by Naomi Fraser
“I have towels,” May calls from the hovercraft less than five metres away, waving a white cloth in her hand. She looks up at April who sits beside her with something akin to awe. “April gave them to me. Did you know she’s a gunfighter?”
I grin. “Yes, but I don’t think I need them, May. I’ll air dry in five seconds flat, then my water will kick in again.”
Marcus laughs, pulling open the driver’s side door of the hovercraft to ease his tall frame onto the seat. “Maybelle, why don’t you come up front and sit next to your sister? I can show you both the sights as we get closer to the city.”
“Okay.” Without hesitation, she scrambles between the seats to the front, squeezes in and presses her knees together. A toothy grin lights her face. “Geoff makes the best pancakes.”
“That he does,” Marcus says in his deep voice, smiling at her.
The front passenger door opens with a hard crack, but I slide onto the seat, and May hands me a towel. “Thanks, bub,” I say, rubbing the nubbly cloth over my face and hair. “Take my hand,” I tell her, reaching for her fingers.
She keeps looking up at Marcus, but she does as I say, and his gaze lifts over her head to catch mine. He grins in lazy approval. My heart jolts and arm tingles as I push more water into her body. I blink, pull back my hand and then turn to the backseat. “April?”
Her hand slaps into mine in a strong grip. The prickle of saturation seeps down my fingers into her hand and then slides into her cells.
“Constance?” She accepts my hand, and I rehydrate her. “Casey,” I say next. His fingers are broader and palm thicker, with cells far thirstier than April’s. It’s at least a minute or two before I’m done with him. “Marcus . . .” I begin, “will you . . . ?”
He cuts me a brilliant grin, temporarily shifting his gaze from steering the hovercraft across the barren, flat ground to lift his elbow without taking his hands off the wheel. “Go for it, beautiful.”
My insides flutter with excitement, but I breathe out, trying to be calm and slip my hand around the firm, warm skin of his upper elbow.
His arm muscles bunch, and his breath catches, sounding uneven. An unsettling desire to press my lips against his smooth skin sends a warming tingle through me.
His arm tenses further, but water submerges his cells, the liquid molecules passing through his cell membranes. I want to slide my hand up under his sleeve to feel the hot skin, but I can’t do that. Instead, I swallow and release his arm, fisting my fingers to rid myself of the strange urge, and he sends me a knowing smile that sends my pulse racing.
“Up ahead is one of the first settlements, built when oceans and jungles spanned the territories, and Qelia was lush. Some ruins remain, but much of the original habitats are gone,” Marcus says. “It’s still a working community. Farther past the settlement are the rock formations and canyons that edge the city’s borders. My father worked on the wells in the widest canyon.”
I nod, hopeful at the mention of wells. “How far away is the city?”
“Twenty minutes or so in flying time.” He shifts a gear, and the engine revs as he swerves round a boulder. “First, I’m going to make a quick trip home.” His look is sudden to me, as if gauging my reaction. “My mother lives at the settlement.”
I nod, uncertain of how I should respond. “Okay.” I imagine what his house looks like . . . maybe some sort of underground place or a construction, which shelters his mother from the sweltering heat. “I’d like to meet your family.”
“Good.” He grins, presses his foot harder on the accelerator, and the hovercraft skims across the ground. “I promised my mama I’d bring someone like you home one day.”
*
I feel strange, as if I’m about to be taken somewhere new without any bearings. The little white dots in the distance loom the closer we approach the settlement, and I can’t quell the butterflies in my stomach. Finally, the township emerges in a valley with a huge rock formation behind it. The community is larger than I expect. All the buildings seem to be made of the local stone and follow similar structural lines with hard right angles.
This is nothing like my dwelling in the facility—clean lines, metal, and white space. A huge, squashed dome-like structure with walls of windows looking out to bright daylight. Endless lawns, trees, and one of the biggest, bluest lakes on Echyion. I’d lean against the flex glass, resting my forehead on my arm, soaking in the late afternoon sunshine. My hair tied back in a regulation plait, the green cotton clothes floating around my waist and legs. I’d look out to the landscape, trying to envision my future the way I can so easily see water.
