borin stated in lieu of answering his question.

            Zonaton glanced again at his old body. Something niggled in the back of his mind. Something he knew he should remember, but couldn't. Not now, but maybe later.

            "Zonaton."

            He looked back at Borin. "What will happen to my old body?"

            "It will reconcile itself back into the earth."

            "Where will I live now?"

            Again, that sense that Borin was amused. "You live here."

            "I meant, where is my home? Where is—"

            "Do not assume you will live the way you did in your first life," the figure gently admonished. "Give yourself time to acclimate. You will be able to answer all your questions in due time."

            Zonaton started to reply when the figure vanished, like a blown-out flame. Yet, oddly, he didn't feel abandoned, or alone, or afraid. But something wasn't right. He wasn't complete, and he knew he couldn't settle into this new life until he found...something.

            Moving like a wraith, he abandoned his old form and went seeking. He didn't know what he was seeking. He couldn't form it into words or a mental picture. He only knew there was something he needed. Desperately. And he couldn't stop until he found it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The Decision

            They tried to engage her in conversation, but Emmala didn't want to join in. They tried to be upbeat, but she sensed it was forced. The one thing they didn't want to do was talk about her life with Zonaton, and that's what she detested the most. She needed to talk about him. She needed to let them know what her life was like with him. And how deeply his death was affecting her.

            "He taught me how to tell when the ground was saturated with enough rain, I could reach down and feel around for burraylees, and pull them out with my bare hands."

            A slightly disgusted look crossed her brother's face. Eventually, he turned and disappeared inside his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Emmala looked at her father. "Do all of you hate the gerons so much, you won't even listen to tales about them?"

            "You don't understand the circumstances," her father gently explained.

            "What circumstances? Then tell me what's so bad about them." She gave the man a hard, demanding look.

            "They keep us bottled up here in these villages—"

            "We invaded their planet. We destroyed their land and vegetation. They had no choice but to place boundaries around us," she argued in a clipped voice.

            "They make our children take The Walk."

            "For which they have a very good reason. Or weren't you listening when Zonaton explained?"

            "They're a cruel and vicious species."

            "Then why was I treated with love and kindness, when my own family wouldn't? Why did he take great pains to make sure I was clothed and fed, and kept warm and happy?" She made certain he wouldn't miss her sarcastic tone.

            "Emmala."

            "No. Go ahead. I'm listening, but I don't hear anything."

            A flash of anger sparked in her father's eyes, but the man held himself in check. "They're aliens."

            She suddenly leaned forward and banged a hand on the table. "They're on their
home
planet.
We
are the aliens, not them.
We
are the invaders.
We
are the ones who refuse to follow their rules, when they have every right to impose them on us!"

            "Emmala."

            "Oh, shut up, Papa!" Jumping to her feet, she strode over to the window and peered outside. The room grew quiet. Outside, she could people hurrying as they went from one destination to another. Behind her, she heard her father move into the kitchen and start rattling pots and pans.

            "My cooking isn't as good as your mother's, but it's edible. Are you hungry?"

            "No, thanks. I'm fine."

            "You need to eat something."

            She pivoted around to give him a scathing look. "Are you telling me I
have
to eat?"

            A look of anger briefly appeared on his face, but her father brushed it away. "No. You're an adult now. You can make your own decisions."

            "That's right. By
your
laws, I'm an adult now, and I'm very capable of making my own decisions. I'm also capable of feeding myself, and defending myself, and weathering the worst of storms." She waved a hand in the direction of the back bedrooms. "Can you say the same of Markeem? When he's my age, will he be able to hold his own?"

            In answer, her father shook his head, but didn't reply. Instead, he continued to prepare them something to eat.

            "Are the villagers going to comply with the Elder's request?"

            "With who?"

            "The Elder. The orange geron who told everyone what they needed done when they returned this evening."

            "I have no idea, Emmala. That's for our councilmen to decide."

            She huffed and turned back to the window. "If the councilmen are smart, they'll turn over the people responsible."

            "That's the village's option. The gerons need to stay out of our business."

            Emmala gave her father an open-mouth look of disbelief. "You just don't get it, do you? You and all the other villagers have never gotten it through your thick heads that we are here as guests. This planet does not and will never belong to us!"

            Her father sighed. "Em, you don't understand our system of government."

            "And, clearly, you don't understand the gerons' way of life. Plus, I don't think you or anyone else wants to! If it's a matter of villager against villager, yes. Your government should rule. But in a case of villager against geron, it is their rules you must follow."

            She walked over to the doorway leading into the kitchen and stopped. "So what you're telling me is that the villagers will not turn over the people responsible for killing my Zonaton?" Fresh tears blurred her vision and threatened to fall. The knowledge that those who had shot her beautiful silvery geron might go free without having to face punishment for what they'd done made her sick to her stomach. Her face flamed with heat at the injustice.