Ourselves

by S. G. Redling

  The shower shut off and Adlai smiled at Stell’s coos of delight at the swirling patterns of steam that flitted before her enhanced eyes. Stell was different. She was fierce but not hard, dangerous but not vicious. No doubt it was a moot point to the common she killed but there was a kind of joy in her slaughter. When she stared at him with those pale eyes he could feel a part of himself unwind in the smallest way and when he couldn’t sleep, he sometimes let his mind wander down the path of an impossibility.

  The bathroom door swung open and Stell stepped out naked, toweling her long hair dry. There were no lights on in the room, both of them able to see in the darkness after their kills, and the wisps of steam dressed Stell in a phantom robe of glitter. Adlai sat up on the bed and watched as her every move made the air around her dance. She dropped the towel on the floor and climbed onto the bed on top of him.

  Passing headlights on the highway illuminated her body for a heartbeat, leaving a brilliant burn of her image on his sensitive eyes. Stell straddled Adlai, her bare skin hot against his, and pressed her mouth against the pulse in his throat. Adlai breathed her in, every fiber of his being wanting to take her. He grabbed her under the arms and flipped her beneath him, pinning her wrists above her head. She moved beneath him like a python, the free parts of her body rising and seething against him.

  “We can’t do this.”

  She giggled, thinking he was teasing her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, preventing him from pulling away. He pressed down harder on her hands.

  “I’m serious, Stell. I have to tell you something. About my best friend.”

  “Now?”

  He nodded. “Right now, before I ruin my last chance.”

  By the time he finished telling Stell the story of Shelan and his breakdown, Stell was pacing the room in a fury. She threw her boots, the remote control, the duffel bag; anything she could get her hands on was hurled in a rage. She turned on Adlai, her black pupils enormous.

  “You knew they were doing this to Tomas and you didn’t tell me?”

  “There’s nothing you can do.”

  “Like hell. I’ll kill every one of those bastards with my—”

  “With your what?” Adlai grabbed her arms and pinned them to her side. “With your bare hands? What are you going to do, Stell? March in there and start busting heads?”

  “I’ll do something!”

  “And you’ll get killed and then you’ll both be fucked. Use your head.” He loosened his grip. “Listen to me. The Council is like the common. Never underestimate them especially when they’re threatened. Right now the only thing tighter than security in that complex is Vartan’s ass. You go in screaming and you and your boyfriend will be ‘disappeared’ just like that.”

  Stell pulled away from him. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because you may be able to help me find Shelan.”

  “How?”

  Adlai rubbed his hands over his face. “I hope nothing happens to your Tomas. I really do. I wouldn’t wish that on anybody. But if it does, if they take him away, they’ll probably take him where they took Shelan.” Stell moaned and turned away but he pulled her back to him. “Listen to me, Stell. It’s the only way I know to find him. You told me you and Tomas have a bond, that you can call to each other. You said you used to do it on your mountain, that you would know when he was coming for you. That bond has to have gotten stronger, right? After all the blood you’ve shared? If they took him somewhere, you would be able to find him, right? And if you could, we could free them both.”

  Stell dropped onto the edge of the bed and put her head between her knees. She was having trouble breathing. The thought of Tomas being injured or destroyed by the Storytellers was too horrible for her to absorb. Adlai settled down beside her, his arm around her shoulder.

  “That’s why we can’t be together. I can’t take a chance that anything could cloud the bond you two have.”

  Stell looked up at him in misery. “We’re going back. Right now.”

  He smelled sandalwood. Peeling open one eye, Tomas tried to focus. Shimmering jewel-toned shapes hovered before him at a distance he couldn’t judge. He peeled open his other eye and tried to make sense of them but the shapes remained indistinct. He turned his head and a razor blade of pain sliced through his muscles. He was lying on the floor, candlelight flickering off copper medallions on the walls. He was in a meditation room. Dalle’s meditation room. Dalle loved copper.

