Immortal Becoming (22 page)

Sargon ported in before them, pulling Nin into his arms. “The council has approved a chortal location. It will not be made permanent without Moira’s agreement. They gave us a seventy-two-hour pass. There is an orchard just beyond the grain elevators, running the north end of the property, ending at a natural rock formation located on a cliff path leading down into a small, protected beach inlet. The Tellus are already in route to start the field, and the Aquaties are working the tides and currents.”

“Are there any booby traps your mom placed there?” Nin asked Jorie. Sargon raised his eyebrows in question.

Returning to the chin tapping, Jorie considered the question for a moment, looking to the ceiling. “Hmmmm. Not that I know of. Not on the beach, or the path she said. Farther down, by the dock, there is a cave in the cliff face where mom has vampire bats. There’s netting inside the cave entrance. It has a remote. Mom secures it when I want to go to the beach. They’ve never bothered me, cuz of the sulfur, but Mom doesn’t like taking chances that I could be hurt,” Jorie stated, oblivious to the stunned amazement she created in the warriors around her with every disclosure she made.

“Good Hell.” Sargon sucked in a breath. “We could have walked right into that one.”

“I’ll make sure the netting’s secure.” Jorie danced off toward the stairs leading up to her mother’s office.

“Sargon, honey. You may want to warn everyone out there that nothing, and I mean nothing, is as it seems. In fact, have the weavers finish securing the overhead energy shield, then I think we need to halt everything. Tell them to treat this place as hostile territory. Hopefully Moira will trust us enough to let us help her, not that she needs it.” Sargon turned to follow her directives. She stopped him with an afterthought. “
Do not
let anyone consume anything found on the property.”

“I can’t wait to meet this woman,” Sargon tossed back to them, grinning as he went out the door. Everyone in the room nodded in agreement.

Chapter Seventeen

Ediku stood in Moira’s office, staring into the image of a woman he had not seen or even thought of in centuries. Tears in his eyes, he cleaved the four ancient books to his chest. Seeing his mother’s diaries again filled him with renewed grief. In all the time he’d spent searching for them, it had never occurred to him that sweet, quiet Marjorie took them. Looking into the faces portrayed in the painting, it was obvious she had taken more than the diaries from him. The twin girls were his daughters. There was no question. They were little replicas of his Aunt Nin.

He had been surprised at Jess’s family resemblance. Enlil had accused him of being Jess’s father. He’d denied it, knowing he hadn’t “indulged” in sex in well over fifty years. No way could he have fathered a child who was twenty-six years old. He was pissed they’d thought it of him, especially considering Gil was the family’s resident playboy. The painting explained much while creating a million questions too.

His anger level rose. Regardless of whether it was known that Moira was Ediku’s daughter, there could be no question she was a member of his family. That Fualth could take a woman against her will was, on its own, a betrayal of Ediku’s friendship, loyalty, and trust. He’d always defended Fualth’s right to his beliefs and practices. Stood up in defense of Fualth to his family, never realizing his friend had gone criminally rogue. He’d thought Fualth was living a separatist lifestyle, albeit somewhat cultish in nature.

He had been so angry with Nin and Sargon when he’d overheard Sargon’s frustration at being unable to infiltrate Fualth’s organization, on order from the SOSC. He had railed at them about how hypocritical they were, preaching about living symbiotically, not subjugating the other species, denying their need for blood of the vein. Creating a worldwide blood-donation corporation, using that front to hide their true natures. Trying to aid humankind during their times of need, forcing the young to pay a kind of penance called integration just because they needed human blood to survive.

Not every Volaticus agreed with the Council’s initiatives. He’d thought them overbearing in thinking they had no right to infiltrate Fualth’s nest. Truth was, part of his outrage had been in Fualth’s defense and part in his own. It was well known that his father and aunt were disappointed in his unwillingness to let go of the old ways in favor of this new phase in society, this Symbiosis of Species Council. It wasn’t that he did or didn’t agree with them or Fualth. He just disputed the idea that everyone needed to fit in a nice little box of smiles and rainbows. He could see the benefits of working with the other enlightened species. The chortals alone were invaluable, but arbitrarily using the abilities of Volaticus species for the betterment of other races and species seemed pretentious and wrong to him. If one of the other species asked for help, he was all for giving it to them.

