I fly lower, staring at the two fragmented boats bobbing amid a wash of debris like broken bath toys. Yet my concern seems to be the girl floating there. It’s a small miracle she’s still floating on the surface on her back with her long hair drifting in the water like seaweed. Her arms are bent at her sides, and she looks more like a mermaid than a girl.
I’m about twenty feet away when I see her face, so plain that it stops me in mid-flight. Her dark skin glistens, and a silver bracelet adorns one wrist, glimmering in the light. I don’t know what it is about this girl, the one from my dreams, but the sight of her leaves me hovering there, trying to make sense of things that should not be muddled. I am an angel. I carry souls. Hers is calling to me.
That’s when I force myself to start flying again. There is no one around as I slowly dip into the water beside her. My body is shaking despite the fact that the water is warm. I shouldn’t feel the temperature at all which is strange. It’s like the nearer our bodies get, the more this human radiates warmth.
A gash across her forehead oozes blood that seeps into the water, the red diffusing in the murk.
For a moment, I just float there because it’s like my mind has gone completely blank beneath the weight of staring at her. The act of sojourning, something I have been doing for so many years, now seems beyond me, even though I feel her soul calling to me. I’m at a loss as to how to act. Didn’t Celia say Elizabeth had been relegated to someone else? That doesn’t make sense. Why do I feel her beacon so strongly? Usually, we only feel those in our circle of care.
It doesn’t matter, I think. It has to be done one way or another, and I’m already here. I reach for the hand that drifts in the water, and the silver bracelet wrapping her wrist catches my eye. It has a single word inscribed on it. Hesed.
My hand drops away. The world turns to details: the brown of her skin under the bright sunlight. The gleam of black hair. Her full lips open as she struggles to breathe. Her body drifting in the water. This is Elizabeth. She is silent, her body broken, but I would know her anywhere. The questions are how and why it matters? And why, deep down, do I feel as though I’m going to cry.
The mystery of what has happened is tied up in these images which trouble me more than the broken boat and driftwood.
Her long, dark eyelashes flutter, and I realize she is coming around. Her eyes slowly blink and open, allowing me to float in mocha brown eyes with flecks of honey. For just a second, there is a moment of confusion on her face, which isn’t really so unusual, considering what we are and what we do. It’s when that confusion slowly shifts to a smile that I really get nervous because I don’t know what is going on.
“Lev?” Her voice is the same as in the dream—freighted with hope. It wraps around my name like there is no other way to say it, and without her voice, it would be so common and useless.
“There’s no need to be frightened,” I tell her. Yet somehow I am beginning to think I am the frightened one. I should sense a swirl of conflicting emotions in her, but instead, I only feel peace radiating from within her, which does not make sense.
“Is it really you?” she whispers, her hand reaching for my face. Blood trickles from her forehead into her eyes, and just the sight of it turns my stomach, another clue that something is completely wrong. Blood has never affected me. Never. Yet seeing her like this causes a racing feeling inside.
Lev? Where are you? Celia’s voice. While she isn’t panicking externally, I can feel an urgency within her as though I am a child she has lost track of.
I’m with the other one, I think.
The girl, Elizabeth, reaches out and touches my face. Yes, I could shimmer away into water and air, but for some reason I don’t want to do that. I sense that it’s important she see me. I know it would frighten her, and that’s the last thing I want to do. So I remain solid and let her fingers gently touch my skin.
What other? Celia asks.
In the other boat. There is a girl here who also needs to be sojourned. I clench my jaw, wondering why she believes I have become an imbecile. It’s one thing to think that I need watching over, galling as that is. It’s quite another to have people second-guessing my every move.
Do nothing. I am coming.
I can handle this, Cee. My body bristles with anger and frustration. I’m so tired of being labeled an invalid.
Yet as the girl strokes my face and tears pool in her eyes, I start to realize I can handle everything but this. With her, I feel a great rush of emotions swirling through me, emotions with no place and no reason. Or none that I remember.