  He experimented moving his body, his muscles and joints arguing with every motion. His fingers dug into the plush Oriental rug as he struggled to pull his mind into the moment. There was a flat, gray stone between him and his thoughts, and all he could do was peek around the edges trying to remember how he had gotten here. The effort was enormous and the softness of the rug enticed him to drift away.

  “Why don’t you try to sit up?”

  Tomas closed his eyes.

  “You might want to eat something.”

  Large hands slipped behind his head and neck and lifted him into a sitting position. Tomas didn’t resist, nor did he help. He allowed himself to be placed upright and breathed deeply into the pain that cascaded along his spine. Dalle settled cross-legged in front of him, holding out a bowl of a creamy liquid. Tomas looked at the offering in disbelief.

  “It’s just soup, really.” Dalle took a drink from one side of the bowl and held it out again. “See? Just potato soup. It will help with your throat. And your stomach.”

  When Tomas didn’t move, Dalle leaned forward, holding the bowl to his lips.

  “Drink.”

  The flat, gray stone that had blocked his thoughts slipped.

  “Get your hands off me.”

  Rage rose from the base of his spine, erupting throughout his body, a refreshing change from the fear and bewilderment that had suffocated him.

  “Eat. Then you can fight me.”

  A buzz of blood and anger rang in Tomas’s ears.

  “Trust me. You’re in no condition to fight me or anyone. Eat your soup.” He held the bowl out again. “You’ll have your chance. You’ll have your say.”

  “Is the soup drugged too? Like you would tell me.”

  “I would tell you.”

  Tomas took the bowl. His hands shook so badly the ceramic clinked against his front teeth. He managed to swallow, grimacing at the shredded feeling of his throat.

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  Tomas shook his head.

  “Tell me. We need to talk about it. Where did you go?”

  “Nowhere.”

  Dalle took the bowl and set it aside. He pressed Tomas’s palms together, wrapping his hands around them and squeezing. “I know you’re angry. You hurt and you’re confused but this is not an insignificant thing that has happened, Desara. I didn’t send you to that place lightly. That place where you went, that is your place in the world of Ourselves.”

  The warmth of Dalle’s hands flooded Tomas. He stared down at the rough knuckles and blunt, chewed fingernails, wondering how something so warm and comforting could be so dangerous. He wondered why this had never occurred to him before. He raised his eyes to Dalle’s face and his breath caught.

  “Why are you blue?”

  “What?” His mentor’s eyes widened.

  “Shit.” Tomas pulled his hands away to cover his face. “Did you drug me again?”

  Dalle pulled Tomas’s hands down and held his chin, forcing the younger man to look at him. Dalle was smiling. “Am I blue?”

  Tomas looked around the room, trying to find the source of the blue light hovering over Dalle’s face. His mentor laughed.

  “It’s not a trick, Desara. It’s a gift. It’s a result of the poison. Sometimes we can see thoughts and emotions as colors, as auras. Does it frighten you?”

  Tomas shook his head, watching the color shimmer over Dalle’s face. “It’s kind of beautiful. Will I see it all the time? On everyone?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Gifts like this come and
go. You’re only just now unlocking your gifts. There’s so much we need to do. Where were you? Where did you go?”

  The soup soured in his stomach. “Nowhere. I was nowhere. It was so cold. And the darkness was thick and sticky like—What?” He stopped when he looked at Dalle. The blue was gone, replaced by blotchy orange and yellow. “You’re worried.” The colors vanished. “And now you’re hiding it. You’re hiding your colors. Why?”

  “I’m shielding them for now,” Dalle said. “I’ll teach you how to do that too. I just think that right now they’ll distract you while you’re trying to sort this all out.”

  “But you are worried about me.” Tomas studied Dalle’s face. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? Something is wrong with me.”

  “No.” Dalle put his hands on either side of Tomas’s face, leaning in close. “There is nothing wrong with you. You called out the Vint and you are here in one piece. Everything else we can work to make right.”

