by Elana Brooks
As always, she saw effortlessly through his attempt to keep his darker emotions from her. Wordless compassion and support accompanied her vocalized thoughts. Whatever you need.
She went to ladle bowls of fragrant stew from the simmering pot. Farid set his briefcase in its spot near the door and walked over to where ten-year-old Leila was bent over a sheet of paper, a textbook open on the table beside her. “I’m pleased to see you so hard at work.”
She looked up with a distracted smile, then turned back to her work. “I need to get at least a ninety on this paper to make an A for the nine weeks.”
“I’m sure that won’t be any problem for you.” He wished he could offer to help her, but Leila’s English was already better than his, even though he’d started learning it in school when he was only a few years older than she was now. He’d had little need to speak it until recently. Before their relocation to America, most of his interactions with the Eight and the rest of the Covenant outside Iran had taken place astrally, and telepathy functioned independently of language. “Set it aside for now. Your mother is about to serve the meal. You can finish after we’ve eaten.”
“Yes, sir.” Leila obediently gathered up her book and paper. Farid sat down in his place at the head of the table, watching fondly as Tirajeh and the girls set the table and served the meal. When all was ready they joined him, and the family enjoyed the excellent meal together. Farid determinedly kept his demeanor relaxed and his thoughts focused on the simple pleasures of food and companionship. His daughters must remain sheltered from the looming danger as much as possible. If Allah was merciful, and if Farid and the rest of the Eight did their duty, Leila and Maryam wouldn’t fully understand the magnitude of the threat posed by the Seraphim until long after the aliens were defeated and Earth was once again safe from invasion.
Some things couldn’t be hidden from them, however. Leila cast him a wary look from under her long, dark lashes. “The kids at school were talking about seeing you on television yesterday.”
Maryam piped up, excited and happy. “They wanted to know if I could move things with my mind, too, so I picked up my crayons to show them. They thought it was cool.” Her brow wrinkled, then smoothed again. “Evan said it was weird, but Ms. Williamson said it was just a talent, like singing or dancing or playing soccer. Everybody wanted me to show them how. I tried, but none of them could figure it out.”
Farid made a mental note to personally thank Maryam’s teacher for her calm, sensible reaction to what must have been a considerable shock. If only the rest of the world could share her composure. So far the Covenant was staying on top of the chaos that had erupted after the press conference where they had revealed the existence of both psychic powers and the approaching aliens to the general public, but it was a near thing. If they faltered even slightly, the sporadic minor riots of the past two days could swiftly become widespread civic unrest.
Leila poked at her stew with her spoon. “They kept asking me the same thing, but I didn’t tell them. May I tomorrow, please, Daddy? We don’t need to keep it a secret anymore, do we? I mean, you and your friends told everyone about it. You even showed them.”
Farid hated the thought of his family becoming a spectacle, the object of both awe and revulsion, a target for fear and, inevitably, hatred. But there was little he could do to prevent it, now that the secrets the Covenant had kept for eight millennia had been revealed. “Yes, you have permission to tell them about your abilities. Let them know that many people have the potential to learn to use psychic powers. Encourage them to ask their parents to sign up for the Covenant’s screenings.” He frowned. “But be sure to distract your classmates from their work as little as possible.”
Tirajeh made a small skeptical noise, quickly silenced. She patted Leila’s hand. “I know you’ll do your best. Remember, though, you’re not responsible for anyone’s actions except your own.”
Leila bit her lip and glanced at Farid. He nodded gravely. Bless Tirajeh for deftly softening his words while maintaining an appropriately respectful attitude. He didn’t mean to burden Leila with more responsibility than was appropriate for her age, but she was so mature for her years it was easy to forget that she was still very young.
He made his voice light and relaxed. “In a week or two everyone will get used to the idea of psychic powers and forget they ever thought they were strange and new. Other children your age will learn to use them, too. Things will go back to normal.”