Really there was not much difference now than there had always been. Some Volaticus lived with humans equally, some were leaders, and some avoided human contact. The other two enlightened species within the council did not tell their people they
had
to live amongst humans for a period of time.

He might not have agreed with Fualth’s militia-based, radical dictatorship and predatory ways, or with keeping Elven and Hulven societies separate from humanity except as prey. However, Ediku had argued Fualth’s right to live that way, assuming Fualth didn’t kill humans and treated the planet and the creatures on it with respect. Fualth had assured him he refrained from creating terror within humanity, and that his Elven nests were kept hidden from humans. That was what the rules had been for generations. Lies. He had misjudged his former friend.

He’d just witnessed his daughter taken from her home against her will, a practice never tolerated, even during the period when Humans and Elven “owned” serfs. The Elven lords were known to be kinder than their human counterparts. Serfs were required to take an oath of fealty to their lord for as long as they took sustenance from the land, protection, or shelter from the keeps. They were required to work for the benefit of the keep and land. They could come and go at will, however. That was why Marjorie had gone unfettered so long ago.

Looking around Moira’s grounds gave the impression that she lived in seclusion and fear. That she was hunted. Was it by Fualth? He now hoped that Sargon had succeeded in infiltrating Fualth’s organization. If his former friend could violate Moira’s basic right to freedom, what else was he capable of? What did Fualth want with Moira?

His thoughts were cut off when Jorie came into the room, her wild curls bouncing around her cherub face. Her little spirit brought a smile. Would she let him know her? His granddaughter. He was surprised at how much he wished to know her. “Hey. Jorie, right?”

She came to an abrupt stop upon seeing him. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.” She tapped her fingers to her chin, eyes looking left then right. He could tell she was uncomfortable with him in her mother’s private space. “Jorie. Yeah. I’m Jorie.” Her eyes flashed at the broken window. She walked over to it and looked down at the monitor smashed on the ground below it, then turned back to him. “What are you doing in here?” she finally asked, glancing from his face to the diaries clutched against his chest.

Ediku indicated the painting. “Do you know who these people are?”

“Of course, duh.” Walking up to the painting, she clasped the frame with one hand at the bottom left, her other hand on the right edge of the painting. Ediku heard a click, and the frame swung away from the wall, showing a control panel hidden behind it.

“I need to secure the bat cave.” She reached in and flipped a few switches before swinging the painting back against the wall, it clicked into place. Bat cave? The girl must watch way too much TV. The panel was impressive, however, and so was the securing mechanism.

Jorie walked over to the white board. Grabbing a marker, she re-drew the lines of the diagram that had been wiped through. Impressed and amused, he studied the drawing, seeing the benefits of the process immediately. “Your great-grandmother, my mother, designed a gravity-fed, pressurized watering system for farming twenty-five hundred years ago.” Jorie’s hand stilled and she looked over at him suspiciously. “It’s here in her diaries.” He tapped the books against his chest. “Have you read them?” he asked, trying to appear casual.

Jorie nodded, setting the pen back into the tray and putting her arms out for him to set the diaries into. As reluctant as he was to let them go, they belonged to her, his granddaughter. Still trying to get used to using the term for her, he set the volumes into her keeping.

“Mom is going to give them to Jess now and we have transcribed copies.” She placed the ancient volumes gently back into the glass, hermetically sealed cabinet where he had originally spotted them.

“Do you recognize the people you’ve met today by their names from the diary?” Swallowing hard, Jorie nodded at him. Fingers up. Tap tap tap on the chin. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, reaching out to capture her tapping hand in his.

“Umm.” Her eyes darted from side to side in discomfort. He released her hand, and she clenched it into a fist at her side. He could tell she was weighing whether or not she wanted to answer.