  “The Vint, that’s what I saw, right? The snakes?” His throat closed at the memory. “Will I see that all the time?”

  “No, no, no.” Dalle rushed to reassure him, wiping a tear from his cheek. “I promise you. You’ll learn; I’ll teach you. You’ll have a choice. You’ll learn to control what you see, how it affects you.”

  “What happened to her?” Tomas asked. “Rebecca?” When Dalle said nothing, Tomas raised his voice. “Remember her? The common girl you kidnapped and hung from a hook? She has a daughter, you know? She was afraid and hurt and you just hung her there like a toy to be thrown away when you’re done with it.”

  “She has not been thrown away. She will be given the opportunity at a new life, to become a member of the Kott in exchange for the service she provided us.”

  “And what if she says no? You kill her?”

  “She will be strongly encouraged to never mention the incident and certain safeguards will be put in place to ensure her silence.”

  Tomas shook his head. “What a bunch of bullshit.”

  Dalle gripped Tomas’s wrists tight. “And what would you recommend? How do you think this works, Desara? You think your pretty face and good table manners are enough? We have hard decisions to make every day.”

  Tomas tried to pull away but Dalle wouldn’t let go. “She has a right to live.”

  “So do we. Listen to me very carefully.” He jerked Tomas closer. “This is what we do—me, Lucien, Vet, Albion. There are fewer than a hundred Storytellers alive at any given time and we have to make the decisions that our people can’t or won’t make. We carry the burden. That’s why we have to train so hard. That’s why we have to be strong. To carry the burden.”

  Tomas closed his eyes, the memory of his vision seeping in. “Like Hess. Hess didn’t want to carry the—ow!”

  Dalle had thrown his hands down. Tomas’s wrists ached where they’d been gripped but that wasn’t what Tomas felt. He felt space, absence.

  He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d become to the feel of Dalle around him. Through his training and meditation, his mentor had turned him inside out, had prodded and rebuilt every inch of him in a way he could never explain.

  Now Dalle pulled away. The sensation frightened Tomas.

  “Who is Hess?”

  “Where did you hear that name?”

  “I met him in my dream. He pulled bees from his throat and told me to take them. Who is he? Is he real?” Dalle said nothing. Tomas reached for his hands, needing the contact. “Tell me. Stop masking your colors so I know you’re telling me the truth. Dalle, you owe me that.”

  Dalle met his angry stare with a look Tomas couldn’t read. “Take your hands off of me. I owe you nothing.”

  “Dalle?”

  “He was an apprentice. Before you. He couldn’t handle it.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Dalle scowled at Tomas. “I need to think.”

  Before Tomas could react, Dalle pressed two fingers between Tomas’s eyebrows, pushing him back onto the carpet, dropping him back into a dreamless sleep.

  Tomas came to with a start. He felt better than he had the last time he’d woken up but somehow he felt even more tired. Dalle was gone and Tomas couldn’t find the strength to think about that or anything else. He wanted to drift.

  Tomas watched candlelight play across the textured ceiling until one dark spot caught his eye. At first he thought it was a shadow from the swirled stucco but its darkness didn’t follow the lines of the moving light. The darkness moved on its own in small, pulsing waves, like the shadow of wings flapping. Tomas squinted trying to make out what he was seeing and realized the spot was growing, the shadow lengthening. Everything in the room disappeared for him except that growing darkness.

  The shadow constricted, then pulsed, then blossomed across the ceiling like a cloud.

  Bees. A cloud of bees, a silent swarm floated just below the ceiling, bumping and gathering along the ridges of stucco. Tiny black bodies, silent despite their number, floated above him, the cloud of their swarm opening and closing like a hand reaching for his hair. Tomas, transfixed, was rising up on his elbows to greet the interloper when angry voices could be heard in the hallway.

  “You can’t go in there!”

  He heard a scuffle and a growl of obscenities and then Stell burst through the door. She threw herself on the ground beside him, holding his face in her hands.