Maryam nodded trustingly, but Leila looked down at her bowl. “Until the Seraphim get here,” she whispered.
He reached to smooth her dark hair. “I promise, dear one, your mother and I and the rest of the Covenant will make sure they never come to Earth. They won’t get the chance to hurt you or anyone else.”
Instead of reassuring her, his words seemed to trouble Leila more. “But if they can’t live here, what will happen to them? Their home burned up. Will they all die?”
“I don’t know.” The ethical dilemma troubled Farid on an abstract level, but on a personal level he would kill every Seraphim without a single qualm if that’s what it took to keep his family and the rest of the people of Earth safe. He’d already killed several dozen of them in the guerrilla raids Solomon had ordered him to lead. He’d be leading more raids in the days to come, since he was one of the few members of the Covenant with sufficient range to travel astrally to the current position of the Seraphim ship, between the orbits of Uranus and Saturn. “Maybe one day, when they see we’re too strong to defeat, they’ll agree to live with us on Earth without making the oceans bigger and drowning our cities.”
“I hope so.” Leila dug her spoon into her stew and took a bite.
After that, talk turned to more mundane matters. Farid didn’t rush through the meal, but he didn’t linger, either. Neither did Tirajeh. When their bowls were empty, she shifted smoothly into her normal routine of clearing the table. Farid moved to his computer desk and checked the status of the world’s financial markets. They’d nearly recovered from the panicked falls of the previous day. The Covenant’s investments were maintaining their value, for the most part. His work over the past twenty years to distribute their vast fortune into a variety of stable assets while keeping a sufficient portion reasonably liquid was paying off. He’d expected to have five more years to finalize the preparations, but what he’d accomplished so far was apparently adequate, at least in the short term. Only time would tell if the current positive results continued to hold up.
Leila completed her homework and Tirajeh finished giving Maryam her bath. The girls came to stand at either side of his chair, silent but expectant. Pretending to be oblivious of their presence, Farid made a final few keystrokes, then shut the computer down. Not even the impending end of human civilization could keep him from the routine he’d observed every night of his children’s lives.
When he rose from his chair, the girls grabbed his hands and dragged him over to where piles of soft pillows ringed one of the lush Persian carpets he’d had shipped from their Tehran villa to their new home. Leila fetched the thick, leather-bound tome from its place of honor on the bookshelf while he took his place reclining against the cushions and Maryam snuggled into his side. He accepted the book and drew Leila down to join them.
Both girls gazed in rapt fascination as he opened the cover and flipped through the pages. Illustrations in rich jewel tones spread across every page. Flowing Persian script, so much more beautiful than angular English letters, nestled among the pictures. The volume of excerpts from the Book of Kings had been a gift from his parents on the occasion of Leila’s birth. They’d long since given up hope that he would ever present them with grandchildren, so their delight had been boundless. Farid treasured the gift. He hoped his daughters appreciated its worth as much as he did.
He chose one of their favorite stories and started reading. Ferdowsi’s stirring poetry brought the tale of Rostam’s visit to the Simurgh to vivid life. The familiar words flowed from his tongue
to his daughters’ ears. They listened with shining eyes, their bodies pressed warm against his, their trust as sweet as honey and as pure as gold. His love for them nearly choked him.
When he reached the end of the story, he fell silent. Sometimes the girls begged for more, but tonight they must have picked up his resolve telepathically, for they sighed, kissed his cheeks, and bounded off toward their room, where Tirajeh waited to tuck them into bed. Farid leafed through the pages, his eyes traveling over the intricately detailed pictures, trying not to think about what he must say and do when Tirajeh finished her task and joined him.
Too soon the moment came. She settled next to him and leaned back against the pillows with a long sigh. Farid would have waited until he was sure the girls were asleep, but Tirajeh said softly, “What couldn’t you tell me before?”
Farid closed the book and ran his fingers back and forth across the smooth leather of the cover. “The Covenant headquarters building was attacked this afternoon.”
