Finn got this crazy light in his eyes. A knife slid between us, and before I could react, he cut the bonds on my wrists and stepped back. An evil grin plastered his face, and he waved the blade in front of my eyes. Thought he was funny, did he? My jaw clenched.
The old guy cleared his throat. “Imani clothes, yes. Imani? Hmm.” He tapped his finger on his chin.
I stayed quiet, my hands outstretched to the fire, fingers tingling as feeling returned.
“You can leave, Finn,” the old guy said, dismissing him. He turned to me. “Welcome. My name is Ute. Who are you?”
He twinkled at me. It was hard to pull off a good twinkle, but he managed quite well. Ute had salt and pepper hair, chin length and unruly. His face was more lined, but he had the same slit eyes as the rest. His were dark gray. Ute dressed in a robe versus the leathers the other four sported. His whole demeanor begged me to trust him and tell him all my secrets. Even knowing better, I found myself relaxing in his presence. Compared to the seething intensity that was Finn’s hatred, I wallowed in the guarded welcome.
“My name is Elizabeth—.” I stopped when Finn moved between us on his way out and blocked my view of Ute.
His head dropped to my ear.
“Be good,” he whispered, his breath stirring the little hairs on my neck.
I blinked, unsettled, and narrowed my eyes in response. Who, me?
He chuckled and left me in Ute’s tender care.
“What am I to do with you?” Ute asked as he stirred his pot.
I’d several suggestions, but I was pretty sure the question was rhetorical. I needed more information.
“I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how I got in these clothes. I don’t know any Imani. I’m a human from Earth. Though, wow, does it feel strange to have to clarify that. I was going to school and bam! Now I’m here. This isn’t my home. How do I get home? Please.”
The words rushed out of their own volition as my voice cracked. My eyes burned, and I turned and rubbed them on my arm. Damn it.
He stopped stirring. “That is a lot of questions, ones for which I am afraid I do not have the answers. As you say, you are clearly not from here. You are not Fost; you do not look Imani, but…”
He waved his hands at what I wore. “There must be some connection. How did you get the shivat? The Imani are a horrible race, as I am sure you have guessed.” He added with a twist to his lip, “They are our enemy. They break nature to their own means. They are capable of many things, things we do not understand or forgive. You could be running from them, or you could be a spy for them. Maybe they figure we are less likely to kill a woman. It is a question, no?”
We lapsed into silence.
He ground up some spices, placed them into the pot, and meandered to the table. “Tell me what you remember.”
“I remember who I am. I remember growing up, my family, and my friends. I remember my life. I remember going to school. I didn’t know what my major was going to be yet, but I’d taken a bunch of courses. I was on the way to my calculus class, and I was late. It was an odd day. There’d been a few accidents, and people were acting strange. My friend Sarah…she was sick? I couldn’t get my mom or the police. Or…” My breath sounded harsh in the room.
Ute’s eyes were sad as they gazed at me. I continued. “Next thing I know, I wake up here. I know there are some huge gaps in my memory. How did I get here? Who are these Imani, and why am I in their clothes? I don’t know any Imani, at least, not that I recall.” I swallowed and remembered the crash and the cold, but again, I didn’t mention it. “I just want to go home.”
Ute’s face remained blank. I wasn’t sure if he believed me. It was the truth, damn it. My stomach twisted in fear, indignation. I started to pace in front of him. Tears gathered in my eyes, ready to spill. I dashed them away as I moved.
No.
He inclined his head. “You are upset. We will talk about this later. You must be hungry.”
He returned to the fire.
A delicious smell wafted through the room, and my mouth watered. “Yes.”
“We are having gurda.” I could eat just about anything right now. Even gurda. Wow, do I hope gurda doesn’t mean fish poop or something.
I’d been focusing on him so much, I missed the room. The space was cozy. A thick colorful rug with an abstract linear design covered the wooden floor. A cot sat on one side of the room with a small table next to it, two stone bowls on top. The bowls were dark brown, like the rock from the quarry. Opposite to this, a larger table and chairs stood next to an open fire pit. There were some shelves listing off to the right of the fire, adjacent to a wide counter, and in the far corner, a covered pot. Various bottles and jars and knickknacks cluttered the countertop.
That was the extent of the amenities in the room. Books covered the rest of the space, not a few, not a bunch, hundreds of loosely bound, antique-looking books. He’d piled them on the floor, on the shelves, on any flat surface that couldn’t run away. I could bury a body in the books in this room, and no one would notice until the smell reached them. Pretty clear that Ute loved to read.
He gestured toward the larger table and walked over with two bowls.
I took a small taste. My eyes rolled back. Wow. “This is so good!”
The gurda had a strong, earthy taste, followed by a heavy burn. It reminded me of stew, thick meat surrounded by gravy. My nose started running, and I had to sip water between bites. It was so worth it. Weird but yummy. I managed to polish off two heaping servings before I let out a contented sigh. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be full.
After we ate, I expected a return to the interrogation. Instead, Ute just got up, grabbed our dishes, rinsed them out in a large tub next to the fire, and stacked them on a nearby shelf. Without a word, he grabbed a book and started to read. I glanced at the title, but the words swam in and out of focus as I struggled to keep my eyes open.
