Kindred (Akasha Book 2)

by Indie Gantz

  Vi looks over to Kor, and when their eyes meet, their mutual respect and admiration is impossible to ignore. I envy them for it.

  “She’s got it right,” Kor agrees. “Don’t lose sleep over your deceit, but I do urge you not to keep things like this from us in the future. All right?”

  I nod quickly. “Yeah, no. That’s all we were hiding. There’s nothing else.”

  Kor stands abruptly. “All right then. I’ll go see to sending the call stone.” He heads towards the kitchen’s entryway then stops abruptly and looks at his children. Avias, Oleander, and Bo all still look overwhelmed by what just took place, but they stare back at Kor and wait for him to talk.

  “You all should probably get these two some Téssera history books. They’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

  Interlude I

  Day Forty-Two: Tirigan

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Human Response

  Sleep eludes me. Atypical. I sleep when tired. I wake when rested. I do not try to sleep if my mind or body is not at peace.

  Tonight, after a day I have yet to find the right description to categorize, I find myself trying and failing to fall asleep. An anomaly of maddening proportions. My failure isn’t the result of the murmurs that surrounded me earlier or the cool breeze that chills my bare skin. Neither my environment nor my body play any crucial role in my sleep deprivation. It is my mind. My regrets. I am suddenly just as undisciplined as Charlie.

  My sister sleeps soundly beside me, as if what she did today was entirely unremarkable. Short-sighted. Reckless. Brave. There is also the nagging vexation of not knowing where Calor and Avias are at the moment. Walked off together seventeen minutes and twenty-seven seconds ago. Only the light of the moon and stars to guide them back to camp.

  I know that Oleander isn’t asleep because I do not hear from him at all. Position unchanged. He must still be sitting next to the fire everyone sat around after dinner. Kor and Bo went directly to sleep after we ate; Kor from exhaustion and Bo still sulking over her alienation from the fight. Charlie and Oleander spoke briefly while I watched the flames dance around the burning wood, but I filtered out their conversation before I found my place in the sand and attempted to sleep. Failure. Whatever they were discussing wasn’t important. It is rare that anything of importance is spoken over dying embers. Jealousy.

  Nothing seemed to matter in the moments after my sister became a murderer, and I became the only one who considered it to be an issue. Oleander didn’t look pleased at her decision, but he said nothing on the matter. Everyone else seemed to feel the same way Charlie did. Better them than us.

  I calculated this possibility the moment we became aware of the true nature of our powers. Logical. It was only a matter of time before Charlie would be forced to use her power offensively, especially if it meant saving lives. Obvious. Boring.

  What Charlie has yet to understand is the effect her decision will have on our future. She only sees what is right in front of her. Improvidence. She only makes the choices that must be made now. I see beyond that. I see the choices she has now forced us to make in the future.

  While I miscalculated my strength and unintentionally ended a life, that error in judgment will never repeat itself. I am in full control, whereas my sister…

  Charlie stirs beside me, moaning inarticulately. It pleases me to know that she is not sleeping as peacefully she appears to be. Legs thrash violently; mind throbs painfully. I allow her to suffer another moment before I shake her awake. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven— I do not have the energy to put out a fire and help Charlie heal herself.

  Open mind: Charlie.

  Charlie. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.

  My sister jerks awake, nearly slamming her forehead into mine as she jolts upwards. Not the nightmare. I can never reach her mind there.

  “Wha-” Tirigan? I- Oh. “Thanks,” Charlie sighs and falls back to the backpack she is using for a pillow. “Sorry.”

  Close mind.

  I don’t answer. Nothing to say. Settling back onto my own backpack, I place my hands over my chest and, once again, try to sleep. Fruitlessly. Charlie tries to enter my mind. Deny her access. Petulance. I am unbothered.

  After a moment she gives up, rises from her sandy bed, and joins Oleander around the fire. Their conversation is close enough to overhear, but it does not interest me. Oleander sips leisurely from the bottle of Krasi he brought from home. He offers it to Charlie. She accepts. She drinks. She coughs. She laughs. Foolishly.

  Footsteps in the distance signal Avias and Calor’s return from their gallivant. Despite being closed, my eyes roll slightly.

  “You’re being unfair,” Calor says. Weakly. Speak up. “Please, Ave, I’m only trying to…”

  “I’m sorry, I just—” Avias stops. My eyelids lift of their own volition. The young men stand just beyond the fire, the flames flickering around their legs as if they are standing within them.

  “I can’t do this right now,” Avias finally finishes. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” The Aérasian moves around the fire and joins his father and sister in the sand by the vehicle, leaving Calor to look on after him. He lies down. Does not stir again.

  Avias’ mood nettles, tempting me to breech his mind and see what bothers him, but Calor’s movement towards Charlie and Oleander distracts me. He swipes the bottle of Krasi from Oleander’s grasp. Drinks insatiably. His gluttonous gulps grow rather impressive after a few moments.

  “You’re going to hate yourself when the sun rises, mate,” Oleander says kindly, once Calor sits beside him in the sand.

