The Saint (32 page)

“Yeah, that's Kris,” Jack said. “He's always in communion with something the rest of us barely sense. Really, I think that he's the mortal repository for the Goddess's master plan for this planet. We're
all
humbled by his faith. Or perhaps I mean ‘certainty.' Faith implies that there is room for doubt.”

Adora blinked and tried to focus. She realized that she must have been speaking aloud. That, or Jack could hear her thoughts too.

“It's odd for all of us to be near him,” Jack went on. “He's so driven, so plugged in. It isn't what we're used to. That isn't surprising, I guess. Most people have no real faith, and they value only what animals value—a meal, bodily comfort, their short physical lives. Perhaps they value the lives of their children or lovers or parents. A few love abstract ideals like patriotism, or dreams of fame that will provide them with better meals, bodily comfort, etc. But only a handful have ever been able to love all people—all
peoples
—more than themselves. Kris is one of those, the rare one or two born every century.” Jack looked at her.

“Go on.” This was very important. Adora sensed that Jack was leading up to something—something she needed to understand.

“But something inside Kris has been broken, or knocked askew. The others don't know it, but something is breaking up the reception between him and Gaia. He can talk to the Goddess, but he isn't receiving any new instructions from Her. He must find some other way to reconnect.” Jack paused. “The traditional way to Divine Love is through earthly love. I hope to the Goddess that he finds it with you. Because I'm afraid that we're in trouble if it doesn't.”

“But no pressure, right?” Adora grimaced. So Jack thought Kris was broken, just like she was.

“I don't envy you,” Jack admitted, then banged on something under the car. A piece of manzanita
flew out. “But if you give us a chance, we will all love you—whatever happens. We'll be your family, if that's what you want. There's no need to ever be alone again.”

Adora ducked her head. “I want,” she whispered.

“Good.” Jack threw out some more broken shrubbery. “You know, even the first time I saw Kris— badly wounded, his mind shattered—a part of me looked at him and felt . . . right. Something inside went, Ah-ha, there he is! He's the one we've been waiting for.”

“Here he is, the one I've been waiting for,” she murmured. “Yeah, I guess it was kind of like that— finding something important to me that I didn't even know was lost. . . . I guess I just need to figure out what to do now that I've got him.”

Jack's head reappeared and his teeth flashed white as he grinned at her. Again, she caught a flash of energy that was a distant echo of what Kris made her feel. If Io was right, it was because Jack was a death fey. The thought chilled her. She didn't like the idea of not being in control.

“Such an expression of dismay and distrust!” Jack chided. “You know, Chloe shared with me once that her husband told her he'd walk through Hell barefoot to bring her a drink of water. She came to Io and me for advice. This devotion of Zayn's worried her because—well, she has never felt entirely worthy of him. Not since the rape and her addiction to goblin fruit. And Zayn has always been concerned about her feelings for him being a mixture of gratitude and being fey-struck. That's a kind of addiction too. But I don't have to tell you about it, do I? Your parents were probably affected.”

“They certainly were.” Even as she said it,
something twisted inside of Adora. It was compassion for this unknown woman who didn't feel valuable. She herself was entirely too familiar with this shadow of unworthiness, which was capable of obscuring even the brightest rays of happiness. A part of her again wanted to weep for Chloe's damage, and for her own. She was glad that Jack was under the car again and couldn't see her face, since she seemed unable to hide her expressions today.

“So, what did you say to her?” Adora asked, controlling her voice.

“Io was kinder, but I finally told Chloe to just say thanks and drink the damn water if he bothered to fetch it. Women! There's no need to make a federal case out of everything a guy says.”

Adora laughed. “Okay, your opinion is duly noted. So, how far would I have to walk to actually see some sunshine and breathe fresh air?”

“I take it you don't want a guide interfering?”

“Not really,” she admitted, liking that she could be frank. “I brood best alone.”

“If you can ask nicely, you may take the tunnel behind me until you reach the fork, and then go left. About a hundred yards in, you'll hit a dead end. The wall will be sealed, but if you explain your wish for air—
politely
—it will open for you. I think Zayn may be down there as well, and he can help you if you get stuck.” Jack again emerged, his face more serious. “Just don't go far, okay? The terrain can get treacherous if you stray, and there are lots of poisonous critters about.”

“Okay.” Adora unfolded herself. “Um . . . you wouldn't happen to know what time it is?”

“Outside? It's about eleven in the morning. The sun is up and it's hot. Don't stay out too long. You aren't fully healed yet.”

“I won't.”

“Have a ball, then.”

Adora nodded, though Jack couldn't see her, and headed in the direction he'd pointed.

 

 

And the people watched the fiery sky that remained red throughout the night. Some cried out that there was blood on the moon because their god was slaign. Others trembled and wept at the gates of the temple. When the skies were crimson for three days and three nights and the tremors shook the ground, it was decided that a sacrifice would be made. A great bull was chosen and also a maiden. One was to be given as a burnt offering, the other thrown into the sea. But Niklas, now called Poseidon, appeared before them and said to the king that no such sacrifice should be made. Instead, the people should flee, for the end of Thera was nigh. But the king did not pay heed and instead delayed to gather up his worldly treasure, and thus was the island and all her people buried in fire and brimstone.

—Niklas 22:18

Scathach nUanaind, undead queen of Scythia, approached. She was naked except for a belt of rubies, was pale as snow, and her eyes were pools of green darkness. Shadow, they called her.