He noticed and with a jerk of his head said, “Lie down.”
I obliged and sagged onto the cot, pulled the lone blanket up over me and tucked it under my chin. I didn’t think I would be able to sleep, but fatigue quickly swamped me.
I dreamed of slit, white eyes, shining down at me. Finn or…
Chapter Six
The feeling of something cool dripping from my neck woke me. I sat up, déjà vu rocking me. I rubbed the back of my head and looked at my hand. No blood.
Ute watched me, squatting a short distance away. He held up a cloth. “You had blood on your neck, but I do not see a wound.”
“Really?” I poked at my neck. Now that he mentioned it, my headache was gone. I stood and stretched. Hey, I felt pretty good. “My head was killing me when I woke up, and I thought I felt a cut. There was blood.”
“Nothing.” He gathered up his cloth and water. “Finn has been in and out. He has questions for you.”
I made a face. Of course he did.
Ute chuckled at my pained look. “Finn is not so bad. You could have been found by someone much worse, someone not as…nice as Finn.”
He chose his words with care. That didn’t make me feel better; the exact opposite, considering Finn almost slit my throat. Or at least he contemplated it for a long, long time. Like he did every time I asked a question or, well, breathed.
Ute rushed to explain. “You do not look Imani, but those are their clothes. You appeared wounded, so you could not have traveled any great distance. The mountains are treacherous. Unless you can fly, it is impossible to get where you were without us being aware of it. You were close to town inside some of our checkpoints. All the paths are monitored. So how did you get there?”
“I don’t know!” I cried out, hands clenched.
He looked uncomfortable and turned away. “I believe you. I don’t know why, but I do.” Ute took a breath. “You do not look Imani; if not for the shivat, there is no other link that I see. Your story seems fantastic, but we have seen and known the fantastic before.” He shrugged. “You have to under
stand our history. The Imani have long been our enemies and you appear in our camp, behind our defenses, in their clothes.”
He threw his hands into the air.
This was all old news. I understood, I did, but it still sucked donkey balls. “Tell me about the Imani.”
“I can do that.” He waved me back on the bed.
I scooted backward so I leaned against the wall, and he sat on the edge of the cot.
He took a deep breath, head back, spine straight, and chest out and began to recite their history, his voice measured, low and hypnotic, with that faint echo.
“Solum is the land of our birth; Stana is the island on which we live, and Groos is the city in which we now reside. In the middle of the island lies the vast Adak mountain range, wide and harsh. On one side are lush farmlands, rich forests, and plains. On the other is desert. On one side lie the Imani and on the other lay the Fost.”
He indicated himself. Ute was Fost.
“At one point in history, we were one race, one people—.”
“Wait, so you’re Imani?” I goggled.
“Same original race, different views and much time. Now do not interrupt.” He waved his finger at me and continued his story. “We lived in peace, sharing the land and resources. Those times did not last long.”
“The Fost lived in concert with the earth. The land supported us, and we supported it. We accepted the land as it was and cherished it. The Imani were not so content. They questioned. They examined everything around them. They were always seeking the why’s and how’s of things instead of just accepting the miracle of it.
“Now curiosity is not a bad thing. The Imani built many great things. They created music. They created medicines that cured a wide range of diseases. They made vast buildings that could reach the sky. This does not seem so bad, yes? And it was not. Their crime lay in their belief that they could not only understand, but perfect nature itself. They sought to make everything ‘better.’ They became arrogant. They were certain of their own superiority, in mind and body. They stopped caring for the land, for people, and strove for perfection without regard to consequence. They started to experiment on themselves and others, willing or not. They kidnapped several of our people, who were never the same after, if we saw them again at all.”
“Wait, you don’t know what happened to them?”
“No, and stop interrupting, young lady!” He straightened his shoulders. “We chose to live and love separate from them and their machines. We still don’t know what they did exactly to themselves or to those who returned; the survivors could not remember much of what happened.” Ute glanced at me with pity. I examined the cot and pulled at a piece of string on the blanket.
“But the Fost, we could hear the land screaming. While the Imani sought to change the land and the people, the land changed the Fost. We began to develop power. We could use magic, such amazing magic. We could influence the land, the sea, and the air.” Ute shuddered in remembered glory. “But the power, this interested the Imani, and they descended upon us, determined to figure it out. They wanted it for themselves.
“It was a slaughter on both sides. They had weapons and chemicals we had never seen before, but we had the numbers and our magic and countered them. So many lives lost.
“In the beginning, the war went in our favor, but the Imani soon made their machines fly. They made vast airships, and they took away our advantage. The war, up to this point, had lasted close to ten winters.
“Then one day the Fost sickened. We are not sure what they gave us, but the disease killed our people in large numbers, our clan chief among them.
“Everything was in chaos; the people panicked. We chose a new leader, but he was scared and untried. He favored running, so we took to the mountains, and the mountains were not forgiving. We lost half our population, if not more, during the war. The mountains took another half of that. They said the mountains were impassable. Well, we passed them, but at great personal cost.
