Covenant (Sojourner Book 2)

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  “But does it not seem strange that in all the sojourns I could have taken Lev on during his first trip back to the Lower Realm that it should be one where Elizabeth finds him? What are the odds, Evan, and why now? Why re-break his heart?” She pulls back and peers at him, searching for answers.

  “I don’t know. Did he seem to recognize her at all?”

  She shakes her head. “Not that I’m aware. Then again, we both know there is only so much of Lev that shows. What he feels, he keeps buried.”

  Evan turns toward me, and I close my eyes, hoping he hasn’t spotted my ruse. “All we can do is try, Celia.”

  “But what happens when he remembers? And he will, Evan. We both know that.”

  Evan steps nearer. I can feel him lingering by me, acting more like a human father than ever—a ludicrous thought, under the circumstances. Or not. But, then, Evan is an angel. What does he know about being a father? What do I know? This is madness, all of it. The truth can’t be hidden. So why try? So human, this new Evan. So….weak. Perhaps Evan has spent too much time in the Lower Realm. But then again, so, too, it seems, have I.

  Evan clears his throat. “We’ll have to cross that bridge when it comes, Celia.”

  Chapter Four

  I don’t know whether it is hours or minutes later when I stir from a nightmare. Nor do I remember exactly what it is about, only that the girl is in it. Sweat dapples my body, and I sit up, trying to push the dream away; whatever it might have been about, I don’t want to know.

  The world is dark, and I slough away the confusion of the dream and force myself to get up. The dream has left me restless, and I know I should just let it drift from my thoughts, but I can’t. Elizabeth is ever there, waiting…for me, and I don’t even know why. She isn’t supposed to know I exist, and if she does know, she should be afraid of me.

  But she isn’t. And whatever it is I don’t remember, she is the key to everything. Until I understand that, I’m groundless and grounded. No one will tell me anything. Still, the truth often lies in the unsaid. Words, all too often, confound it.

  For a moment, I stand there, trying to figure out what to do next. The ocean shimmers in moonlight and I walk to its shore, well aware I’ve come here many times to think. For all of my existence, all I remember, I have been a sojourner, and yet I mistook that call with Elizabeth and would have taken her soul without realizing it was a mistake. If I can’t sojourn, how can I do anything? What is it, then, that I should do?

  Why do I feel this way—this connection I can’t shake? And how could I have ever have loved a human enough to forge a covenant between us? Why?

  I look out at the stars amid the blackness, and I struggle to understand how this universe seems to spin without control, and the only way I know to right this is to go to Elizabeth.

  One moment I am standing there, and the next I am diving into the water toward the Lower Realm. Part of me wonders if I can find her, but surely if I am anywhere close, I will sense her. She is unmistakable.

  The darkness blurs past as I fall through the clouds, and the moment I get near land, I feel her inside me, calling. I focus on the beacon, wondering how I could ever have mistaken it for a call to sojourn. Now that I study it, I feel the subtle nuances that make it distinct. As I head toward her calling, I make myself one with the world around me, blending so no human will see me. The question is, can I blend well enough so Elizabeth won’t be able to detect me?

  The calling leads me to a hospital, and I enter behind a couple rushing into the ER. The woman is crying, and I sense that a sojourner will be called soon for her. That feeling takes me back as I try to distinguish between the two different beacons and what they mean. Were I not in the middle of one task, I could answer that call, but my last attempt to sojourn was anything but stellar, and I can’t focus, not with so much I don’t know hanging over me.

  The closer I get, the stronger I feel the draw. My heart races even despite the mental wall there, holding back all the things Evan doesn’t want me to discover. I step into the dark room and see the human lying there, her slight form lost in the bed, her long, dark hair splayed across the pillow like strands of black silk. She rests on her back, one hand propped on her abdomen. An IV tube snakes from the post to her wrist.

  Although the room is dark, when I look at her, I see a light emanating from within her, casting a glow around Elizabeth’s prone form. Unable to fight the draw, I keep moving until I stop at her bedside. From this perspective, I see her body shiver. She feels a coldness I can’t, yet the sweat glossing her face paints a different picture.

