“No. I don’t need to. He’s not there.”
“Do you mind if I do it?”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“I can do it from here.” Sharro tapped the earcuff that Rahel had not noticed and put a call through.
That was an expensive bit of hardware. But then, this view must have cost a fortune as well. She watched the slow movement of a cargo ship’s lights sliding north, out of the bay, while Sharro’s voice murmured above her.
“He’s not in the healing center,” Sharro said.
“I know.”
“Or with the City Guard.”
She hadn’t even heard that call. “He wouldn’t—oh, Fahla. No Guards. He said no Guards.”
“Who did?”
“Mouse. When he called me for help. I asked him if I should call the City Guards and he said no, no Guards. That rapist was controlling him. He made sure Mouse wouldn’t call for any help but mine.”
After a pause, Sharro said, “I’m afraid you’re right, then. If he was programmed not to call for help, and to lure you into the same trap with no possibility of aid . . . this is the end of that dark road Mouse was walking.”
A silent tear slid down Rahel’s temple and into the pillow beneath her cheek. “I tried to stop it. I tried to keep him safe.”
“That was not within your power. The only way you could have kept him safe was to lock him in a room and not let him out. Would he have wanted to live that way?”
“No. But now he’s not living at all.”
“We might be wrong. He may just be hiding.”
“He’s not. You don’t believe that.”
Sharro sighed. “I’ve seen this coming for some time now. I just never imagined it would be like this.”
“I never saw it coming. I worried about him being beaten on the bayfront, or really hurt by one of those rough clients.” It had never occurred to her to worry that he might die. Now, in hindsight, she couldn’t understand why that hadn’t been her first concern. He lived such a dangerous life, and he had been so reckless these last two moons.
Reckless. Her mother had called her that. She shuddered at the thought.
“What is it?” Sharro soothed her with a soft caress.
“This is what Mother worried about, isn’t it? For me, I mean.”
“Mothers always worry about the worst possibilities.”
“Fahla, I feel guilty. I made her wait through two more clients. If she felt like I do now . . .” Helpless, powerless to stop the worst from happening to someone she loved. What a horrible feeling. She wouldn’t wish that even on her father, and she had done it to her mother.
“She did. She loves you—of course she felt that way. But she was willing to go through it because that was the deal you made with her. Her trust for yours.”
Rahel suddenly wanted her mother here, holding her and promising that it would be all right. “This is what she was afraid of. She was so worried about me being safe, and I thought she was overreacting. I haven’t primed in a moon and I still almost—” She could not complete that sentence.
“Almost,” Sharro said softly. “Only almost. You saved yourself. That’s the important thing.”
They said nothing else for a long time.
Rahel watched the bay through slowly closing eyes as Sharro’s sure touch moved through her hair and across her skin. She had not thought it possible to relax, but now it seemed equally impossible to contemplate moving.
“I killed him,” she said. It was a surprise to hear her voice. She hadn’t meant to speak.
Sharro lightly scratched Rahel’s scalp. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“He called me a spreader. Said I wouldn’t say no to him.”
Sharro’s hand clenched, then opened again and resumed its gentle movement. “It seems that he was very wrong about that.”
“I didn’t say anything at all. He—he stood there and tore me open without moving a finger. It hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Inside.”
“But you broke through it.”
The factual statement helped move her past that memory. “I already had my stave grip in my hand. It’s like part of my body. I don’t have to think about how I use it anymore. He couldn’t stop me from swinging. I hit him so hard that he lost control of me, and then . . . I never let him get it back.”
She was jolted out of thoughts of the bloody mess on the floor when Sharro pressed a kiss to her temple.
“There was only one warrior in that room. She’s here with me.”
She was right, Rahel realized. That rapist was a warrior in name only. He had chosen his caste not out of a desire to protect or a need to follow a dream, but because he thought it would give him more power.
“He was vile,” she whispered.
“He’s dead,” Sharro said in her matter-of-fact tone. “He’ll never hurt anyone again.”
“But it’s too late for Mouse.”
“It’s been too late for Mouse for a while now. But filth like that rapist—he would have done it again and again. It’s not too late for all of those future victims you saved. They’ll never know it, but you saved them.”
She would rather have saved Mouse.
“I looked for him everywhere. Now I don’t know why. I knew. I knew from the moment I got to Dock One and he wasn’t there. I think that’s where he killed himself.” The sense of futility weighed her down again, just as it had when she stood on the end of the dock. “I just wish I’d been faster. If I could have found him, he would have known I got away.”
“Rahel.” Sharro’s voice was no longer matter-of-fact. “Sometimes we do everything we can and it’s still not enough. That doesn’t mean we failed. It means we didn’t have the power.”
Another silent tear slid down. “I didn’t want to lose him, so I let him make his own choices. And I still lost him.”
Sharro slipped one arm over Rahel’s waist, the other around her head, and bent to kiss her forehead, enveloping her in warmth and comfort. “You may have lost him from this life. But you never lost his love. That was a precious gift he gave you, and you are the only person on Alsea he gave it to. You’re the only person he ever loved.”
