Finally they reached their trailer. Bay crawled into bed next to Rowan, who wriggled, mumbled in her sleep, and nestled closer to her. Brooklyn was soon snoring too, curled up at their feet, sharing their bed until they could move into a larger home.
Yes, Bay thought before he drifted to sleep. I'm happy here. I never want this to end. This—this day, this world, this life—is what I fight for.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rowan dusted her hands on her pants, admiring her handiwork.
The trailer stood before her, painted silver. She had arranged flowerpots around it, planted a tree, and hung wind chimes. A wooden sign hung above the door: Amber Guildhall.
"Port Addison's first guildhall." Rowan nodded in satisfaction. "This is for you, Coral Amber, my friend."
"Blimey, Row." Fillister stood at her side, tilting his wolf head. "Aren't guildhalls supposed to be fine temples, carved of stone? This is a bloomin' trailer, it is."
"It's only temporary," Rowan said. "Building temples takes time and money, of which we have neither. But this will do for now. Someday, after we win the war, we'll build a fine temple for the ancients. But right now?" She smiled. "We have a trailer park guildhall."
They stepped inside. Rowan wasn't sure what a guildhall was meant to look like. She had placed a rug on the floor, crystals on a table, and dream catchers on the wall. It was all a bit New Age. At least, what the Earthstone's old movies called New Age. Which Rowan supposed was Old Age by now. Whatever the case, Rowan hoped the ancients liked tealights and incense.
She had even printed her backups of the Weaver's Writs and placed them on a shelf, replacing the copies burnt in the war. Paper was damn expensive. Earth had no paper mills yet. A handful of refugees had brought some paper with them—mostly scribes who used it for their own faiths. Rowan had spent her life savings on printing these books. They had cost far more than the trailer that housed them.
Rowan really hoped the ancients liked the books too.
She sat on the rug, crossed her legs, and began to meditate.
Wax on. Wax off. Wax on. Wax off.
Slowly, the Empyrean Firmament revealed itself to her.
Rowan sat in the realm of light. The ancients moved around her. She called out to them.
"Ahoyhoy! Rowan here. Sandalphon, you around?" She whistled. "I did what you asked! I joined a guildhall."
One of the luminous figures moved toward her. They all looked alike to Rowan, but she recognized Sandalphon's deep, mellifluous voice.
"Rowan, I told you to find a guildhall, not found a guildhall."
Rowan nodded. "And I told you, sir. There are no guildhalls within a hundred light-years, and I can't abandon Earth in its hour of need. But look at this place! Check out the new digs! I established a new guildhall for the order. I figure that's gotta be worth something, right? Spreading the faith? And hey, check out these dreamcatchers. They're tubular, dude."
It was hard to tell with an immaterial being woven of light, but Sandalphon seemed to frown.
"Rowan, why do I sense you're not taking this seriously?"
"I am!" she insisted. "I'm just … not as proper as Coral was. I want to be myself around you, and this is how I talk. But I promise you, sir. I'm very serious about becoming a weaver. About defending Earth. This trailer isn't just a trick. I intend to build a permanent guildhall here eventually. Maybe train new weavers myself. Does that earn me a rune? Just one tiny rune for starters?"
Sandalphon sat down beside her. At least, as much as a wisp of light could sit down.
"Rowan, why do you want to become a weaver?"
"To save the world," she said. "I know that sounds cliche. But I want to become powerful. A deadly warrior. I want to have weapons to strike my enemies. To hurt those who hurt us. To defend the people I love."
Sandalphon sighed. "That is the usual answer people give. The details differ, of course. Some apprentices want revenge—against a murderer, thief, abuser, somebody who hurt them or their family. Other apprentices seek personal glory. They want to become gurus or conquerors, to claim lands or collect followers. Others merely seek wealth. Yes, different details. But the same answer. Personal advancement. Nobody ever craves the knowledge for its own sake. Only the power it can bring them."
Rowan frowned. "Is that so wrong? To want power? I don't want power for vengeance or glory. I want power to—"
"To kill," Sandalphon said. "To fight in great wars."