  Staring at her, I realize that for a human, she is beautiful, and it troubles me to see a pain-ravaged expression, and without realizing I’m doing so, I reach for her hand. Although she shouldn’t be able to see me, she moans, and her fingers twitch, taking me aback.

  What is this covenant between us?

  I do not know why I am tempted to speak her name or why the word feels so familiar, and I shake it off, wondering why I am here, what I hope this will accomplish. Or is it just enough to see her, to validate the missing moments of my life?

  She shudders, her body shifting in sleep. “Lev,” she whispers. “Where are you?”

  The thought of answering tempts me, but I know better. Suddenly I wonder if Evan is wiser than I in what he hides. Surely he has a reason for this, and I can’t see the path nearly so well as he can because I travel it.

  Her eyelashes flutter slightly, and her eyes open. The glow within her dims as she startles into wakefulness, and a look of torment crosses her face. A louder moan that sounds like my name escapes her lips, and hot tears quickly pool in her eyes. In that instant, I feel my control on blending snap. I am right in front of her, and she can see me.

  I’ve witnessed every expression on a human’s face. Somehow death brings them out. But this—this is completely new, and I feel her pain in a way I’ve never felt another’s in my existence. She reaches for me, clutching desperately at my arm, and I don’t have the courage to back out of her reach because I honestly don’t know what it will do to her. I feel the covenant between us, but I also feel the beacon which wasn’t there before I came this close. Is this what Evan fears?

  “Lev?” she whispers, tears spilling down her face in thick runnels that glow in the remaining light of her beacon. “Is it really you?”

  That’s when I guess I can escape. Perhaps if she really doesn’t believe it is me, there is a way for her to feel what she has seen is a trick, a manifestation of what she really wants. So I blend again. I should never have come.

  “Lev?” Her voice is shriller, and inside of it, I hear the panic; the beacon is louder. “I know you’re here,” she says, sitting up. “I can feel you no matter what you do.” Her gaze happens down at the IV. “Are you waiting to carry my soul? Is that how the next round is supposed to go? Well, if it is, then come. If that’s what it takes, I don’t care.” She glances at the IV, and begins clawing at the tape. Once the tape has been ripped away, she pulls out the cannula and tosses it on the bed, ignoring the sudden gout of blood on her hospital gown.

  “Don’t you hear me?” she says. “Lev?” She stands and whirls, looking for me, but the blending holds. She doesn’t realize I am with her. The beacon is even stronger, and that’s when I realize perhaps the lure I sense of wanting to sojourn with her soul is based on how strong her tie is to this world.

  That thought staggers me, and I finally realize perhaps my presence in her life is damaging, and maybe Evan has been trying to keep us apart for her own good because her soul is nowhere near ready to be taken, even though she may be willing to part company with her body.

  The question is why my presence hurts her so greatly. What have I done to her?

  “Lev?” Her voice is louder, and I sense any moment she will only up the volume. “Where are you?” She turns so fast her hair spins wildly, and she runs into the rolling table, knocking both her and it to the floor. Just before she hits the ground, I start to ca
tch her. But then she will find me again, and I know that’s a mistake; it will only prolong the brokenness inside her, and even though I do not understand it, I feel that same brokenness stirring within me, responding to her pain as if it were my own.

  Instead of reacting, I watch the slow descent of her body. Her knees hit the linoleum first, followed by her palms. Her long hair flies around her face and waves in the air for a moment before stilling. She draws one long breath and many shorter ones, her gaze constant on the floor. Then she looks up.

  “Lev?” Her voice is desperate now, and tears stream down her face. “Please?” She screams, and I know what is comes next.

  The door bursts open, and a nurse comes in and flips on the light. She strides to Elizabeth and kneels. “What happened?”

  Elizabeth doesn’t answer. She just keeps staring ahead to where I am, even though I know she can’t see me. I’ve made sure of that. But it’s hard to tell, considering her expression. Does she know I’m here? How could she?

  How, indeed?