“Did he tell you that?”
She had asked this question once, before remembering that Sharro would never reveal a confidence. Now she held her breath. If Sharro answered . . .
“He told you that. In so many ways.”
A very Sharro-style response. “You’re still hoping he’s alive.”
“I’ll always hope.”
“You can. I won’t.”
Sharro straightened, keeping one hand on her waist. “Will you call your mother?”
“I don’t want to worry her any more than I already have. This would justify all of her fears.”
After a long, silent pause, Sharro slid her hand upward, her fingertips running lightly along Rahel’s neck and into her hair. “You waited a long time for your mother to listen to your truth.”
Rahel nodded.
“How can she listen to what you won’t tell her? This is a truth you will carry for the rest of your life.”
Yes, and for the rest of her life, her mother could be happy never knowing what had happened.
It seemed like the right decision. She had not mentioned the crew chief trying to kill her, and that had not affected the truth between them.
Then she remembered how she had felt when she climbed over the seawall and walked amongst the revelers on the bayfront road: as if they were part of a different world.
She did not want her mother to be part of a different world.
“Do you—I mean, I don’t know if I can . . .”
“Would you like me to call her?”
She nodded, grateful to be understood.
Sharro said nothing else before putting the call through. Rahel stared at the bay, listening to one side of the conversation and marveling at the way Sharro’s voice stayed so calm, even as she refused to give specific detai
ls to what must have been increasingly pointed questions.
“She’s leaving within a quarter hantick,” Sharro said after tapping out of the call. “You should try to get some sleep. Sit up for just a moment.”
Rahel rose enough to let her slip off the couch, leaving the pillow behind. By the time she felt a blanket settling over her shoulders, she was already halfway asleep.
Her last thought was that she had never given Sharro her mother’s com code.
30
NEW WORLD
Rahel woke to the pale light of sunrise and the sound of familiar voices.
“I don’t know. I didn’t get all the details. The ones I did get were . . . horrifying. Rahel was attacked by an empathic rapist.”
“What? You said she was all right!”
“She is. She escaped. So far as I can see, she’s physically unharmed and the rapist was only able to brush her mind before she stopped him.”
Her mother let out a strangled sound. “How? How did she stop him?”
“As I said, I don’t have all the details. But I believe she beat him to death.”
For several heartbeats, Rahel heard nothing. Then came a faint whisper: “Shekking Mother.”
“Ravenel.” Sharro spoke her mother’s name in the tone of voice she might have used on a skittish holcat. “Perhaps you should sit down.”
“I’ve been sitting most of the way here. I can’t sit now. Fahla, I’m glad I already saw her or I’d be pulling out my hair. She looks so . . . peaceful.”
“Peace may be something Rahel will not find for a while. There’s more.”
“There’s more? What else?”
“She was not his first victim last night.”
“Oh, no. Mouse?”
“He didn’t escape. We think he may have committed suicide.”
Rahel pushed herself up enough to look over the back of the couch. Her mother and Sharro were in the kitchen, visible through the doorway.
“I’ve changed my mind,” her mother said, holding out a cup. “I’ll take that Whitesun Rise after all.”
“Good, then I can have some, too. It’s been a long night.” Sharro vanished from sight and reappeared with a bottle in her hand. As she uncapped it, she glanced up and saw Rahel. “Let me take that cup for you,” she said. Only when her mother had surrendered it did Sharro nod toward Rahel. “She’s awake.”
Ravenel whirled, looked, and strode across the room like a storm blowing in from the bay. Frantic worry warring with profound relief hit Rahel’s senses, along with an odd taste of guilt.
“Mother,” she croaked.
“Thank the goddess you’re all right.” Ravenel almost fell onto the couch, pulling Rahel into her arms before she was all the way down. She held on so tightly that Rahel could hardly breathe, then let her loose, kissed her cheek, and pressed their foreheads together. “I am so grateful to have you here right now.”
She smelled cool and damp, as if she were carrying the dawn on her skin. She had probably walked here from the nearest magtran station.
“I’m sorry.” Rahel began to cry. “I’m sorry about those last two clients. I should have stopped when you asked me to.”
“Oh, Rahel.”
“You were right. I was testing you. I wanted you to prove yourself. But Mouse is dead and I know how it feels now and I’m so sorry I made you feel that way.”
She was pulled into another warmron. “All that time I wished you would grow up, and now it’s happening too soon.”
“Mouse is never going to grow up.”
Ravenel tightened her arms. “We’ll get through this,” she said fiercely. “We will. You and me.”
“And Sharro.”
“Yes, and Sharro. She’s been a good friend to you.”
Rahel pulled away and wiped her eyes, looking around for Sharro. She was there, sitting in the chair perpendicular to the couch. She wore the same clothing as last night and looked tired and drawn.
“Thank you,” Rahel said. “For coming to get me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“What you did without me—without anyone—is already unbelievable. I’m very glad you called.” Sharro pushed herself upright. “I think all of us would benefit from something besides rajalta in our stomachs. Shall we see what I have in my cooling unit?”