  Through the squint of my eyes, I see the large Gyan grin at the blonde boy, but Oleander’s smile does not reach his eyes. Trepidation. Concern. It seems to be physically impossible for Calor’s eyes to make it up to Oleander’s face, though they do continue to try.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Calor mumbles around another ridiculously long sip of alcohol. “I’m going to hate myself regardless.” The Fotián stares straight ahead, no longer attempting to make eye contact. He looks empty.

  I should be trying to sleep. In the event that I cannot fall asleep, I should be ignoring this conversation and thinking only of our plan for tomorrow. I shouldn’t be so distracted by this Fotián with an undisclosed drinking problem. However, Calor’s statement is loaded with information.

  Hating oneself is something I am unfamiliar with personally, but aware of on a physiological level. The human brain is a nest of potential abnormalities and complications; full of tiny particles that dictate how one will feel about any given circumstance. Neurotransmitters that control your mood, your responses, your life. It is possible to overwrite the body’s natural chemical responses through alternative methods of emotional processing, but few choose to explore such avenues. Apparently, it is far easier and more satisfying to wallow in one’s own depression. Humans are exceedingly tedious.

  To hear Calor emotionally succumb to that which is not out of his control does not soften me to him. It aggravates me further. If he is unhappy with who he is, why not change? Laziness. Fear. Incompetence. The brain is malleable; it is capable of taking orders. Simple chemistry. Mathematics. Problem, solution. Why must everyone be so emotional? Human error. So easily controlled? Slaves to their emotions. Don’t they see how vulnerable it makes them? Maybe that’s the point.

  My argument with myself pushes me back to my original problem. I’ve been floundering, trying to sleep, trying to understand why I can’t sleep, and the solution is obvious.

  I’m emotionally compromised.

  These people, our circumstances, my growing attachment, it’s all making it difficult for me to separate my feelings as I’ve always done. I’m no longer just interpreting and processing information. I care. I have a vested interest. Charlie’s decision to kill those Téssera wasn’t just shortsighted; it was heartbreaking. Avias and Calor’s relationship isn’t just distracting; it aches with irritation.

  I refuse to fall victim to the very issues t
hat plague those who are now going out of their way to comfort the brooding blonde boy. Charlie asks him to tell her what's wrong. Oleander puts his arm around Calor’s shoulders. Calor makes a sound that I can compare only to that of an infant feline. It’s grating. I turn over in a sweeping motion that I’m sure looks rather dramatic from Charlie’s perspective. As expected, my sister presses at my mind. I open it to her just enough to communicate.

  What?

  What’s with you?

  The weeping drunk hasn’t filled your emotional outreach quota for the evening?

  My emotional outreach—? Man, sometimes I really regret teaching you sarcasm.

  Cheers.

  Seriously, what’s wrong? You’re all huffy and—

  Huffy? Do you think that made it into the original Oxford dictionary? I feel her irritation rising. It satisfies me.

  Avias’ sass is really rubbing off on you, Tir. Why don’t you do us both a favor and just go to sleep.

  I was in the process of doing just that when I was interrupted by what I can only assume is some sort of dying animal.

  Close mind.

  My sister attempts to open communication again, but I keep my mind closed and my back to her. She eventually begins to comfort Calor again while Oleander hums something unintelligible. It’s repulsive.

  I won’t become them. I won’t allow my mind to grow hazy with the weight of everything I have so artfully filtered before. I don’t care that Calor is drunk and crying for any reason other than what it will mean for our travel time in the morning. Charlie killed people, but I am only concerned with what that will mean for future battles. I have no emotional investment in Avias’ happiness. I do not care. None of it is important. The mission is what matters. The mission is the only thing I care about. Guilt. Shame. Fea—Focus.

  The mission. Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John. Concentrate on the mission.

  Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John. Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John. Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John. Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John. Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John. Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John. Find Calla. Protect Charlie. Return to John.

  I sleep.

  Day Twenty-One: Charlie

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Two of Them Are Dead

  Later that night, when the house is quiet, aside from the soft hum of Oleander’s snores coming from upstairs, my mind races around the events of the day.

  They know. All of them. They all know the truth about us.

  After Kor left to contact the person he mentioned, everyone else bombarded Tirigan and me with questions about Anunnaki people and life in the southern hemisphere. We answered their questions as best we could, but living the way we have all our lives didn’t exactly make Tirigan and I experts on Anunnaki life. We did have plenty of books that let us in on how everyone else was living, but there are no television shows or movies that we could use to absorb Anunnaki life.

  The Anunnaki only perform on stages, considering it crude to film and replicate a performance. That doesn’t mean they don’t consume old human television and films heartily, of course. Anunnaki people restored everything the humans put inside their underground capsules. There are regular film festivals, every transportation vehicle has televisions that run various shows from human history, and, of course, most homes have virtual systems that allow Anunnaki to experience human media in three dimensions. My family had a system with four units that could all sync together, that way we could all watch the same thing, but Tirigan never liked wearing the headsets. John scavenged a refurbished television set at some point, and it became an unwritten rule that we would only watch movies that way.

  Everything I’ve learned about Anunnaki history and customs has come from my father and Anunnaki literature, a necessity I used to find extremely irritating but have now come to understand. Our parents kept us away from Anunnaki society for good reasons. They didn’t have to lie to us about it all of our lives, but they were right to keep us away.