It has never occurred to me I can’t, because I see rhythms, the seasons, right into the basic structures of life, and I simply believe I can.
I’ve grown some of the lushest habitats on Echyion, and as the years advanced, the less I relied on Astrakhan, whereas he depended on the computerised tanks or geological models the elders insisted I use. Water gives me the power to create worlds and break down boundaries, to live to my full potential.
But visiting Flioqe is akin stepping back into a primitive era like on the digital video uplinks Astrakhan suggested I view in the hopes of learning ancient well construction. Dust scours the ground, scattering sand and dirt against the low houses, leaving a film of pale orange and brown grime. I only hope I can help these people and this planet.
By the time Marcus parks the hovercraft at a deep yellow, box-like house, my hair is so wind whipped, it’ll take me hours to untangle the strands. I take a deep, calming breath, but my heart slams against my ribs. Faintness leaches into my limbs, leaving me with an empty feeling in my stomach instead of butterflies. Afraid I’m about to be sick, I scrape a hand through my knotty hair and exit the hovercraft, waiting for my sister, my legs twitching.
“Nervous?” Marcus asks.
I don’t meet his eyes, pasting a smile on my face. “No, why do you think that?”
He chuckles, climbs out his side with his usual economy of movement and then strides around the front of the hovercraft. He reaches his tanned hand to touch my left sleeve. “Other than the look on your face, that gives it away.”
My skin almost sizzles at his touch, and I look down at my soaking wet arms. With a groan, I say, “I’m a mess. I can’t meet your mother like this. I’ll make a bad impression.”
He grins at me, widens his stance, and the angular line of his face holds a sheen in the fierce light. “That’s not possible, Victoria. And don’t worry.” He helps Maybelle down from the seat. “My mother’s not frightening.”
“She’s sweet.” April steps closer to my side. “Just watch out for—”
A sudden chorus of childish screams makes my heart leap in fright. Yes, but will she like me? Children, at least ten of them, stream out from the side of the house, all of various ages, dressed in practical shifts for the heat.
“Marcus! Marcus!” they scream, holding up their arms. “What have you got for us?”
He laughs, bending to lift two girls high on his arms. “I brought someone back,” he corrects, with a smile at me. The others all mob his legs, chattering at once.
“The kids,” April finishes, patting her pockets. “Now where did I put those lollies?”
A too-thin elderly woman emerges at the front door, her face wreathed in a huge smile, grey hair rolled in a bun. She looks the epitome of tired happiness at seeing Marcus even though her cheekbones protrude, and her skinny arms rest against the door jamb. “Now Marcus, it’s so good to see you, but I just never thought I’d see the day when we’d be able to tear you away from your ship.”
“Only a short visit, Mama,” he says, walking over to her to kiss her cheek. “Then we’re going to the city. You’re holding up well.”
She smiles and meets his eyes directly.
I fidget, unsure of what to say or even if Marcus will introduce me. A little girl peers up at me with wide eyes and steps closer to my leg. I frown at the sight of her chapped lips and dry skin. The
edges of her mouth bleed and peel. She can’t be more than five, with big, almond brown eyes and hair the same colour.
“Let me help you,” I say softly, cupping her soft, hot cheek in my palm. The skin on my hand prickles, and the blue flows into her face. She closes her eyes, and I know she’s feeling the water seep into her cells because I can sense it flooding from mine.
When she opens her eyes at me, I see pure innocence and life.
Marcus’s mother stands right beside me, and her eyes are suspiciously wet. This close the sunshine highlights the thinness of her skin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more pleased to see someone in my entire life. Say thank you, Becky,” she says to the little girl.
“Thank you,” Becky whispers.
“She was left on my front door when she was just a baby. But I get all my other children at different ages. Marcus here was a little ball of energy when I first got him.”
Marcus chuckles and says, “Lela is my adopted mother. She took me in when I was three. Mama, this is Victoria.” He rests a firm hand on the small of my back and urges me toward his mother.