In her wildest fantasies, Rahel could never have imagined herself in Sharro’s kitchen with her mother, helping to put together a mornmeal. For a piptick, she anticipated telling Mouse about it and hearing his commentary. Then she remembered he was dead and put her head down, trying not to cry while she cut half a loaf of yesterday’s bread into slices.
Her mother passed behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
Rahel leaned back. “I forgot he was gone.”
“Are you so certain he is? Sharro said you and she only think he committed suicide.”
“She’s still hoping.” Rahel cast a glance at Sharro, who watched her but said nothing. “I’m not. I’m sure. I know where he is.”
“Where?”
“Dock One. It’s where we had so many good times. I think he was happiest there. And . . . it’s where it started to go wrong.” She had not realized that until just this moment.
Ravenel took the knife out of her hand and drew her across the kitchen to a cozy little table set in a glassed-in nook. It looked onto a private walled garden, full of spring flowers glowing in the light of early morning. It seemed incongruous that there should be such brightness in the world today.
“How did it go wrong?” she asked, taking the next chair.
“It started the night of my birth anniversary. Jacon had just bought his parents out of his business, so he was the sole owner. And I was seventeen, so I only had one more cycle before I could challenge the warrior caste. Mouse . . .” Rahel’s throat closed and she shook her head, unable to finish.
Sharro set a tray of the sliced bread on the table, joining the items already there, and slid into a chair on the other side. “Mouse was being left behind,” she said. “His friends were moving on without him.”
“And then you came.” Rahel had found her voice again. “I thought he would be happy for me, but . . . you were one more thing he didn’t have. Then I stopped taking clients, and he didn’t have that option, either. He’s been taking so many chances, doing such stupid things.” She remembered the stench of urine in that filthy stairwell. “Going places he would never have wanted me to go.”
Her mother prepared a slice of bread with grainstem powder, added an assortment of fruits and two slices of cold fanten to the plate, and put it in front of her. “Try to eat something.”
She didn’t think she could. Mechanically, she put a piece of fruit in her mouth and chewed. The explosion of flavor woke up her taste buds, and she realized that she was ravenous.
No one spoke while they ate, other than requests to pass this or that plate. When they had cleaned up and put everything away, Sharro made three fresh cups of rajalta, set the bottle of Whitesun Rise in the center of the table, and sat down again. “Do you think you can tell us what happened? I have only a vague idea from last night.”
She began haltingly, but both Sharro and her mother listened with intense concentration and asked a stream of questions that kept her going. They seemed to want every detail, despite the mounting horror and rage her mother emanated as Rahel recounted the empathic rape attempt, her beating of the rapist, and her dive out the window.
When the story reached the point where she had made it back home, Ravenel poured a significant amount of Whitesun Rise in her empty cup and drained it. Then she kissed Rahel’s cheek, held their heads together for several pipticks, and sat back in her chair.
“Go on,” she said.
It had been hard talking about that room, but it was harder talking about her search for Mouse. Halfway through, Sharro was the one drinking Whitesun Rise out of her cup.
At the end, they all sat in silence.<
br />
“I don’t know where to start,” Ravenel said. “Except to say that you really are a warrior. That you could fight off an empathic rapist—I’d call it a miracle, but it was all you. Your instincts.”
While recounting the story, Rahel had seen it from a more distant, rational point of view. “I don’t know why it worked. My first instinct was to run out of that room, and he controlled that. I don’t know why he couldn’t control my instinct to strike.”
“He saw a victim, not a threat.” Sharro pushed the bottle of spirits to one side and leaned forward. “He forced a victim to stay. He didn’t think to force a threat not to fight. That would have required him to see you as someone who had power.”
“He said I would never have power.” She had just remembered that. “It belonged only to those who can take it. He must have meant high empaths.”
“Empathic force doesn’t have to be painful,” Sharro said. “He did it so subtly in the beginning that you didn’t notice. Then he made it hurt. But the pain was what made you strike out.”
Ravenel pulled the bottle back. “I’m not done with this.” She poured a small amount, tossed it down her throat, and said, “That man was not a warrior. He was barely Alsean. He was a shriveled soul who needed to hurt other people to make himself feel bigger. He underestimated you because you’re young and a mid empath.”
“Never underestimate an opponent,” Rahel said automatically. Hasil had told her that a hundred times.
It was easier to think of the rapist as an opponent rather than a terrifying nightmare. If he was an opponent, then she was, too. An opponent, not a victim. A warrior who had won the fight.
Thinking of it in those terms allowed her to evaluate his mistakes. He had made several, and all of them stemmed from arrogance. He had misjudged her and given her a fatal window of opportunity.
“I couldn’t have done it without my training,” she said.
Ravenel enveloped her in another warmron. “Thank Fahla for your training.”
Rahel laughed at the irony of that statement, then cried for a moment, then buried her face in her mother’s neck and inhaled her scent.
When they separated, Ravenel looked at Sharro and said, “Will there be repercussions?”
Outcaste: Book Six in the Chronicles of Alsea Page 21