Only a swiftly indrawn breath betrayed her distress. “Who? Not the Seraphim; you said none of them have the range to reach Earth yet. People angry about our revelations?”
Farid swallowed and shook his head. “The Shadow Covenant. They’re using the name Angel now. They’ve allied with the Seraphim against us.”
Tirajeh sat up straight and stared at him. “How dare they? What do they possibly hope to gain?”
“They’re convinced that Earth’s atmosphere is so badly damaged only the Seraphim’s xenoforming technology can repair it. Apparently they consider the Flood a reasonable price to pay for their help.”
Tirajeh’s bafflement mirrored his own. “They must be insane. Even under the best of circumstances, if the Seraphim begin xenoforming, billions of people will die.”
“I fear they consider that a benefit, not a drawback. From what we’ve learned, they plan to emerge from the devastation as humanity’s leaders. Or rulers, more likely.”
“Dictators.” Tirajeh scowled. “Did their attack do any damage?”
“Luckily, no. They seem to be protected by the Seraphim’s precognition shield, but Steve found a way around it. A woman he knows with strong precognitive gifts is able to receive visions while in close telepathic contact with him. Apparently the false visions the Seraphim were feeding him required him to be immune to their shield, and she’s able to exploit that immunity. She received a warning in time to allow us to neutralize the threat.”
Tirajeh looked at him sharply. He should have known she would recognize his attempt to avoid alarming her. “What threat, exactly?”
He looked away. “A bomb. It would have leveled the building if we hadn’t stopped them from detonating it.”
She reached for his hand and crushed it in her grip. “All of the Eight would have been killed.”
“Except for Steve and Ana Luiza. Their bodies were elsewhere.” He squeezed her hand, then pulled his away.
“But you would have been. And Solomon, and the rest.”
He nodded.
Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth tightened. “I hope Steve and this woman—”
“Rosalia.”
“—Rosalia, plan to stay in telepathic contact from now on.” Her frown deepened. “Although I suppose they’ll have to sleep sometime. It won’t take this Angel group long to realize they need to time their attacks accordingly.”
“Yes.” Farid stopped, reluctant to go on. In order to say more, he’d have to broach the subject he he dreaded.
Tirajeh waited. The silence stretched long. Finally, she said, “What?”
Farid cleared his throat and looked away. “Steve and Rosalia intend to form a soul bond.”
Tirajeh’s eyes widened for a moment. Then she smiled and punched Farid lightly on the upper arm. “You didn’t say they were in love. I’m happy for Steve. I’ll have to meet Rosalia soon and welcome her. We can invite them over for supper once things settle down.”
“I’m sure they would welcome the invitation.” Farid looked away. “Although now we have enemies active on Earth, I fear it will be some time before we have the luxury of untroubled time to relax together. Steve and Rosalia hope their soul bond will make their contact permanent, enduring even while they sleep or turn their attention to other matters, so that they can receive precognitive warnings of threats from Angel or the Seraphim at any time.”
Tirajeh nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that should work.” She rubbed her face. “It seems such a tenuous protection, though. Precognition is unreliable at the best of times.” She shivered. “I thought we would have a few months yet before your life was in constant danger, not just when you go on raids.”
Farid longed to reassure her and end the conversation, but he couldn’t. He must say this eventually. Procrastination would make it harder, not easier. “Tirajeh…”
Something in his tone alerted her. She swung to face him, eyes big and dark. “Yes, Farid?”
He clenched his fists. His nails bit into his palms. “Solomon is convinced that soul bonds will make the difference between victory and defeat in the coming battle, just as they did for the original Eight.” Tirajeh, as familiar with the Memories as he was, nodded. “They’re unique to the human species; the Seraphim know nothing of them and are unable to counter them.” A pit yawned in his stomach, but he forced himself to continue. “He’s asked each member of the Eight to find a suitable partner and form a soul bond. Or else step down from the Eight in favor of someone who’s willing to do so.”