Her gaze falls to his hand on my back, and a friendly smile curves her lips. “Welcome, Victoria. It’s great to meet you, I’m truly honoured.” She holds out her hand, and her long, thin arm looks frail, but that’s not what troubles me the most.
I tilt my head at the slight wheeze in her chest, hold her hand, and my sight dives beneath her skin, straight into her cells. This is not how I imagined my introduction with Marcus’s mother would go. “Thank you, it’s wonderful to meet you as well,” I say and then frown. “Did you know you have . . . ?” Her hand tenses around mine. I stop and look up into her face, unable to finish the question.
She nods, pulling her hand from my grasp. “Yes.” She laughs and wipes her hands on her apron nervously. “I always thought those tales about water healers were myth. But you’re the real deal. Becky’s face looks so much better.” Lela sighs. “The days seem to be getting longer and harder here, and I just don’t have the money to buy creams anymore, not with Walter dying last summer and the mines closing up. It’s a relief to have you here, knowing you can help with the situation. We’ve all been praying for help,” she says, unable to hide the tears in her eyes or the weariness in her tone.
“Take my hand again.” I step closer to her, into the shade cast by the rectangular door. “This might take more than one session, but I’ll come back until it’s all gone.”
Marcus’s breathing catches beside me, and Lela hesitates.
“Go on, Mama,” he says. “It’s no trick. You know I would never do that to you.”
She slips her delicate, wrinkled hand into mine. I grip it. She’s tougher than she looks to survive this world and raise so many adopted children, but she’s dying. Blood cancer. The blue has a mind of its own now and knows what to do. “Get ready,” I say. “Allow it to come. Let’s get that stuff out of you.”
The rush and prickle vibrates from my toes, building in my thighs, coiling up into my stomach, and then I lower my other hand on top of hers, following my own advice to let the blue come through. Water twines around my arms and surges into hers. She sucks in a breath, and then the rush sweeps up my neck, face, and into my ears. My hair streams out over my head until we’re both encased in my blue aura.
“It’s . . . cool,” she stammers, “mmm . . . so nice.”
I don’t catch the rest of what she says. I identify the cells, my awareness expanding, and then order my water to break down the cells. Her temperature climbs alarmingly high with her body fighting my intrusion, but I keep it under control by cooling other parts of her system. She groans and wobbles. Someone slips a chair beneath her, and she sinks into it, but I don’t let go, crashing to my knees on the dirt.
Finally, everything quietens, and my blue eases into a gentle cascade, running down my arms and legs. Working from the inside out, I push the broken cells to the surface of her skin, washing them away onto the hard, sunburnt ground.
Her grip releases mine slowly, but I rise to my feet and say, “If I can, I’ll come back tomorrow.” Steam rises off my clothes from the heat of the suns. “If not, I won’t leave this planet until I see you again.”
Lela opens her hand fully and her eyes, and I’m glad to see the brown irises glitter with new life. “Thank you, that was amazing. I feel . . . so much better.” She sighs and takes a second or two, then edges to the front of the chair, her skin smooth and clear. The back of her hands are plump and smooth as she grips the chair’s arms. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.”
“More energy to tackle the children now. I’m thinking we should stay and try some of your sun tea.” Marcus puts his hands on his hips and grins at me. “Lela makes the best sun tea you’ll ever have.”
We stay for a drink, and Marcus acts the most happy and comfortable I’ve ever seen him. It’s a bit of a shock to see him easily chatting to his mother at the back of the house and playing with all the children under the shade of a stone roof. April hands around lollies from a bench, pretending she hates getting mobbed by little hands. Constance and Casey pass over a pocketbook and an easyreader. I fill all the water containers in the small stone house while May plays tiggy with the children. Twenty minutes later, as we leave for Flioqe, I am so happy and grateful for the welcome I have received, I can’t stop smiling. Plus the expression I glimpse in Marcus’s gaze every now and then makes me glow inside.