“I seek the one they call Niklas,” she said, studying in turn each man in the glen until she found the one she sought. “My daughter is dead in battle and I must have a father for another. Come lie with me on yonder hill.”

But Niklas, who did not believe in war, said, “Begone, warrior goddess. You shall have no children of me.”

“Raxin.” General Anaximander continued to stare out his window into the night. “I have a very special job for you. It seems that Niklas has finally found a mate. I simply can't have that.”

Raxin said nothing. Nor did he look at Miffith, the general's shadowy secretary, who stood in the room's darkest corner. Miffith probably knew that Anaximander had killed his own father and all his male siblings. That made some employees nervous at job evaluation time. A bad performance review tended to mean death by strangulation.

“As you know, I can't kill Niklas and risk him coming back with his mind intact,” Anaximander went on. “But we can get rid of
her
before she breeds. Go to Cadalach. Take the old roads and don't be seen by the fey. Adora Navarra likes to wander in the dead zone. Make sure she gets good and lost. And then dead.” The general turned and looked into his enforcer's eyes. “It would be good if she suffered. Be as creative as you like.”

Raxin nodded. A shivering Miffith pulled deeper into the shadows.

As Jack had predicted, the sun was well up outside and, though slightly overcast, the day was almost unbearably hot. Even thermometers had to be sweating.

Adora sat on a rock—a flat rock with a narrow band of hazy shade that jutted over a canyon that was a long, long way down—and stared at the mansized stone beside her. She waited for Kris. She waited because she knew—somehow—that he was coming. He had probably felt the emotional earthquake of her returning memory. There would be aftershocks, too. She wasn't done remembering yet.

Unwanted, Adora saw another sudden snippet of herself as a child. It was July in Aptos. There was one street in the neighborhood where the sidewalks were smooth and long, and where, in the summer, children gathered for roller skating. Adora would sometimes join the other girls, for most mornings were nice and cloudy. She had to be a bit careful, though; by afternoon the fog would sometimes thin enough for the sun to shine through. This particular day was a special one. There was another new girl who had come to skate. She was shy, with bright red hair and freckles so vivid they looked painful. The others were uncertain about welcoming her, and Adora sensed that here at last was someone different whom she might obtain as a friend. The girl had agreed to be Adora's skating partner—a first for Adora, who never got to be part of the human span when they played London Bridges. But just when things were looking perfect, the fog had failed her, and the day, which had begun so gloriously, became yet another afternoon of rejection. Though she wanted desperately to continue skating with her new friend who sailed through the sunlit salty air with red ringlets flying, the sun had started to burn her, and Adora had been forced to crawl under the oleander bushes until the shadows grew long enough for her to find a protected path back home. The redhead had eventually found someone else to skate with, and Adora was again left alone.

Stop it, Joy. I've had enough.

It isn't me.

Adora stared fixedly at the rock before her, trying to slip into a meditative trance where she could calm her mind. Peace refused to come, though, and the longer she stared at the granite protrusion, the more the disquieting impression grew that the stone was wrapped around something sentient, and that it was aware of her, maybe even eavesdropping on her thoughts. The rock had no eyes, of course, but there were two hollows that were suggestive of sockets, a protrusion that could be a nose, and a deep horizontal fracture that looked rather like a mouth—one full of teeth. Unlike the mound behind her, it loomed over her with unsympathetic intention.

So stick your fingers in and see if it bites
, Joy said suddenly, making the nervous Adora shriek and jump.

Unfortunately, it also made her land on top of an ill-tempered scorpion who—understandably—took exception to the sudden intimacy.

At her cry, Kris came flying over the chest-high stones like Baryshnikov—only leaping much higher than any human she had ever seen. Also, most dancers—at least in the ballet—had clothes on. Kris had somehow mislaid most of his.

He was beautiful, like Michelangelo's David, without flaw of face. She could only stare with wonder and longing as he landed beside her on bended knee. It was enough to keep her from noticing the pain of the scorpion sting for a full thirty seconds.

At thirty-one seconds, though, she began to swear.

“This is all your fault,” she accused. “You've made me crazy and careless.”

“There's a lot of that going around.” Lightning arced in his eyes. Kris laughed once and then pulled her to him with hands so strong they almost hurt. Though she had never liked a rough touch, her body instantly transmitted a message of joy. This was Kris's touch, which she craved. Air left her lungs like she was giving up the last breath in the world. Lips to lips, heart to heart, heat to heat. This was as close as she would ever come to sharing her soul with another, she thought dizzily.

He kissed her as if she were his only hope of salvation, but even through her desire she sensed a form of anger under the longing. She thought that she understood. She wanted him as well but didn't
want
to want him because it was part of some plan.

Eat my heart. Drink my soul. Love me to death.
Say
it
.

No,
she thought, but it was a weak protest because her body longed to do just that. She wanted to give herself over and stop fighting.

By the time the embrace was broken, her hair was a mess and her mouth slightly bruised. Adora ran her tongue along her lip and tasted blood—most of it hers. Not that she was complaining. She was too stunned by the sudden intimacy to use her voice or brain. She was light-headed, too. Whenever Kris touched her, there was insufficient oxygen in the air. He also gave her fever, made her skin burn.

Okay, this is suggestive clue number sixty-one that I'm not embarking on some average love affair,
Adora thought giddily.
This is—well—epic.

Kris had pulled back from her, at least mentally. His hands continued to hold her while she fell to her knees. Oddly enough, though the rest of her felt buffeted, her hand had stopped hurting. Looking down, she could see the wound was healed.