“No one has said your name or anything. I think you are G-G-ma Etana’s son, Ediku. If you are, then that would make you my grandfather.” Her blurted acknowledgment made him smile.

“You’re right.” He already felt his pride in her swelling. “I am your grandfather. My name
is
Ediku.” He looked back to the painting. “I never knew she was pregnant. I never saw the Heredity line on her palm.” He felt as if he needed to explain, more to her mother than to Jorie. He wished Moira were here. Sighing, he wondered aloud, “If you know my name, then they must have too. Why would they not look for me? Who taught them what they needed to know?”

“They did,” Jorie answered for her mother. “Mom and Aunt Marja. It took them a long time to be able to read the diaries. They were written in a weird ancient language. Once they knew who you were, they did look for you. G-G-pa Enlil and G-auntie Ninlil too. They couldn’t find any of you guys. Then something bad happened. That’s when mom and Aunt Marja got scared and started to hide. Plus they had Jess and me to protect. Mom said that changed everything.”

Seemingly unable to help herself, she began tapping her chin again. “Mom says the wonderful Elven life that G-G-ma Etana wrote about wasn’t real. It was just wishful thinking. Elven males want to own women. Hold them prisoner. Make them be brood mares. ”

Jorie had unwittingly validated his earlier fears regarding Fualth, and his anger rose anew. “Were your mother and Marja held prisoner?” he asked, trying to hide his anger.

She shrugged. “Mom doesn’t talk about it. Aunt Marja … I don’t think she ever talked to Jess about anything before she got killed.” She shook her head.

“My daughter is dead? Jess’s mother was killed?” Tears sprang to Ediku’s eyes. Jorie’s eyes teared up as well as she nodded hesitantly. “I have failed you all.” Ediku felt his legs nearly give out, his heart belatedly breaking from the loss of his children, his grandchildren, and the death of a daughter he never got to meet. He looked again at the painting.

“Which one is which?” He choked back his emotions, not wanting to share the burden of his failures with this wonderful child.

Jorie pointed to the image of the child on the right. “That’s mom.” She pointed to the center. “G-ma Marjorie.” Left. “Aunt Marja. Mom says Aunt Marja painted the whole thing just from memory. That’s what they looked like right before G-Ma Marjorie got the plague. She was human, so that killed her.”

“They were so young,” he whispered. “Why didn’t I feel a connection to them?”

“They were fifteen years old when G-ma Marjorie died. They became spies.” Jorie smiled. “Cool, huh? Neither Mom or Aunt Marja were regular Hulven. They didn’t know that for a long time. They split everything—twinism, mom calls it. Aunt Marja was human strong and didn’t have wings. She had to have blood, though, and she had dentes. Oh, and she was psychic. Mom’s really strong but not psychic. Not even a little bit. I only have a bond to her cuz I’m her kid. Even so, it’s hard to get a sense on mom unless she feels super-strongly about something. She blocks her thoughts by humming or singing songs really loudly in her mind. She doesn’t like that I can feel her, but she can’t feel me. ” The puzzle was coming together as Jorie spoke.

“Can you feel her now?”

Jorie took a moment. Tap tap tap. “Umm, she’s sleeping. I’ll tell you when she wakes up if you want. I just talked to my dad telepathically, he says mom’s planned for this and that I shouldn’t worry.”

“Who’s your dad?”

“Napoleon.”

“Napoleon Bonteparte is your sire … yet you drew this agricultural diagram?” He asked amazed. He’d never met the male, but Napoleon was known as a brilliant military strategist. Yet Jorie showed Etana’s farming bloodline inclinations, like him.

“Uh huh.” Jorie nodded and looked at her drawing with pride.

Ediku motioned for Jorie to lead the way out of the office. “Let’s go join the others.” Together they headed toward the stairs.

“Can I call you G-pa E?” she asked hesitantly

“You can call me anything you want.” He liked the name she’d chosen for him.

“Yeah? How ’bout Elmo? Can I call you Elmo?” she teased.