Legacy of the Lost

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  I glanced down. Blood had soaked through the gray T-shirt fabric and was starting to drip onto the polished floor. It struck a stark contrast against the white marble.

  “Oh,” I said, and backed up a step to sit on the bench. At least that way my jeans would catch the dripping blood.

  Now that I was off my feet and no longer running for my life, the effects of the blood loss were more apparent. I was dizzy and felt chilled to the bone, and my whole body was shaking. I stared at the bright spot of blood staining the floor.

  Raiden stood in the opening of the alcove for a long moment, watching me. I was getting the impression that he wasn’t too excited about the prospect of leaving me, either.

  “I’ll be right back, OK?” he finally said.

  Without looking up, I nodded.

  “If anyone comes near you, scream.”

  I gave him a weak thumbs up.

  He lingered a moment longer, then his boots moved away from the blood spot and out of my range of sight.

  I had no idea how long I sat there, waiting for him. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. I was beyond exhausted, awareness sliding in and out of focus, the only marker of time passing the steady throbbing in my arm.

  I’d been rendered unconscious by my condition so many times over the years that I’d lost track. But I’d never passed out as a result of injury. I had a feeling I was precariously close, now. My eyelids felt heavy, my mind fuzzy. Dark spots danced around the edges of my vision, and the sound of blood rushing in my ears was thunderous.

  “Hey, Cora . . .” Raiden’s face was suddenly all I could see. “How are you doing?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “That good, huh?”

  I stared at him, taking in his strong, handsome features. Drowning in his warm, brown eyes. “Pretty eyes,” I murmured.

  “All right . . .” Raiden reached out, taking hold of my uninjured arm at the elbow. “Let’s get you upstairs. You’ll feel better once you’re all patched up.”

  I stood, with his help, and he curled his arm around my waist and held me tight against his side, lending me his strength. I let him guide me toward a narrow, shiny elevator door. I felt like I was floating, and I actually had to look down at my feet to confirm that they were still touching the ground.

  Raiden pushed the elevator’s call button.

  I blinked, and we were exiting the elevator.

  I blinked again, and I was sitting in a chair beside a tiny, round table. Raiden was unpacking the contents of an army-green canvas case a little smaller than a football.

  I blinked again, and my arm was stretched out across the wood table, resting on a folded, white terrycloth towel. The bloodied T-shirt was gone, giving me full view of the angry, oozing gash running the length of my forearm. Blood stained the skin all around the open wound.

  One more blink, and Raiden was sitting in a chair right in front of me, leaning over my arm. It was cleaner now, though the towel beneath it was a different matter entirely. He held a small, curved needle between his thumb and forefinger, threaded with a stiff blue string that reminded me of dental floss.

  “I’m really sorry, Cora,” Raiden said, his eyes meeting mine. His brows bunched together, his face a mask of pity. “This is going to hurt . . .”

  21

  I sat in the chair by the little table, wound cleaned and sewn up, and arm bandaged. Raiden had already disposed of the bloody T-shirt and towel, and he’d repacked his first-aid kit and returned it to his backpack.

  The only things left on the table now were a glass of water and a half-eaten chocolate chip granola bar. This was my second glass of water, and I was slowly working my way through the granola bar. I knew I needed to eat to replenish all the blood I’d lost, but I just wasn’t hungry. Probably a side effect of losing all that blood . . .

  Raiden stood at the room’s single window, staring out through a tiny crack between the curtain and the wall. Even just standing there, he clearly favored his wounded knee.

  “Why don’t you sit on the bed,” I suggested. “Prop your leg up . . .”

  “It’s fine,” he said without looking away from the window. “Just a flare up.” He glanced at me, offering me a half-assed smile, a faint curving of his lips that never touched his eyes, then returned to staring out the window. “It’ll feel better once the ibuprofen kicks in, and it should be good as new by morning.”

  “Not if you don’t rest, it won’t,” I grumbled.

  Raiden either didn’t hear me, or was ignoring me.