  The nurse looks at her IV site. “You pulled your IV loose, baby. We need to get you back to bed.” She tries to grab Elizabeth’s arm, but she jerks away and a low, keening sound comes out, more like an animal than a human, and I recognize it; I’ve heard it enough from the people who are dying when their bodies and their minds and their souls reach a breaking point at which they can no longer take the pain.

  “Take it easy.” The nurse glances toward the doorway and then gets to her feet. She reaches over and pushes the nurses’ button for back-up before returning to Elizabeth’s side.

  “He’s here,” Elizabeth says, her eyes meeting mine. “I can feel him.”

  “Who?” The nurse, too, turns her attention toward me, but I can tell she doesn’t sense me. Instead, she just keeps looking, seeking to find whatever Elizabeth is so focused on.

  Concern creases the woman’s forehead, and she turns back to Elizabeth as a couple of male orderlies appears in the doorway. She nods for them to come closer before speaking to Elizabeth again. “Elizabeth, we need to get you off the floor and look at your IV site. Your arm is bleeding.” With a deep breath, the nurse reaches out but Elizabeth jerks away.

  “Leave me alone!” she snaps, still staring. “I don’t want to get back in the bed.”

  The nurse looks at an orderly and nods. He withdraws a syringe and prepares it before nodding back to her. The nurse reaches for Elizabeth again, her fingers cinching her forearm.

  This time, Elizabeth doesn’t say anything. She tries to jerk away so savagely it knocks the nurse off-balance. Elizabeth is struggling to her feet when she feels one of the orderlies grab her arm. More struggling. Elizabeth’s whole body tenses with it, and she’s pulling so hard that when she does break free, her body crashes against the wall before the other orderly intercepts her. In that instant, the two men immobilize her.

  Now she screams and watches in horror as the one with the syringe draws up her sleeve and slips the needle deep in her arm. For just a few seconds, it seems as though the drugs have no effect, and Elizabeth keeps wailing. I stagger backwards, horrified by the way they are handling her. Her expression has the disbelief of an assault victim, and part of me wants—no needs—to save her. I step toward them, my reaction almost instinctive. It’s then the drug glosses her eyes, and all the tension bulging in her body seeps away as she drifts into unconsciousness. The orderly holding the syringe nods to his partner as if to say, “Have you got her?” He waits until his partner nods back before releasing Elizabeth. As his hands fall away, her body slumps, and the orderly lifts her into bed.

  The beacon has quieted, leaving a disturbingly foreign void. Once again, that is how I know Celia was right. If she were dying, the beacon wouldn’t weaken or stop; it would remain constant. It is in that moment of watching the nurse restart Elizabeth’s IV I realize I’m witnessing the difference between the body dying and the spirit seeking death.

  I stiffen. Why should it matter what I have to do with it? I’m an angel, and she’s human. If she wants to die…. At that thought, I feel my wings slip from my control and flutter slightly. Sometimes, it’s like they have a mind of their own, and I can’t control them.

  My shoulders sag under the weight of that bravado. Such arrogance is misplaced, and part of me aches with guilt over things I still don’t remember.

  “Lev, what are you doing here?”

  I turn to find Evan standing nearby, his arms dangling useless at his sides. Although his wings are extended, they are only half-materialized, giving that part of his being a ghostly impression. It’s always strange to see humans scurrying about their business as though we don’t exist. Then again, to them, we don’t. Except Elizabeth.

  “How does she sense me?” I point at Elizabeth, watching as the nurse struggles to get a fresh IV going.

  “She’s really dehydrated,” I hear the woman say, shaking her head. “Good thing she isn’t awake for this. She’d be a little upset with all the jabs.”

  Evan, too, looks at Elizabeth. His face is full of sadness, and even though I know he has a soft spot for humans, this goes beyond that. I can sense it with both Celia and Evan. They genuinely care for Elizabeth, and I know there are feelings there that go beyond the empathy a sojourner should have. Troubling, I know, because I used to be able to sojourn without mixing it up with humans, really. It’s called compartmentalizing. Now, there’s something going on. I just don’t have a clue what.