"To protect!" Rowan insisted. "To defend Earth!"
"With violence!" Sandalphon rose to his feet. "That is all people crave. Violence!"
"Hey now!" Rowan rose too, glaring at him. "If you hate violence so much, why do you even offer battle runes?"
"I offer battle runes only to the very wise and very righteous," said Sandalphon. "Only to those who prove they will use the runes for defense only. Never for vengeance, anger, or conquest."
Rowan nodded. "All right. Now we're getting somewhere. How can I prove myself worthy?"
"Perform acts of righteousness and sacrifice," Sandalphon said.
"I do!" Rowan said. "I have! For the past six years! I've fought to defend people! I killed the scorpion emperor! I fought Xerka aboard her starship! I …" She lowered her head. "All acts of war. Of violence."
"Be righteous," said Sandalphon. "Be selfless. Sacrifice of yourself for others. Prove your worth."
He began to fade.
"Wait!" Rowan said. "How do I do these things? Sandalphon!"
But the light dissipated.
Rowan remained alone in the guildhall.
"Ferkakte!" She punched the wall.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tom stood in his workshop, sculpting a heroine from clay.
He had always enjoyed sculpting. Many years ago, as a young shepherd, he would spend his evenings lounging on the back porch, watching the golden sunset over the grasslands, whittling animals from wood. During long, hard years in the Peacekeepers Corps, quelling rebellions across the galaxy, he would find blocks of wood and stone, would carve them into familiar shapes, a chain connecting him to his anchor, to his lost home. Even in the desolation of Morbus, a gulock survivor and rebel, Tom would carve animals from the crumbling, rotting wood of that planet's twisted trees.
He had carved Ayumi a dove. It was among his sweetest, saddest memories.
Today he was no longer a shepherd, a Peacekeeper, or a rebel. Today he was a leader. A general. A minister in Earth's new government. But he still played his old flute. And he still sculpted with stone, wood, or clay. Giving form to shapeless blocks. Creating order from chaos. Bringing memories to life.
Because that's what I fight for, he thought. Order from chaos. Memories from the void. As with sculpture, so with life.
But today, he was not sculpting birds or wolves or sheep, animals from his old grassy homeworld.
Today he was remembering a heroine. A pure soul. A girl who had been like a daughter. Today he was sculpting Ayumi Kobayashi, savior of humanity.
A voice rose behind him.
"It looks just like her."
Tom turned from his work. Leona stepped into the tent he was using as his workshop. She was off duty today, but she still wore her uniform. Her white buttoned shirt was neatly ironed. The brass buttons shone on her navy blue overcoat, polished every morning. Her boots rose to her knees. As always, Arondight hung across her back, the rifle's wooden stock lovingly sanded and stained. She rarely left home wearing anything else. She presented herself as the Iron Lioness, the legendary warrior, the heroine who had fought the scorpions and risen to become Earth's first Minister of Defense.
But Tom got to see a different side of her. In the trailer they shared, he saw a softer woman. Kind rather than fierce. Warm rather than fiery. He thought of last night. They had bathed together in their bronze tub, speaking with hushed tones of old legends of Earth, and they had made love, fallen asleep in each other's arms. Their bodies were scarred, hardened after years of war, tapestries of all their struggles.
But Tom found beauty to the woman beneath the uniform. He loved the Iron Lioness, the legend, the heroine. But he also loved Leona, the woman with tousled hair at dawn, with one sock slipping off her foot at breakfast, the woman of a thousand beautiful imperfections.
Tom looked at her, his heart warm, then looked back at his sculpture.
He had sculpted Ayumi barefoot, wearing tattered rags, the clothes of a gulock survivor. But she stood tall, chin raised, face proud, holding aloft the Godblade. With her other hand, she held a sprig of olive.
"This is how I remember her," Tom said softly. "The heroine of the war. She escaped captivity. She suffered unimaginable horror. But she stood strong before our enemies, facing them with true human courage. In one hand—a sword. In the other—a hope for peace. That's how Earth will remember Ayumi. This clay will be used to create a mold. And into that mold, I'll pour molten bronze. Her statue will rise in Port Addison, and people will remember. For generations. I hope—forever."