  Our friends were very surprised to learn how well-versed Tirigan and I are in human culture. When we explained to them the full extent of Anunnaki life on Earth, from beginning to now, they were struck speechless. I can relate.

  I know what it’s like to realize you don’t have a clue about anything. That feeling hasn’t stopped since we found out the truth about who we are. Not only do we defy the norm in more ways than one, there’s also a mysterious aspect to our power that we haven’t fully realized yet.

  I’m going to ask Vi about it, but I haven’t read anything about elemental power manifesting while sleeping, and I still haven’t figured out how that knife landed in Tirigan’s gut. The more I think about my brother’s injury, the harder it is to deny that I’m the only one who could have done it.

  Which leads to one question: how?

  I certainly didn’t mean to hurt my brother directly, but I was looking for a way to keep us together. That injury ensured my goal was met.

  Did my will to stay with Tirigan move the knife for me? Is it possible we could have the power to make our will done, without even knowing it?

  Something about how easy it was to find Kor still really bothers me. How is it that the first person we speak to at the festival happens to be his wife? And then the first friends we make are his children? Was that a coincidence or was it because I willed it to happen? Could it—

  Would you please go to sleep, Charlie? We have a very busy day ahead of us and your incessant fretting is difficult to sleep through. Tirigan’s voice in my head interrupts my thoughts.

  I don’t know if I’m grateful or aggravated, but I turn over towards him and let out an exaggerated sigh anyway. I allow his connection to my mind but stop short of giving him access to my own thoughts. I’m not confident in my ability to keep certain things hidden from him right now. I’m too emotionally exhausted and not up to my full mental strength.

  “How do you even know what I’m thinking about?”

  I wasn’t listening to your thoughts, Charlie. I can feel your anxiety. It is rather distracting.

  “You can keep my emotions out too, Tirigan.” It bothers me that he can read my emotions right now, considering how I thought my mind was completely closed to him. If our telepathy continues to grow like this, I’ll have to invest some time in strengthening my defenses.

  Tirigan sighs and turns so that he is facing me instead of the wall. Yes, I can. That doesn’t stop me from being concerned.

  “Concerned? About my anxiety?”

  Why do you insist on being purposefully obtuse? Yes. I am concerned about you. It is not a novel concept. Tirigan shifts to his back in his bed and stares up at the ceiling. What are you thinking about?

  I pause a moment before answering. I’m not ready to talk about my ideas concerning our powers and what we might be capable of. I need a little more time to figure things out on my own. Now would probably be a good time to apologize again for my behavior the other day. I decide to start with that.

  “What I said to you before,” I start slowly, feeling the blush rise to my face. “I’m really sorry, Tirigan. I shouldn’t have… I didn’t mean it the way I said it.”

  Yes you did. He doesn’t sound angry, so I allow myself a second to think before responding to him.

  It’s true. I did mean what I said. Tirigan’s emotional dysfunction isn’t a secret, but it doesn’t need to be thrown in his face either.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I did,” I confess. “I still shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

  It frustrates you.

  “What?”

  My clarity.

  I roll my eyes, but nod in the darkness. “Something like that.”

  I understand.

  “That’s good,” I reply. “I’m still sorry, though.”

  I forgive you.

  “Thank you.”

  There are a few moments of silence between us, and then Tirigan’s thoughts are in my
head again. That’s not all you were thinking about.

  “Um,” I stall, thinking about whether or not I want to talk about Tirigan’s injury with him. “No, that’s not all.” Tirigan doesn’t reply. He simply waits, trusting me to elaborate at some point. “I was thinking about the knife… Your injury.”

  Tirigan’s mind shuts abruptly.

  “Why?” he asks aloud, his voice rough from disuse.

  It doesn’t escape my attention that my brother has suddenly denied me access to his mind, but I don’t comment on it. I’m interested in whatever it is he doesn’t want me to hear, but if I’m going to keep him out, he has every right to do the same.

  “Because we still don’t know what happened,” I reply.

  “It was an accident,” Tirigan says smoothly, turning over to face the wall. “What is there to be concerned about?”

  Scowling, I rise to my elbows to look over at Tirigan. “Are you telling me that you, of all people, are willing to just shrug your shoulders at the whole thing?”

  “It would be difficult to shrug my shoulders in this position,” Tirigan mumbles.

  “Oh, shut up,” I groan, flopping to my back again. “Come on, an accident? Who did it then? How did they do it?”

  “Probably a scared bystander,” Tirigan says through a yawn. “A child perhaps.”

  “A kid? You think a kid—”

  “Charlie,” Tirigan interrupts, turning over just enough to look at me. “I am too tired to soothe your neurosis. I’m fine. Let it go.”

  “My neurosis?” I balk, eyes wide. “You’re the one—”

  “I am going to sleep now,” Tirigan cuts me off again. He waves his hand in my direction and suddenly the irritated words coming from my mouth are silenced. My throat vibrates as if I’m speaking, but I can’t hear anything. It’s as if the air around me is sound proof.