Tirajeh blinked. She drew in a breath, then let it out.
Farid reached for her hands, disciplining his gaze to remain fixed on her face when it would have slid away. “Will you soul bond with me, Tirajeh?”
She snatched her hands away. “We can’t.”
“We must. I agree with Solomon. Only if each of the Eight bonds do we have a chance of becoming strong enough to defeat the Seraphim. And there’s no one else I can ask.”
“You know very well it’s impossible.” She stared at him, the fear and anger he’d dreaded stark on her beautiful face.
“Is it?” He captured her hands again. This time she didn’t pull away. “I love you, Tirajeh. And you love me. Don’t you?”
“Of course I do. But we both know it’s not the sort of love that can support a soul bond.”
“How can we be certain unless we try? We’ve been together for twenty-five years. Surely that counts for something.”
Her jaw set into a stubborn line. “You’re my husband, Farid. My dear friend, my partner, my family, the father of my children. But you’re not my lover, and you never will be.”
He couldn’t deny the truth, but he had to convince her it didn’t matter. “Are we really sure that a sexual relationship is necessary for a soul bond? I know that’s the conventional wisdom, but has any pair who shared an affection as deep as ours ever tried to make one? Why should carnal lust be a prerequisite for the joining of two spirits?”
“I don’t know why. I only know it is.” Tears brightened her eyes. “People have tried. I’ve read the records, even if you haven’t. It never ends well.”
“We’re different. I know we are. We have to be. The Seraphim are here. It’s too late to go looking for alternatives. We have to work with what we have.”
She was wavering. He could sense it in the emotions escaping her mental shields and see it in the softening of the muscles around her mouth. He pressed his advantage. “Look at Adrian and Beverly. They weren’t lovers, not at first. They’d barely met when he was able to form a soul bond with her.”
“That was an emergency.”
“So is this. In these desperate times, surely much can be possible that was never possible before. We only need the courage to make the attempt.”
The gathered tears overflowed onto her cheeks. “It’s too dangerous. We could both die, Farid. Would you leave our daughters orphans?
Fear chilled him, but he shoved it down, burying it beneath stony determination. “We won’t go that
far. If it becomes obvious it’s not working, we’ll stop.”
“I suppose…” She bit her lip and stared down at their clasped hands.
He drew them to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, first one hand, then the other. “You’re as dear to me as a sister who shared the same womb. I need your help. I want to fight the Seraphim beside you. I couldn’t ask for a better, stronger, more capable partner. What we have will be enough. I promise.”
He believed it. He did. He had to. The only alternative was unthinkable.
Tirajeh licked her lips. “What do you want me to do?”
Farid shifted until he was sitting on his heels, facing her. She mirrored his posture. “Look into my eyes,” he told her. “Just as Noh and Nama do in the third Memory. Open your soul to me. Hold in your heart the desire for the two of us to become one.”
She nodded mutely and lifted her eyes to meet his.
He looked into them. At first they were merely eyes, familiar and dear, rich mahogany irises ringing inky pupils. She blinked, her thick lashes sweeping down and up. His focus drifted to her finely arched eyebrows above and her elegant cheekbones below, but he kept bringing it back to the center of her self, the place where the veils that separated one soul from another could draw back, leaving each of them naked to the other.
Terror and revulsion boiled up from his stomach. He fought it. He wanted this. He loved Tirajeh with his heart and mind, even if his rebellious body refused to cooperate. No other woman had ever been as dear to him, or ever would. If their souls couldn’t be enticed to join, he would be doomed to eternal solitude.
The memory that gave the lie to that thought tried to intrude, but he shoved it away.
It was happening. Slowly and reluctantly perhaps, but undeniably, Tirajeh’s physical eyes faded from his awareness. He was seeing with his soul now. Her soul was there before him, the essence of herself, looking into his.