Leona leaned her head against his shoulder. "But you remember more than that. Not just the legend. Not just the heroine who wielded the Godblade and defeated a thousand scorpion ships." She looked into his eyes. "Ayumi was more to you than that."
Tom nodded, thinking back to meeting Ayumi. How she had run to him from hell, emerging from the gulock, naked and reborn, a weaver with flowing white hair and the Ouroboros rune on her hand. How he had taken her in. Clothed her. Fed her. Mentored her. Maybe even healed her.
"To me, she was like a daughter," Tom said. "She lit my life. For a while, I thought that . . ." A lump filled his throat. "That Ra sent me a new daughter. A gift to replace the daughter I lost in the gulocks. The light that was taken from me." He lowered his head. "It seems so cruel. That I lost one child in the gulocks. And that I lost Ayumi too. Sometimes the pain is almost too great to bear."
Leona embraced him. "I'm sorry, Tom."
He looked back at the statue. "We've all lost loved ones. My pain is not unique. The scorpions took so much from us. You lost family too. They murdered Rowan's entire family, and they murdered so many of our friends. My pain? It's but a small thing compared to the pain so many others endure. But we fight on. We bear the burden. We wear our grief like yokes, but we still raise a sword in one hand, a sprig of olive in the other. We fight for life. And we pray for peace. That is the lesson she taught me."
"Tom." She caressed his cheek, guiding his face toward her. "I came here to tell you something."
He held her hands. He looked into her large dark eyes.
"Tell me," he said. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it."
Leona smiled sadly. "We're so used to bad news. But this is good news. Joyous news. Tom, I'm pregnant."
He looked away.
Pain flared through his chest. His ribs seemed to tighten, his belly to fill with ice.
"Tom?" she whispered.
A storm roared.
He was back in the gulock. His wife screamed, reaching out to him, then falling silent.
He was fighting aboard the Jerusalem in the great Battle of Aeolis, holding Ayumi's hand as her life fled.
"Tom, I know this wasn't planned." Leona squeezed his hands, her grip firm and warm. "But this is a good thing. This is hope. This is joy."
He nodded. His eyes dampened. "This is such joy."
He pulled her into his arms. They held each other closely, eyes closed.
"I know you're scared," Leona said. "I am too. We both lost so many loved ones. To bring new life into such a world? A world of war and death? To love a precious little baby—when everywhere the fire burns, when so few survive? I've been scared since I found out. When I told you the news, I saw the same fear in your eyes." Her voice shook. "It's been fifteen years since the scorpions attacked my wedding, since I miscarried. I never thought I'd become pregnant again. And I'm scared, Tom. I'm so scared. But I believe this is a blessing. That this is our olive sprig. That it can grow into a great tree."
Tom smiled. Then he laughed. He lifted Leona in his arms and kissed her.
"We're going to be parents," he said. "We're going to be amazing parents."
She was silent. She didn't laugh. Tom placed her down and looked at her.
She caressed his cheek.
"And we're to win this war," Leona said. "We have to."
Tom nodded. His smile vanished. He held her hands and stared into her eyes. "We are going to win."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bay was at his desk, drawing dragons and elves, when Rowan entered the trailer and pulled off her clothes.
"Man, what a long day!" She stretched and yawned. "Spent it on about two hundred projects. I'm beat. I need sex, dinner, and eight hours of sleep. In that order." She sat on Bay's lap and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Ready, my love?"
Bay's jaw unhinged. He blinked at the very beautiful, very naked woman sitting on his lap.
"But—Rowan!" He gestured toward the bed. "Brooklyn is here!"
Rowan waved. "Hey, Brook."
Brooklyn was lying in bed, watching Ghostbusters on her minicom. She waved back. "Hey, Row." She returned to her movie.
Bay rubbed his eyes.
"But—what—"
Rowan laughed and patted his cheek. "Brooklyn has seen me naked many times."
Bay frowned, tilting his head. He supposed that was true. For a couple of years, Bay and Rowan had lived inside of Brooklyn—back when Brooklyn had been a starship. Her cameras had been able to see everywhere.