  “I told you to leave this alone.” He reaches out to touch my shoulder, and I know he wants to lead me from here—that he’s worried—but it doesn’t matter because all the things he does to try to hide the truth won’t change what Elizabeth knows and what I feel. There’s nothing that will change that. Period.

  “As if that is possible, Evan,” I snap, feeling myself spinning out of control—as if I were ever in control, really. I start to argue with him further, but he shakes his head to cut off any future arguments. I know why. While it’s not difficult to maintain control of the blending in most situations, when there are emotions at work, it’s much more difficult. So it probably isn’t a good idea to start this here unless I want to startle three humans in the medical profession into believing in the divine.

  Not so bad, really, but I rather think God would prefer to be the one calling the miracles, all things considered. So I don’t really fight Evan when he tries to grab my arm and suggests, “Let us leave this place.”

  There’s lots of ways I could interpret “this place,” but I know what he means. The Lower Realm. I’m not so ready for that, so instead of completely following his cues, I go outside with him and stay grounded while he starts into flight. I’m not foolish enough to think he’ll go far without looking back. While Evan is an angel, he’s also a very stubborn angel.

  All in all, I’m only sitting on the bench outside the hospital about five minutes before I see the glow of his entity approach, his wings cutting through the midnight sky with grace and fluidity as he comes to rest next to the bench.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Waiting for answers.” I stare at the hospital instead of him, wondering what will happen when Elizabeth wakes.

  “This isn’t the place for them, Lev. You know that. Let’s talk about it elsewhere.” His gaze turns towards heavens filled with slowly moving clouds like dark velvet rubbed the wrong way.

  “Isn’t it?” I say, standing. “It appears that much of my existence is tied with a human girl. When I first found Elizabeth Moon, I thought her body was sending off the call for a sojourner, and I almost answered it. At first, I was confused, considering how long I have been ferrying souls, but then, tonight, I understand why they are so similar. Elizabeth isn’t dying, but that doesn’t mean part of her doesn’t want to die. So whatever it is that has affected me also affects her. Still saying I won’t find answers down here?” I shifting my weight, I try not to let the chaos get the best of me.

  “It doesn’t matter what you want, Lev. The an
swers won’t help you. They might, in fact, hurt worse than you can imagine, if you want the truth.” He peers toward the hospital, and I know he’s looking at the windows, his gaze choosing the one he expects Elizabeth to be in and a frown tugs at his lips, making him look more stern than usual.

  “Why can’t you just tell me?” I snap. “What is going on?”

  A soft sigh passes from him. “If I knew it would help, I would tell you, Lev. I’ve always tried to be the best model I can, and I know what the truth will do to you.”

  Although I try to meet his gaze, he looks away, yet another part of Evan’s code. He’s all about doing the right thing, regardless. Frustrated, I clench my fingers into a fist. “What if you’re wrong, and the secret is worse than the truth?”

  Evan nods toward the sky. “We should get back. You’re not really fully recovered, Lev.”

  It takes everything I have not to say, “Yeah, but I was never really injured, now was I?” I look up at the dark sky, and while I know that it used to bring me comfort, I don’t feel that anymore. The closest I come to quieting the chaos inside is when I am near Elizabeth.

  “Lev?” Evan frowns at me. “Let’s go.”

  “I’d rather stay here for a while.” At first, I wonder if he will try to force the issue and escort me back to the Upper Realm, but instead he just nods. Even though he’s not arguing about what is best for me, I can feel the chaos swirling within him as well. “I know you don’t agree with my choices, Lev. I can’t make you understand, and even if you knew the truth, it wouldn’t help. You have to trust me on that.”

  I want to trust him, I think, shoving my hands deep into my pockets as I watch an ambulance pull up. Two EMTs quickly get out and unload a gurney they rush inside. Even from here I sense when death has come unannounced. Evan, too, senses as much. I can feel that he is torn between dealing with me and going onto his duties.

  “You should take care of that,” I say, nodding toward the body now disappearing through the glass doors of the ER. “We can talk about this later.”