  I tore off a piece of the granola bar and popped it into my mouth. Raiden’s a big boy, I thought as I chewed; if he says he’s fine, then he’s fine.

  I swallowed the bite. “I read online that the wait to get into the Vatican is super long,” I said. I took a couple sips of water, then broke off another piece of the granola bar. “We should probably head over to the shop first thing so we can get in line at the Vatican before they open the gates.”

  “We’re not going,” Raiden said, voice remote.

  “What?” I blurted, spitting out a tiny chunk of granola. I wiped it off the table with a quick swipe of my hand. “Of course, we’re going.”

  Raiden turned away from the window and crossed his arms over his chest. Somehow, that gesture made his shoulders appear even broader. He already cast an imposing figure, but this only enhanced it. “No, we’re not.”

  I opened my mouth, sitting up straighter and sucking in a breath to argue.

  Before I could start, he continued, “The situation has changed, Cora—the Order knows we’re here. They’ll be waiting for us. They’ll be expecting us. The second we pass through those gates, we’re as good as dead.” He laughed under his breath. “Well, I am, at least. You, their prize alien—” He frowned and shook his head. “Who knows what they’ll do with you. Lock you up . . . dissect you . . .” He raised one eyebrow. “Nothing fun, I’m sure.”

  I shut my mouth, good hand balling into a fist.

  “Find another way in,” Raiden said. “Because there’s no way I’m letting you get anywhere near those gates. If I have to tie you up to keep you away from there, I will.” The hard glint in his eyes told me he meant every single word.

  Shock morphed into a sickening mixture of fear and frustration as I finally came to terms with just how much danger I was in—and how much danger Raiden was in—because of me. Guilt joined the disturbing mixture of emotions. My skin felt too hot, my blood too cold. I swallowed reflexively, the spike of emotions leaving me teetering on the precipice of tears.

  I was so close to finding out what happened to my mom. She was right here when she disappeared, mere blocks away from where I was sitting, right now. I’d come all this way, journeyed to the other side of the damn world, but I might as well have stayed back on Orcas Island for all the good it would do me.

  Because Raiden was right—it was too dangerous. It would be suicide to try to pass through the public entrance to Vatican City now. This was just more evidence that I wouldn’t have made it this far without Raiden. I needed him. If I drove him away, I would be lost. On my own, I was practically useless.

  Before the frustration could overwhelm me to tears, I retreated into the compact bathroom. I shut the door, locking it with a shaky twist of my wrist, then leaned my back against the door. I stared at the tiled wall and focused on taking slow, even breaths.

  After one last deep inhale, I crossed the bathroom and bent down to turn on the bathtub faucet. A nice long soak might soothe my frayed nerves and allow rational thought back in. I tweaked the knobs until the water was the perfect temperature, then straightened to begin undressing.

  I toed off my sneakers, and awkwardly pulled my T-shirt off over my head, one-handed.

  At a knock, I turned to face the bathroom door, shirt clasped to my chest with my uninjured arm. It felt like my heart rate had quadrupled in an instant.

  “Cora?” It was Raiden, of course. “Are you all right?”

  I s
wallowed roughly. “Yeah,” I said, but the word was barely audible. I cleared my throat and tried again, louder this time.

  “OK, well, I’m going to run across the street to pick up some food,” he said, voice slightly raised. “You’re going to need more than granola bars to heal up.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “I shouldn’t be longer than ten minutes,” he added. “I’ll have eyes on the hotel the whole time, but don’t let anyone in, OK? If anyone comes to the door, don’t even let them know you’re in here.”

  I nodded. “OK.”

  “And Cora?”

  I moved closer to the door, placing my hand on the smooth, white-washed wood. “Yeah?”

  “Please don’t leave the room,” Raiden said.

  Guilt was winning the emotional battle within me, wrestling the fear and frustration into submission. Raiden was a good man—a man who didn’t deserve the drama my life was throwing at him.

  “I won’t,” I promised, resting my forehead against the bathroom door.