I gently grab her hand. “You must stop.”
“No,” she says, her voice thick with desperation and tears. “I have been waiting for you, Lev Walker—waiting, and you didn’t come. You just left me.”
Her body is shaking. I can’t address her words. I don’t know what she means or why she thinks she knows me. I can only do my task, the one Celia seems to think I can’t manage. I stare at her head, evaluating the wound. It’s bleeding, but I don’t sense the beacon radiating from it. I search deeper, trying to find the wound that acts like a glowing light in my mind, but while I sense a few smaller wounds, there is no place within her that should radiate within my attention except….
I take a deep breath and raise my hand. I expect she will fight me, but she just stares, her gaze not quite focused, probably due to the bump to the head. Although I know I should listen to Celia, I gently lower my hand to the area just below her throat because that is where the distress comes from. The moment my hand touches her, I feel it—so hot, it burns my hand with her pain. Even as the waves roll over me, I realize it’s not physical. There is no wound to the body. That isn’t what is broken. Feeling what is broken, her spirit, cuts through me, and it’s all I can do to break contact.
The feel of her emotional turmoil leaves me drained, and her pain radiates through me as if it were my own. What is going on? I slump forward, feeling my body weakening.
“Is that why you’ve come, to carry my soul?” she whispers, the tears now flowing down her face. She tries to take my hand, but I back away, still reeling.
In that moment, Celia touches into the water. Her soul isn’t ready to be carried, Lev.
But the beacon! I insist.
There is more to this story. What you feel isn’t a beacon, at least not one to be answered. Celia looks from me to the girl and back again. The girl, however, refuses to look away from me, as if she is afraid I will vanish.
You must conceal yourself, Lev. And do not reappear, no matter what she says. It’s important.
I give the girl one last look. The agony on her face is palpable, and I find myself wanting to reassure her, but Celia has inserted her body between us, trying to cut off contact.
“Please, if that’s what I must do to be with you, then go ahead. I won’t fight you.” She reaches for me but can’t touch me.
Lev, vanish now! Celia demands, glaring at me.
So I shut my eyes and force myself to fade from the girl’s eyes. As I disappear, there is an immediate reaction. She begins searching the water, her body splashing in frantic movements.
“Lev? Are you here?”
Her arms flap like unwieldy branches, and I see her glazed eyes. Fatigue—and blood.
“Lev!” she screams again, launching herself through the water in my direction. I skim backwards easily enough, almost like the game I’ve watched human children play—Marco Polo. Except her eyes are open and this is anything but a game. I feel that draw toward her getting stronger by the moment, and I don’t understand. If it’s not a beacon, then what is it? And why does it only seem to hurt more and more?
“Lizzie!” Another voice, this one male, calls for the girl as he swims toward her. His reddish-blonde hair is soaked, and I recognize him as the driver of the boat that was struck. He appears less damaged than the girl and reaches her quickly, his hands grasping her shoulders.
“Let me go!” she screams and tries to break free. The
effort causes her head to go below the surface. All I see is a flash of two bodies struggling in the water.
Celia’s expression suddenly caves into the pain she sees on the man’s face, and she bobs under the water. I follow her lead and see that she bolsters the girl upwards to make sure she takes in enough air.
Why is Celia helping a mortal? I wonder. She’s a sojourner. She carries the souls of the dead. Why bother with the living at all?
What are you doing? I ask her.
Saving her life, she answers, making sure the girl stays afloat.
Why does it matter? I watch as the man latches onto her and draws her into a lifeguard’s position, his arm firmly wrapped around her midsection as he starts to swim with her toward the shore. Celia’s head pops above water.
In that instant, Celia really looks at me, her expression one of utter confoundedness. Her mouth has dropped open, and her eyes are wide. In short, I don’t think she can focus enough to answer my questions. She peers at me like I should already know the answers, and for a moment I’m thinking this will force her to let me in on the big secret, but she never gets the chance. “I wish I could tell you,” she finally says.