  “Tomas, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Tomas nodded, bewildered at the sudden rush of cold air and exhaust fumes that clung to her heavy woolen clothes. She pulled him close to her body, burying his face in her neck. “I thought they had killed you or taken you away from me.” Tomas pushed himself more deeply against her skin, murmuring reassurances into her hair.

  “You cannot be in here!” Sylva screamed from the doorway. “You can’t storm in here and disrupt our meditation. This is a room of peace, of calm, not violence and blood. This room is for silence and—”

  “Then why don’t you be quiet?” Stell hissed, clutching Tomas close. This struck Tomas as funny and he laughed out loud. He saw Dalle and Lucien crowd the doorway with Sylva. Everyone looked tense.

  “Desara, I know your girl is worried about you.”

  Tomas tilted his head. “She has a name.”

  Dalle nodded and began again. “I apologize for that. Stell, I know you have been worried about Desara and you have every right to be. This is a difficult path he has chosen and there are many profound challenges before him, before us all.”

  “Oh, shut up.” Stell stroked Tomas’s hair and kissed the top of his head. “All this talking. Let’s get out of here.”

  Lucien joined Dalle and Sylva in protest, shouting over each other why Tomas couldn’t leave the complex.

  “Give us five minutes, please.”

  Sylva held firm. “I’m not closing this door.”

  Tomas laughed again, the tension and posturing around him striking him as absurd and surreal. “I promise we won’t rush the door.” He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at the luminous face above him, the crowd at the door forgotten.

  Stell examined his face in dismay. She picked carefully at his hair, pulling it back from the bloody gash on his hairline. He smiled up at her.

  “What did they do to you?” She whispered.

  “It’s not important now.” The smell of her breath relaxed him more than any incense he had breathed in this room. He reached up to touch her cheek. “I’m okay, Stell. It’s poison. It’s got to work its way out of my system.”

  Stell’s expression told him all he needed to know about her opinion of the poison. She pulled Tomas to her chest and slipped in behind him, like they were boarding a bobsled. She pushed up the sleeve of her sweater and put the crook of her elbow before his face. With her other hand, she pulled out a knife.

  “Open it. You need to feed.”

  “You can’t do that!” Dalle gripped the doorframe. “Desara, stop! Put the knife down.”

  “He’s hurt. He’s not healing,” S
tell said. “He needs blood to heal.”

  “He’s not hurt. He’ll heal.” Dalle entered the room, his hands out, palms up in surrender. “Listen to me, Desara. You do not want to feed right now, not while the poison is in your system. There is so much we need to do still.”

  Tomas looked from him to Lucien and Sylva, whose faces were shining with oranges and yellows, the colors of anxiety. Dalle’s face remained clear.

  “Remember what you told me the first time we fed on Calstow Mountain?” Stell whispered into his hair, her lips brushing the sticky wound on his forehead. “You told me ‘this is Nahan. This is natural.’ I believed you then. Believe me now. Drink.”

  Dalle was blocking the colors. He was hiding something.

  Tomas stared at Dalle. “Show me your colors.”

  “If you drink right now you will negate all the poison,” Dalle said. “You will never have another chance to see within yourself like this again.”

  Tomas opened Stell’s knife. “You mean you’ll never have another chance.”

  Dalle slapped his hands to his face as Tomas cut into the tender skin of Stell’s arm and began to feed. He settled back into her warm body, his eyes half closed. His vision drifted toward the ceiling and for just a moment he wondered where the bees had gone.

  Dalle had never felt such utter exhaustion. Even his own induction had not left him as battered and hollowed as the last two days. He lay back on Sylva’s office couch as she and the other Storytellers settled in around the room.

  Sylva cracked her knuckles. “So, Desara’s left the complex to go see his family. After feeding on his girlfriend, we can assume the effects of the vision poison will be wearing off very quickly. We don’t know much about what he saw or if he is aware of any new gifts he’s uncovered or if he really understands what happened at all.”