  “Thanks,” he said, voice quieter. “I’ll be right back.”

  A moment later, I heard the door to our room open and shut.

  Sighing, I pushed away from the door and moved to stand in front of the sink. I lowered the shirt, dropping it on the floor, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me. My whole face was paler than usual, washed out by blood loss, and my cheeks looked gaunt, making my eyes appear too large. My irises were a brighter blue than ever before, though the latter could’ve been an optical illusion caused by the bloodshot whites and the dark half-moons shadowing my eyes.

  My focus shifted down to the pendant dangling between my breasts. The amber-colored stone seemed to glow, even against the bright light from the bulbs overhead.

  The color of the stone dredged up a memory of the necklace Demeter had been wearing in the dream from the plane. The pendants were far from the same, Demeter’s appearing simpler in design, but the stone in her pendant had been the same amber color, and it, too, had seemed to glow with that strange inner light. At least, it had been the same color, at first, before she’d touched it and the color had drained away, leaving the stone a brilliant, diamond white.

  What exactly had she done to make the stone change color? She’d been standing by the basin in the floor of that cavernous room on the spaceship, and she’d raised her hand, bringing her fingertip to the pendant.

  In the mirror, I watched myself mimic Demeter’s remembered movements.

  She’d touched the tip of her index finger to the pendant and traced a circle around the stone. Counterclockwise, if I recalled correctly.

  I gasped as the stone in my pendant changed color, suddenly burning with an electric blue light. There was no doubt about it, now—the stone was definitely glowing.

  I took a step back, pulling the pendant away from my chest and staring down at the glowing blue stone. It had worked. Copying Demeter’s movements had worked.

  But, how? And more importantly, why? What did it mean?

  My mind worked through the implications. Clearly, the dreams were more than they seemed. Not mere figments of a strained mind, but something else. Something more.

  Were they visions of some kind? Was I seeing events from some distant future? Or was it possible that what I’d been experiencing in my dreams—what had felt like memories—were actually things that happened long ago?

  Whatever it was, it had to be coming from the pendant. The dreams had only begun after I started wearing the necklace.

  As crazy as it sounded—even in the privacy of my own head—I was beginning to believe that somehow, the pendant must have stored Persephone’s memories, and it seemed to be feeding them to me in my sleep. It was the only thing that made any sense. And even that was a stretch.

  Whatever was happening, I was left with a decision: continue to wear the pendant and willingly allow more of Persephone’s memories to invade my dreams as I reaped the benefits of living episode-free—of actually being able to touch other people—or take the thing off and return to the way I’d been before, weak and afraid, a slave to my condition.

  Like there was even a choice.

  I released the pendant, letting it fall back against my skin, and turned away from the mirror. I quickly shut off the tub’s faucet and opened the drain. I was so exhausted, I worried I would fall asleep in the tub. I had enough people out to get me—I didn’t need to help them out by drowning myself in a bathtub.

  After one last glance in the mirror, at the pendant’s eerie blue glow, I switched off the bathroom lights and opened the door, leaving the bathroom and heading to the farther of the two twin beds. I fished my one clean T-shirt out of my backpack and gingerly pulled it on over my head, then settled on the bed, rolling onto my side and propping my bandaged arm on my hip, not even bothering to draw back the covers. I closed my eyes, listening to the gurgle of water draining from the tub.

  Within seconds, I was out.

  22

  I’m walking through a deep gully, bringing up the tail end of our expedition team. Tall sandstone walls variegated with stripes of muted pink, orange, yellow, and white tower over us on either side of the narrow, twisty path. The yellow sun beats down on our backs, but my hoplon suit’s built-in thermostat keeps me cool.

  I trail behind Despoina, one of my spearsisters. Her hoplon suit—identical to mine in every way save for the color lighting the power channels running the length of it from fingertip to neck to toe—gleams in the sunlight, the charcoal gray fabric turning faintly prismatic. Her doru is tucked safely in its sheath on her back, the focus crystal set atop the retracted staff weapon glowing a steady coral, perfectly matching the light of her suit’s power channels. The stone in the regulator hanging around her neck glows the same color.