Elizabeth starts thrashing wildly, trying to get free. The man grabs her tighter. His face is familiar just like Elizabeth’s but I can’t place it either. Yet, I feel like I know both of them, that I once had a place in this world among them. That can’t possibly be.
“Let me go!” she yells. “I have to find him! He’s here. I’ve seen him!” She’s trying to lunge away, and if she isn’t careful, she’s going to strike her head on the splintered debris bobbing in the water. Several jagged slices of boat fragments float dangerously near.
“Lizzie, stop it!” I can tell by his tight expression it’s taking everything he has to rein her in, but her will is stronger.
This isn’t supposed to happen, Celia tells me over the girl’s violent screams. At that moment, she thrashes hard to the left, throwing the man against a jagged piece of wreckage. His mouth opens in shock before he passes out, his arms releasing her completely.
Lev, listen to me. You have to calm her down. Be kind. I don’t care that you don’t much like for humans. This is important. She’s important, and if you don’t help her, you will regret it.
There’s that word again, I think. Regret.
She doesn’t wait for my answer. Instead, she slips once again into the dark depths, leaving me with Elizabeth, who now flails wildly, as though her body has forgotten how to swim. She, too, is sinking fast. While I do not believe Celia’s talk of regret, I don’t have anything else to do, so I force myself to dive after the girl. By the time I find her, she’s gasping for air and sucking in water instead. Her time is limited if I don’t get her back to the surface.
Her eyes widen as again she sees me, her hands frantically grasping for me. Calm yourself, I think, knowing she will hear my words. Yet that does little to stop her frantic motions. Her eyes blink slightly, and I can feel her giving in to the water and hurl both of us to the surface where to my dismay I realize she isn’t breathing. The shore isn’t far, and I can see Celia already dragging the man that way. She’s just about reached the seam where water and earth meet.
Unsure what else to do, I force myself to swim quickly and tow her limp body toward the shore. Even at angel speed, it seems to take forever to get her out of the water. I lay her in the damp sand and quickly push the long hair from her face to see if she is breathing. While part of me wonders why I’m doing this, saving this girl, part of me feels how right it is, and that’s a first. She shouldn’t matter.
But she does.
Her arms splay uselessly at her sides, and I quickly begin giving her CPR, trying to expel the water from her lungs. In my peripheral vision, I see Celia has succeeded in her task: the man is sitting up despite her intention to keep him on the ground.
“Lizzie?” He scans the area, and the sunlight burns amid the fresh blood on his head. I’m in the middle of a set of compressions when he spots her.
“You need to lie down,” Celia tells him. “There’s nothing you can do for your daughter like this.”
That doesn’t stop him from struggling to get upright. Celia sets her hand atop his chest and whispers, “Calm down, sir. Please.”
He struggles to get from under her, but the pain in his head must be kicking in as he starts to fall. Celia is right there to catch him. As I watch her tend to him, I lean over and breathe for the girl, wondering if she will pull through this. The moment my lips touch hers, I feel a familiarity, as though we have been this way before, many times. I lose myself in her nearness, and I struggle to remember to breathe for her; it takes everything I have to pull back and start the compressions again.
This isn’t right. She’s human. I’m not.
I find myself lost in her expression. I can sense the warmth of it. It makes me think I have seen her smile many times, and I find myself unable to concentrate. I complete another set of compressions and lean over to breathe for her.
My mouth fills her body with air, and I whisper, “Breathe, Elizabeth. Breathe.” Had I not been around so many humans, I would scarcely have recognized the emotions in my voice—desperation, fear, longing. I feel myself drawn toward her, and now, sitting so close, I can feel Celia is right. Whatever beckons me to her has nothing to do with being a sojourner, and everything to do with a connection of the most sacred sort—a covenant.