"That was different!" he said. "Brooklyn was a computer then."
"So?" Rowan shrugged. "She was still sentient. What difference does it make?" She began unbuckling his pants. "Go on, you! Off with your clothes! I command it."
Despite himself, Bay felt the blood flowing downward. He winced.
"Rowan, I dunno."
She got off his lap, pulled him to his feet, and yanked off his clothes. She began to kiss him.
"It's fine!" she said between kisses. "Brooklyn is used to it." She looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Brook, scooch over, will ya? Give us some room in bed."
"No!" Bay said. He couldn't help but laugh. "This is weird. Brook, out of bed entirely! Go sit on the toilet or something."
"But I don't have to use the toilet," Brooklyn said.
"So go take a walk!"
"I'm already in my pajamas!" Brooklyn said. "God. You're so fussy. I'll just sit on the chair. Sheesh."
Brooklyn vacated the bed. But the trailer, being a trailer, offered no privacy. Even at the desk, Brooklyn was only a few steps away.
Rowan soon had Bay down to his boxer shorts. She all but shoved him onto the bed, then climbed onto him, kissing and caressing.
"Ignore her," Rowan whispered, nibbling his ear. "Focus on me."
"Yeah, focus on her!" Brooklyn said, watching from the chair.
"Brooklyn, shut up!" Bay said. "Turn around or something!"
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but she obeyed.
Bay tried to focus on his task. He kissed Rowan, caressed her, began to make love to her—then stopped. He rolled away with a grunt.
"I can't," Bay said. "Sorry. Way too weird."
Rowan sat up in bed. "Bay! You know Brooklyn lives with us now. You need to stop making her uncomfortable."
"I'm making her uncomfortable?" Bay said indignantly.
Brooklyn swiveled her chair toward them. She nodded. "Mhm, you are, dude. I feel embarrassed."
"You feel—" Bay began, then groaned. "Jesus. Can't a man have some privacy?"
Brooklyn rose to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. "What difference is there? You spent twelve years living inside me! Two of them with Rowan! And that old shuttle wasn't any larger than this trailer. So how is this different?"
"Because you're human now!" he said. "You … You …"
"I'm still the same Brooklyn," she said, voice softer now. "I was living with you and Rowan then too. Just as software, a camera, and speakers. Now I have a human body. But it's no different than our usual living arrang
ement." Brooklyn sat on the bed beside him. She placed her hand on his knee. "Honestly, dude, it's all right. I'm the same Brooklyn from before. I've watched you two bang hundreds of times."
Bay grimaced. "I kept putting you in sleep mode!"
Brooklyn snorted. "Sleep mode. I never had sleep mode!" She laughed. "I can't believe you fell for that."
Bay felt his cheeks flush. He turned toward Rowan.
"You don't find this weird? To have your clone in the same room?"
Rowan shrugged. "No. Why should I? I don't care if she's in the same room. Or if she watches. Hell, she can join us! I think it's hot."
"Whoa. Whoa!" Bay clutched his head. "Getting even weirder! Totally, major weird!"
"Bay." Rowan kissed him. "We can't send Brooklyn outside whenever we want to make love. Because you know me. I can't get enough of my pancake." She kissed him again. "After this war, we'll get married, and we'll build a bigger house. Until then—just pretend Brooklyn is still a computer."
Brooklyn pulled her knees to her chest. "Beep-bop-boop!" She held out her arms like wings and circled the room. "I am Brooklyn the starship! Vroom vroom! Ah? Ah? Nothing?" She sighed. "Fine, fine! Returning to my chair."
Rowan pushed Bay onto his back and smiled crookedly. "Now let me get you back into the mood."
Bay looked at her. At this woman he loved more than anything. He stroked her cheek and gazed into her dark eyes. And everything else disappeared. The trailer. Brooklyn. The war. There was just her. Just his Rowan. The love of his life.
They made love—passionately, then again, softly. Then they curled up in each other's arms.
The Legacy of Earth (Children of Earthrise Book 6) Page 11
