A few people looked up when they heard her, but mostly they stared into the fire. Erika was thankful that no one descended on her and hounded her to tell her story.
Dana was sitting by the fire with the strangers. She motioned for Erika to come sit by her.
Erika pulled an empty chair next to her aunt. “How is he? Have you heard anything?”
Dana shook her head. “Kai says to be patient. Niyol will send one of the men out of the lodge with news when there is any.”
Erika stared at the sweat lodge for a while, willing Niyol to emerge with a healthy Tex. The small building’s door of layers of thick woolen blankets remained closed. It sat there silently, offering no answers.
She took up vigil with the rest of them. She watched flames eat a log. They rendered the wood to ashes in less time than was necessary to bake a cake. Someone handed her a warm piece of fry bread covered in pinto beans. She ate it in half a dozen bites.
Kai pulled up a chair next to Erika. The smell of wood smoke wafted off Kai’s hair and thick multicolored woven wool jacket.
“How is he?” Erika asked.
Kai poked the fire with a long stick, and sparks tendriled up and disappeared into the sky. She didn’t look directly at Erika and said only, “He still lives.”
Though she would have liked more specific information about Tex’s condition, the starkly honest answer comforted Erika.
Erika pulled around herself the jean jacket Dana had lent her, wrapping her arms around her middle in an attempt to stay warm. She quietly observed a few men enter the domed hogan where Niyol had taken Tex. A few minutes later, a few other men exited. They were bare chested, their faces red and wet with sweat. Their faces revealed nothing. They grabbed their shirts off a wooden rack hung to the outside of the hogan and soon blended into the crowd. Women put stones into the fire to heat up and took hot ones to the hogan to keep it warm.
Erika approached a stooped, elderly woman with silver hair. “I’ll take the stones.”
The woman’s eyes were warm and kindly. “No. You are not part of the medicine.”
“But I… He’s my…” What is he exactly to me?
To call him a friend seemed somehow less than a full explanation of what he had come to mean to her, yet he was neither family nor her lover.
“When I was young, probably about your age,” the woman said,” I had a young man. My mother used to say we were practically joined at the hip. More like locked at the lips.” Her laugh was a dry cackle.
The elderly woman’s laugh was infectious, and Erika couldn’t help but smile.
“We’re not—”
“He got sick. Everyone thought he would die.” The mirth was gone from her face. “I wanted to be with him powerful bad. But the wise one told the men to keep me out.”
“What did you do?”
“Oh, my anger!” The woman’s eyes blazed as she recalled the feeling. “‘You can’t keep me out!’ I yelled. But the wise one came out and said to me, ‘His love for you distracts him from the work of healing he has to do. If you are there, he will worry for you instead of thinking on himself.’”
Erika wanted to protest further, to tell the woman that she and Tex were not in a relationship like that, that he wasn’t her boyfriend and hadn’t professed any kind of love for her. She didn’t argue, though, because on some level, what the woman said felt true. The elderly woman resumed her slow walk to the hogan with the warm stones.
People cooked and ate. Dogs played and slept. New people came while others left. All was done in a reverent quietness that seemed impossible for a crowd that numbered at least two dozen.
People had quiet conversations around the fire. None included Erika. She tried to listen to the quiet whispering, to hear if they had more information about Tex than had been shared with her, but the people talked quietly and often in a language Erika didn’t understand.
Dana had left the fire but returned with two Styrofoam cups of hot, black coffee. Erika wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but she allowed it to warm her hands.
She whispered to Dana. “I’m trying to hear if they’re talking about Tex, but I can’t understand what they’re saying. Do you know anything other than ‘he’s alive’?”
Dana took a sip of her coffee. “I understand only a little, but they’re talking about the end of the fourth world.”
Erika nearly spat out the sip of coffee she’d just taken. “End of the world?” That doesn’t sound good. “What does that have to do with Tex?”
“I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing. They think he may be part of a prophecy. There’s supposed to be a new sky god that will usher in the new age—the fifth world.”
Erika chortled. The idea that Tex was some kind of savior made her snicker. She’d seen him kill effortlessly, and he seemed to have little regard for human life in general. She believed he could learn to appreciate the value of life—in time—but being humane seemed to have been engineered and trained out of him.
She nearly blurted out her thoughts on the subject but stopped herself. Dana didn’t know about Tex’s powers or about his training to be a skilled killer.
Aunt Dana frowned at Erika. “Don’t scoff at others’ beliefs.” She threw the last bit of her coffee out on the parched ground. “Be respectful. These people are helping him—and you.”
Erika wiped the smirk from her face. “I’m not laughing at them. It’s just… Well, if you knew Tex like I do, I don’t think you’d believe he’s messiah material.”
Dana shook her head. “I didn’t say I believe that. Personally, I think he’s bad news.”
Heat rose in Erika’s cheeks. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that when he gets well, you should send him on his way. I think he’s no good for you. You’re clearly infatuated with him, so you don’t see the truth.”
“Truth? Oh, enlighten me.” Erika’s voice was no longer a whisper.