I try to understand why I would give her any promises and why she should matter, but why is of no consequence. The only important thing is seeing her coughing up water and breathing on her own. As I thought, she has taken in much water, and I’m afraid if I leave her on her own, she’ll choke, so I gently turn her onto her side and lightly pat her back between her shoulder blades. Both hands instinctively grip my forearm, and she shivers, suddenly cold in the middle of a very warm summer. Her teeth chatter noisily, and I close my eyes, shielding her with a bit of warmth. Once, I wouldn’t have let a human get so close, but this time, I manage not to react.
“Lev,” she says, and Celia looks up at me worriedly as I hear the first strains of sirens cut through the silent world.
We must go, Celia says in my mind. These two will be well looked after.
All right, I think. Let me detangle myself.
“You’re going to be fine,” I whisper and lean forward. Before I know what I am doing, I kiss her forehead. “Now sleep.”
As she senses me pulling away, she tries to fight, but she is weak and tired. “No,” she says, her fingers trying to hold on even tighter, but her grip is no match for mine. “Please don’t leave.” Tears pool in her eyes. “Please!”
I tug harder at her fatigue, unable to leave her struggling as she is. Her eyes grow heavier until, at last, they close. Two EMTs head this way, and I look at Celia and nod toward the sky. Seconds later, we both head back from the Lower Realm, but I feel so much heavier, more encumbered. Whatever connection I have with Elizabeth, it troubles me. I sense the fine tuning of her balance is off, and I don’t know why or even how to fix it for her. Or why I should. Still, I sense somehow that failure in precision has something to do with me.
Yet another mystery.
I keep finding myself thinking about Elizabeth lying on that ground, waiting for the EMTs to take her away. I still see her face, her long eyelashes touching her cheeks just below the eyes; she doesn’t look healthy. Closing my eyes, I remember my name tangled in her voice, and I can’t deny the brokenness of the sound. It seems like I have done her some kind of irreversible damage. And yet I remember nothing at all.
How can that be? How could Evan have wiped everything away so completely? That question makes me burn with fury; I have no possessions, nothing to lose except my memory, which has now been stolen. I can feel Celia watching me, and I wish I knew what she was watching for and why. But then Evan has told her to keep quiet. Dutiful, dutiful Celia.
It’s then the pain seizes my chest and stills my flight. I dip mom
entarily, but she is there, her hands ready to catch me.
“Lev, are you all right?”
Why should she care? Is this my torment—torment for a mistake I can’t remember? Perhaps she should let me fall.
I nod slowly, wishing I could hold onto this fury. It’s easier than feeling the mysterious ache and all these feelings I don’t understand which should have no place in my existence. Yet for the moment, I am grateful to Celia for her help, and by the time we have made it back, I am sweating profusely. My shirt clings to my body, and I stagger to the ground, grateful to lie there and wait for the blackness. The darkness. Perhaps that, too, has already come.
Of course, Celia must believe that I sleep, because when Evan joins her, I hear them converse in low tones again. This time, I am not so near the edge of sleep.
“It was a disaster,” she says. “I thought we would be safe in a different state, but of all the people who had to be involved in that wreck, he found Elizabeth.” Her tone is worried.
“Their spirits are bound by a covenant, Celia. No matter how much we fight to keep them apart, even for the greater good, we are fighting a battle that we may not be able to win.”
I open my eyes slightly and watch as they stand together. Celia chews her bottom lip. It would appear she does not know what to do. “It wasn’t just that. It was the callous demeanor he had toward Elizabeth. It crushed me to see it, and I ached for her. He mistook the covenant for the call to carry her soul, and had I not arrived back in time, he might have actually done it.” She looks down despondently. “It breaks my heart, Evan.”
Frowning, Evan quickly draws her into his embrace and rocks her. Even from here, I can feel the growing turmoil and fear inside of her.
“I know. Who would have thought one such as Lev could ever have learned such compassion and love only for it to end like this?” He rests his chin atop her head.
Covenant (Sojourner Book 2) Page 2