Chapter Fourteen
It takes us half an hour to fly past the canyons into Flioqe City. Rock formations and sandstone ruins scatter the terrain, but I can see the area will be a good spot for trees.
Hot wind buffets my ears from the open-roofed hovercraft, and I choke down a few mouthfuls of sand and dirt. I angle closer to May, hoping my shoulders offer her some shade, even though the white orbs burn high in the sky. The skin on her arms feels clammy, and sweat dampens her nape.
My gaze roams along the buildings and ground that are the same cooked beige. Houses have arched doorways or cylindrical walls. A few arches are merely walkways between houses with discarded boxes, steel barrels, potted plants, and bicycles leaning against the sandstone. The roofs have solar panels or plastic, which makes me think the people have indoor gardens.
Thin metal sheets cover parts of the street through the town to offer shade, but it’s more of a sporadic effort—like the shade of a single leaf in a desert.
Marcus slows the hovercraft, and then he turns to me, squinting in the sunlight. “Flioqe used to border a wealthy port. Only relics, shipwrecks, and texts remain to describe the time.”
I nod in amazement. It’s astonishing to me—how worlds can shift and barely hold a trace of what they once were. He drives along a different wide dirt track, and the scenery changes to better built homes where pretty, buffed stones hang in doorways, and hessian sacks with white drawings cover metal poles. We cruise closer, and signs of ‘Welcome Water Healer,’ are written all over the stone walls. Debris rolls away from the wind whipped up beneath the hovercraft.
“They know I’m coming,” I say, slipping my arm around May’s waist.
“I can’t see.” She climbs onto my lap, her rapt gaze on all the houses, but her jostling hurts my stomach. After one sharp kick, I slide across to the middle, giving her some room. However, that means I’m closer to Marcus, and the fabric of his pants touches my skirt. His thigh muscles tense. I draw in his scent, close my eyes, and smile, enjoying his presence.
He steers the hovercraft toward large, black, open gates at the end of a massive corridor guarded by men in dark brown uniforms and customised rederiams, a mechanical hat which offers full body protection. In theory, you can walk across the desert with a rederiam. One look at me and they grab the trumpets by their sides. The blast carries from one guard to the next, on and on, until Marcus turns to me and says, “This is the city centre. Get ready for it.”
“Wait. For what?” Ripples of darkness and light move over my head with the ar
ched stone sections, and the trumpets blare so loudly I can’t hear myself think.
Marcus’s face turns hard and all business, and then a nervous feeling hits the pit of my stomach. Another horn blows from somewhere, and cries and screams drown out the sound. People rush at the hovercraft, children faster than the adults as they slip through the crowds. A blur of smiles and faces fill my vision, arms reaching out, then the guards intercept, plucking children and men from the doors.
I drag May back into my lap, chest heaving. “May, hang onto me. What’s happening?”
“They’re saying hi.” Marcus grins at me, then guns the hovercraft, and the engine rumbles.
Constance taps me on the shoulder. I cast her a panicked look, but she smiles. “The leaders have the footage we sent to Altiosn. They broadcasted it to all the citizens at the last town meeting two days ago. They know what you can do, and that this will be your first proper water healer welcome.”
Her words slap me back to reality. That’s right, it’ll be time to say goodbye soon. And I have to act professional while I let all my newfound friends go. It’s going to be just May and I again. Although, I’ve trained for this, I can’t help being overwhelmed and afraid. But this is my purpose, I have something to do.
People run alongside the hovercraft, waving and cheering. I wave back with a smile. Most of the crowd wears rags or long robes and even makeshift hats. The colours are muted, natural browns and grimy yellows. Faded blacks. I can’t help contrasting them to the colours in Echyion—natural dyes of the lush surroundings. The difference between peacefulness and hard brightness. In a way, I’m guilt-ridden by their excitement, knowing it comes from not having the necessities of life. How can the guards have such nice clothes and rederiams when the people don’t? I shouldn’t feel mad about that, but I can’t help it. What must it be like to live in a world where water isn’t freely given?