Aunt Dana looked around to see if people were staring then moved in a bit closer to Erika and spoke even more quietly. “Erika, look at him. And look at yourself. You’ve been on the run from something, and this young man—or whatever he is—has pulled you into it. If you stay connected to him, you’ll meet a bad end. I can feel it.”
Erika didn’t bother keeping her voice down. “How dare you.”
Dana’s eyes flashed anger. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “This is a sacred time. Show respect or leave.”
Erika’s skin prickled. “Maybe you need to respect me. You abandoned me—”
Dana shook her head. “You know now that’s not true. Your mom didn’t give you the cards, letters, and presents. And I had no number for you—”
Erika held up her hand and spoke quietly through gritted teeth. “You knew where I lived.”
Dana fell quiet.
“You gave up the right to have a say about what I do or who I’m with when you crapped out on me as my family, not that you probably had much to say in the matter anyway.”
“You’re still a minor, Erika. And as your only living relative in the US, I’m your guardian now, and—”
Erika laughed out loud, drawing attention again. “Don’t even.” She spat out the words with as much poison as she could muster. “I’ll be eighteen in a few months.”
“Half a year is more than a few months.”
Erika rose from her chair. “Take care of your own life, and don’t even think about trying to control mine.”
She walked away before Dana could argue. A few rust-colored dogs followed her as if she had a steak strapped to her back. She was glad for the quiet company of the animals. She wanted to seethe in silence.
The day turned into night, yet Niyol and Tex remained in the hogan. Erika asked men who left the sweat lodge how Tex was, and all said the same thing that Kai had said: “He still lives.”
What had been refreshing truth the first time became irritating then downright infuriating. “Alive like ‘clinging to life’ alive or alive lik
e ‘improving and there’s hope’ alive?” she wanted to ask. She didn’t push it, though. She was in unknown territory, a world where she was unschooled in the customs and language. She didn’t want to offend and put Tex’s chances for survival at risk.
For two days, Erika helped around the makeshift camp as best she could. She carried firewood to the bonfire, pitched tents, and carried food to people. On the second day, Aunt Dana had to get back to her forest-service job.
“Come with me. You need a break,” Dana said.
“My place is here. For now, anyway.”
Dana shook her head, donned her forest-service hat and got into the truck. “I’ve got to check on my house after work, but I’ll be back tonight. Get some rest, Erika.” Dana’s eyes were soft, and she gave Erika a smile.
Erika forced herself to smile back, not wanting to feud with her aunt. “I’ll try.”
Dana wasn’t back before Erika finally decided to give in to sleep. After the first night, Erika had given up her spot on the couch to Kai’s elderly mother. Erika made her way to a tent and pulled a sleeping bag up to her ears. The ground was cold and hard beneath her. She’d gotten somewhat used to sleeping on a floor, so that wasn’t the issue with getting to sleep. Her mind flitted back and forth from loneliness to worry and fear. She missed Ian’s quick wit and Jack’s easy banter. She even missed the strange and often tense conversations she had with Tex.
She found that her mind dwelled on Tex more than on anyone or anything else. She was sick with worry for him, of course, but she also found herself fantasizing about him in a way she had never done with anyone else before. She imagined him strong and well, as he had been when she first met him. She wanted to spend time with him without people chasing them or being in danger. What would he be like if he could just be himself? Also, she longed to show him more of the world than the inside of a car or house. She wondered what would he think about snow and if he wanted to see the ocean even if he couldn’t get in it.
She drifted off to a fitful sleep and dreamed.
In her dream, the sun was low in the sky. The canyon walls glowed vibrant pink and orange. She found a tall tree and decided to rest beneath it and watch the sunset. I thought it was morning, not night. Erika put aside her confusion and gazed peacefully at nature’s light show. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched the sun rise or set.
“I wish Tex was here.”
15
TEX
A dry, thin finger stroked Tex’s cheek. The Regina’s voice, raspy and low, whispered in his ear. “You will make us strong again.” Her odor—the smell of rotten fruit and peat—clung to his nostrils.
He thought his eyes were open, but he floated in darkness, vast and endless. The Regina was around him, inside him, everywhere and all consuming.
Tex kicked his legs and flailed his arms, trying to beat her away and off of him. She was there, her face mere inches from him, her purple lips curled in a sinister smile. She faded into nothing but then reappeared behind him, her voice piercing his mind, the Conexus speaking all at once, the all-too-familiar buzz of their collective voices droning on and on, the pain a railroad spike through his skull.
“You dream,” a male voice said.
That was not the Regina’s voice, but it was not his own either. Yet another voice had been added to his already crowded mind.
Flames licked at his insides, yet he shivered with nearly unendurable cold. His lungs ached and felt full of fluid. I am drowning. Again.
“Please, no!” Tex screamed. Well, he tried to yell, but he knew the words had not left his mouth. He was paralyzed, unable to move even the muscles of his jaw to speak. He was with the Conexus again. No, that cannot be.
“Please, no water,” he said with his mind. “I will drown.”
The Regina’s putrid odor drifted away, replaced by a new scent. A sweet yet slightly acrid aroma wafted to him. It was smoky yet clean. The smell carried him away from the dream of the Conexus.