  Ahead of her, the researchers weave in and out of sight as they follow the water worn path. Two more of my spearsisters lead the way—the power channels in their hoplon suits glowing a deep emerald-green and a sunny yellow—though I only catch glimpses of them every now and again, when the path straightens enough to lengthen my line of sight.

  Despoina glances back at me over her shoulder, a broad grin splitting her face. “Tell me the truth, Peri—” She holds her arms up to either side of her. “Is Atlantis living up to your expectations?”

  My desire to see this new world—the only world I’ve known outside of the ship that carried us here—is well known among my spearsisters. This is my first time out of the Alpha site, my first time viewing the sun with the naked eye rather than through the thick sheet of ice sheltering the city since Demeter first brought me here over seventy years ago. It’s been two regeneration cycles, and I am in awe. This sun-drenched land is so much more beautiful than I remember. I can’t stop looking around, taking it all in.

  The kiss of the sun’s rays is warmer than it had been during that brief visit so long ago. And the sky—it’s so open. So deep. So blue. A breeze flows through the gully, rustling the strands of hair that have escaped from my bun and carrying a woodsy, earthy scent. I’ve seen images and videos of Atlantis’ various terrains captured during previous expeditions, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing the wonders first hand.

  A slow smile spreads my lips until my grin is as broad as Despoina’s. “It’s so much better,” I tell her.

  Despoina throws her head back and laughs, and the joyous sound ricochets off the rough stone walls.

  The scene shifts suddenly. I’m no longer Persephone. Now, I’m Raiden.

  It’s nighttime, and I’m sitting on an overturned bucket, my elbows resting on a folding table, a pair of playing cards clutched in my upraised hands. A campfire crackles nearby, the flames slowly dying.

  Across from me, my buddy Kellerman throws his head back and laughs raucously. “You’re too much, Raid,” he says and shakes his head, his laughter dying out. “Too much . . .” He holds his cards with one hand as he takes a swig from his flask. The diamond,
heart, club, and spade etched and colored in with red and black enamel on its face proclaim Kellerman’s wishful status as a cardshark. One day, maybe.

  I study my cards—a pair of Canadian Aces. There are two more queens in the flop, giving me four of a kind. One day, maybe, but not today.

  “Just deal the final card, Killer,” I say.

  Kellerman is just this side of drunk, and I want to get to bed. But I want to pawn off my position as lead driver in the caravan tomorrow, more, and that’s what’s at stake. I like Kellerman, but not as much as I like being alive. These days, it seems like land mines are everywhere.

  Kellerman narrows his eyes. He studies the four cards on the table, then shoots a hard stare at the backs of my cards. “You got a pair of bitches in your hand?”

  I take a deep breath, keeping my expression blank as I return his stare. “Are you going to deal, or not?”

  He knows I have the queens now, and he doesn’t want to play anymore. He already knows he’s lost. I can see it written all over his face.

  “Man, this is bullshit,” he says, throwing down his hand. He has a pair of Aces. A prime hand pretty much any time other than now. Even if the river is an Ace, his best hand is a Full House, Aces high. No match for my four queens.

  I set down my cards and stand, pleased with the outcome of the game. I’m no longer lead driver tomorrow. Kellerman is. “Better luck next time, man,” I tell him.

  The scene shifts. I’m Persephone, once more.

  Despoina pats my shoulder. “Better luck next time, Peri,” she says, standing by my side on the crest of a hill.

  A vast valley lies far below, and beyond it, snowcapped mountains stretch from horizon to horizon, blocking the way west. Our expedition had several objectives, and studying and collecting samples from the anthropos living on the other side of those very mountains was only one of the objectives. I was promised people—real, live, alien people. But from the looks of the storm rolling in, nobody will be crossing those mountains for days, if not weeks, and earlier surveys told us there are no other anthropos living on this island.