“We created a tunnel through the mountains, then closed it behind us. We took as much as we could with us on our journey. Clothes, weapons, supplies, books. Once through, we came to this valley here and stayed for a bit before we attempted to push onward into the desert itself.
“The desert was worse than the mountains, and we did not know how to survive there. Water was precious. We did not do well, and we returned to the valley. We have been here ever since. That was over two hundred winters ago.
“And ever since the day the Fost fled the farmlands, we have all but lost our powers, a little at a time, those wondrous powers, which drew the Imani in the first place.
“People whispered the land was abandoning us, after we abandoned it. I do not believe that, but I believe we lost our faith in the land and in ourselves, and lost our magic as a result.
“And now here we are. Some still say they can hear the land crying, a faint whisper in the wind. I am one of those people. I still hear the land calling, and I want to answer. I need to answer.”
His voice hung in the air; a single tear slipped down his cheek to splash onto his chest. “That is the story of the Fost and our war with the Imani. We sit, waiting for the Imani to come and finish what they started so long ago. Most of the people here are not fighters, they are survivors. There is a huge difference between the two. They will do anything to protect themselves. Remember that.” His face sagged “The Fost are not your friends. If they think your presence will harm them or lead them to harm, they will kill you. Most would have killed you when they found you in those clothes.”
“Why didn’t they kill me?” I would’ve, with that history.
“Finn could not kill a woman. I know that boy; I helped raise him. Plus, we have seen what the Imani have done to other races. There was enough of a question that Finn felt he had to get some answers.” He shook himself out of his mood. “We should eat now.”
Ute’s story left me restless. And I still didn’t know why I could understand him. So far, I’d gotten most everything, except for names. If they were naming something, it didn’t translate, nor did slang. I probably sounded like an idiot.
Ute pointed to the table where he’d placed some sort of gruel. We both inhaled our food. After we ate, he sorted the books. Well, he put them in different piles, anyway. He didn’t seem to want to talk anymore and left after stoking the fire. He said he needed to get something, but I suspected he tried to escape the memories.
Hours later, I paced across the floor like a caged tiger, processing what I’d learned so far. I’d escaped from the Imani. That was the only way I could’ve gotten the clothes, but how did I end up with them in the first place? Was that the red lights?
Finn interrupted my thoughts when he slipped into the room. I was still in the Imani uniform, and I really wanted to change.
I hurried to speak before he could start in on me. “Can I get new clothes, please?”
His eyebrows winged up. “Yes, after. Right now, I need you to tell me all you remember.”
This again. I sighed and slumped in a chair. I scrubbed my face. “That’ll be a short conversation because, like I told you last night, I remember nothing.”
Finn sat across from me. “Try.”
I repeated the same story. Then again. Until he changed tactics.
“When you woke up, did you see anything? Was anyone or anything around you?” he probed, eyes intent. His hands kneaded his thighs.
“No, I already told you that. There was nothing around. I looked. I was scared. Wouldn’t you be? One day, I’m home. Next, I wake up here?” I looked down. I recalled the crash and the laughter, but that had just been my imagination, hadn’t it? It was hard to tell what was real and what was not anymore.
Finn rubbed his chin. “Tell me again.”
He kept pressing, asking question after question. My answers remained the same; I didn’t waver. I was telling the truth! What would it take to convince him?
“Gah,” I exclaimed and stalked to the fire, warming my h
ands. “I don’t know how many times I can tell you the same thing.”
Finn put his hands on my shoulders. With a start, I realized this was the first time he full on touched me. Not a poke, not a shove, not a weapon pressed against me—a touch. Where he touched me, warmth crackled to life and spread in a slow wave down my arm and through my body. I shivered. It felt different. I’d never felt anything like it.
I whirled to face him.
He was right there. Again, close, too damn close.
“Move,” I growled.
“Move me.”
I shoved him hard, and he flew across the room. That wasn’t the smartest thing I’d ever done. His expression proved that. Finn was angry, his face ruddy; steam practically leaked from his ears.
“How did you do that? You did that at the mines yesterday too,” he barked as he prowled up to me, pressing me back against the wall, his hands on my shoulders. The same heat flared between us. This time Finn noticed. His eyes went wide, and he huffed out a breath, stepping back a bit. He held up his hands. I held my own up to his. Visible heat and flame danced between our fingertips. My fingers warmed where they almost touched his. It felt hot but didn’t burn. How was that possible?
“Is this what Ute meant when he said the Fost had powers?” My chest grew heavy.
He swallowed. “I do not know. We lost those abilities long ago.”
His stare bounced from me to the fire and back. The flames appeared to mesmerize him, just like they did me. He looked shocked, his face slack, but his gaze was kind for the first time, sharing the feeling with me. Finn didn’t look at me like prey any longer; not exactly. His expression conveyed something altogether different as he drifted closer.
My mouth dried and I licked my lips. I stood waiting, for what, I didn’t know.
Chapter Seven
Must Remember: Dead or alive, they want her back. (Solum Series Book 1) Page 4