Something gentle touched his hand, warm and pleasing. The same voice he had heard before, low and melodious, said, “Follow the sacred smoke. Follow the sound of my voice.”
“Who are you?”
Again, he felt a gentle tug at his hand. “I am your guide on this spirit journey.”
The touch was gone, the warmth gone with it. He followed the sound of the voice and the trail of smoke as it became thicker and more pungent. He was surrounded by fog, the world around him milky gray and cold.
“I do not believe in spirit,” Tex said.
The male voice chuckled softly. “That does not matter. Even if you do not believe in spirit, it believes in you. Come to me. Follow my voice.”
The darkness dissipated. Tex’s vision was blurry, but he walked toward a horizon, fuzzy and indistinct but visible. A figure shimmered before him like a mirage on a hot day.
Tex quickened his pace. He knew he should be frightened, but for some reason he was not. He wanted to figure out who had infiltrated his mind. The mirage took form, Tex’s eyes less bleary. A small man stood before him, his skin weathered with age, his long, white-streaked black hair pulled back in a smooth, salt-and-pepper tail. The man stood on a sage-covered red-soil mesa. He did not smile at Tex, but he did not frown either. The man’s expression was wholly free of judgment, peaceful yet curious. It was a look Tex had never experienced before.
The bright blue midday sky was dotted with puffy clouds. The air was pleasantly cool, but the sun was warm on his face and bare shoulders. Tex looked down and saw he wore only pants, his emaciated chest and bony feet bare. I do not remember taking off my shirt and shoes.
“Is this real?” Tex asked.
“As real as it needs to be.”
“Where is Erika? Is she—”
“She rests.” The man walked away from him. He stopped after a few paces, looked back, and gestured for Tex to follow.
Tex spun and looked behind him. They were surrounded by endless mesa in all directions. Having no clue where he was or what to do, Tex followed the man.
They walked for what felt like many minutes. No matter how quickly Tex walked, the man was always a few paces ahead of him. The path narrowed and twisted and turned as they went down a hill and into a valley formed by high rust-red rocky canyon walls.
In a small clearing at the base of the canyon stood a small cottage made of weathered wood. The man opened its door and waved for Tex to follow.
Tex stepped through the door. He expected a warm, inviting cabin much like Aunt Dana’s, but it was dark inside, with no warm hearth or smell of cooking food or warm lights. The room was cold, stone, and gray.
The place was empty and dark except for a smooth white stone table that had erupted from the ground. The only illumination was a bright white cone of light that spilled over the table from overhead.
A tiny, fragile-looking gray-skinned creature lay on the table. Its ribs were clearly visible, its face all gaunt shadows.
Tex edged closer. All the Greys had looked identical to him, but still, maybe he would somehow be able to distinguish it from the others.
He was only a foot away from the table, so close he could touch the being lying there if he wanted to. A metal clamp was affixed to the back of the creature’s head. A puddle of blood had dried on the table below the poor thing’s head. A plastic tube snaked from the blackness of the ceiling and went into the creature’s head, held there by the metal clamp.
Tex got closer still and gasped when he looked down into the creature’s face. He, Tex, was on the table. He was the thin, nearly unrecognizable Grey, lying like a specimen on the cold stone slab.
“No,” he whispered. “It cannot be. I… I escaped.” He could still be in the Conexus collective, and all that he thought had happened—the battle in the pool room, the death of Xenos, the escape from the Makers—it all could have been a dream. “Is this the past? Or am I still locked into the collective mind of the Conexus?”
The man who had led him through the door s
tood across from him now. Pityingly, he too looked down at the pathetic creature on the table. “What does your heart tell you?”
Tex had never been asked to speak from the fictional place humans sometimes referred to as “the heart.” He was not sure he knew what the man meant. Somehow, though, the strange yet comforting smell of the smoke drew him to a place within himself that he had never been aware of.
“This is my past. I am in a waking dream.”
The man nodded. “This is how your friends found you.”
As Tex stared at the alien version of himself, covered in angry and festering wounds, he wished he could rescue himself from the place.
The man’s voice, deep and low, resonated in his chest. “Walk in their shoes. What would you have done?”
“I would have pulled me away from this place.” The ache in his head intensified, and the uncontrollable shivering returned. He felt as though he was bathing in ice yet had swallowed an inferno. “I am not much better off now than I was then, am I?”
“Your physical body lingers at the door to death,” the man said.
Tex saw a thin filament out of the corner of his eye and noticed it was connected to his body. The strange thread shimmered and looked frayed, near to breaking.
“I am not ready to die. Dr. Randall. Erika… they need me.”
“Many need you.”
The words reminded him of the things Commander Sturgis had told him his whole life. He had hated her for determining his fate before he was even born. He had been created to be a weapon, a warrior to fight for people he did not know in a war he never understood, but no one had ever asked him if he wanted the job.
“Perhaps choice is an illusion,” the man said. He had a pipe in his hand and took a long draw from it. Rings of smoke billowed in the air around him, his dark eyes clear and bold. They seemed to see right into the very center of Tex’s being. “Illusion or no, what choice would you make now?”
H.A.L.F.: ORIGINS Page 11
