Until the Beginning (6 page)

“But I won’t ask you to do that again,” she adds quickly, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender.

I feel the blood drain from my face. “Please don’t,” I squeak, and then hit myself on the chest to get the water out of my windpipe. When I can once again breathe, I reach over and put my hand on Juneau’s. “I’m sorry. I want to help. But I really, really
don’t want to do that again. Spouting out prophecy while you’ve got me in a trance. I just . . . I can’t.”

“I know,” she says, and pulls her hand away from mine. “That’s okay.”

“Juneau—” I begin.

She interrupts me. “I was wrong to do it like that the last time—without your consent. My manipulating you—”

“Drugging me,” I interject.

“Yes—drugging you—made it a traumatic experience instead of something that can be beautifully mystical. That was totally my fault.”

“Well, thank you for the belated apology,” I say with a smile. “But I already forgave you.”

“I know.” She stares at the fire.

“But that doesn’t mean I want to do it again.”

“I know,” she repeats, pushing her foot over to rest against mine.

We sit in silence. The only sound is the rippling of nearby water and some very loud bugs chirping away in the dark.

“Juneau,” I say finally.

“Yes?”

“Want to show me how to put bullets in my new rabbit killer?”

Juneau laughs, and the heaviness lifts. “They’re called bolts,” she says. “And I think we can come up with a better name for your crossbow than that.”

“What? Not Rabbit Killer?”

“Lame,” Juneau says, grabbing her backpack and unzipping the top.

“Bunny Slayer?” I offer.

“Lamer,” she replies, hiding her grin as she pulls out a handful of sharp wooden pegs.

“Well, what’s yours called?” I ask, taking a bolt from her and rolling it around in my fingers.

“My last one was Windspeed. I’m not sure about this one, but I was thinking maybe Ravenflight.” She looks at me, gauging my reaction.

“You’re naming your crossbow after Poe?” I’m incredulous.

“What’s wrong with that?” she asks defensively.

“Well, ‘deadly’ isn’t exactly the word that comes to mind when I think of that bird. ‘Bumbling,’ maybe. ‘Annoying,’ definitely.”

Juneau’s jaw drops in feigned shock. “How dare you?” she says. “Poe is my noble messenger. My faithful companion. Besides, I think you’re jealous of him.”

“How faithful can he be if he’s off playing house-raven with that mountain woman?” I ignore the jealous jab.

“Poe
is
noble,” she insists. “And Ravenflight it is.”

“Just to spite me,” I challenge.

“Yes.”

“Fine. If we’re using avian nomenclature, I’m calling mine the Hoot of Hedwig.”

Juneau is baffled. “What in the world is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a reference that pretty much everyone would recognize.”

“Besides me,” Juneau says slowly.

“Exactly,” I respond. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Not in the least,” she says, lifting her chin and glancing off into the night with an air of supreme disinterest. She sighs and, taking a bolt, fits it into a groove on the top of my crossbow.

“Literary reference?” she asks, still concentrating on the weapon.

“Oh, wouldn’t you love to know . . . crow lover,” I reply.

She bursts out laughing. And the look of pure happiness in her eyes makes everything that has happened, and everything that we are still facing, unquestionably worth it.

ALTHOUGH MILES SAYS HE’S AFRAID HE WON’T BE
able to sleep, he starts nodding off right after a short but successful round of target practice. I send him to the tent, but remain by the fire so I can Read it as it burns itself out.

This time, I go through my entire list of names. Everyone of interest. When I Read for Dad, I see inside the same adobe hut, where he lies on a cot staring at the ceiling, a candle flickering on the floor next to his palette.

It is dark in Tallie’s cabin, the windows softly illuminated by the glow of moonlight.

Miles’s dad is sitting in front of a computer screen in his office at the top of the Blackwell building. The lights of L.A. twinkle through the glass walls surrounding him.

Whit is out of the hospital. There’s a thick white bandage
around his head. He’s sitting, writing, at a desk in what looks like a hotel room.
On his way to hunt me down,
I think. But if he plans on sleeping tonight then, by Gaia, so will I. We both know where I’m heading. Now it’s just a question of avoiding him while I figure out how to free my clan. A faceoff is inevitable. I just want to delay it for as long as possible.

I check in with my friend Nome and see her sitting outside under the stars, talking to Kenai. “I’m coming,” I whisper, and wish they could hear me. I could see them as early as tomorrow, if Miles and I get lucky. My heart is sore with missing them—the pain is even more acute now that they’re within reach.

I look away from the dying flames and feel suddenly and completely overwhelmed. As if in allowing one small hole for my loneliness to trickle through, I’ve knocked down a dam and my feelings are flooding out. I don’t let myself cry, though. I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t be able to stop.

I wrap my arms tightly around myself as I remember life in the clan. How I was never alone unless I really wanted to be. Unlike now. It’s me against the world . . . against the bad guys, and unless I win, I might never see my clan again.

I think of the heavily armed guards with Whit, and it occurs to me that I might die. I remind myself that I’m the one everyone seems so concerned about catching. They all want something from me. So maybe I’m too valuable for them to kill. I can only hope that this is enough to protect me.

I glance over at the tent, and remember that I’m not alone. Miles is with me. He chose to come with me, although neither
of us understood at the time what that would involve. He cares enough about me to go against his father. To leave his home.

I scatter the embers with a stick and make my way to the tent. Looking inside, I see Miles’s outstretched form. He’s sleeping in his T-shirt and boxers, his bloody jeans folded up in the corner. His face is peaceful, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Like he’s just any eighteen-year-old on a road trip.

I long for that kind of freedom. To be a regular person. Not someone on whom the lives of forty people depend. Not someone who is being hunted across the country because I carry a secret other people will kill to get. I feel the weight of my burden, heavier than ever. I wish I could sleep and never wake up. But that isn’t my fate. That’s not why I was given my gifts.

Crouching, I climb into the tent and zip the door closed behind me. I sit down next to Miles and stroke his light brown curls with my fingertips. I want to tell him how I feel. To explain the responsibility I’ve always felt toward my father and my clan. To have someone to share the burden with.

“Miles?” I ask, and his eyelids flutter open.

“Juneau,” he says, waiting.

“I . . . I can’t . . .” is as far as I get. I have spent too long keeping those feelings to myself. Hiding my emotions from even my friends. The words disappear on my lips.

Miles sits up. His eyes brush my face, reading the set of my mouth, the pain in my eyes. “You’re worried,” he whispers, and I nod. If it were only that simple. He wraps his arms around me and draws me in to him, hugging me and stroking my hair
until I push him softly away.

“I don’t want comfort,” I explain. “I want to erase everything. To chase reality away. I want . . . I need to escape. Just for a moment.” The words are spilling out—unplanned, unfocused—but their meaning doesn’t matter. Miles understands.

I lean toward him, and he meets me halfway. His lips brush mine and set off a firestorm of sensations inside me—feelings so powerful that I have no doubt that more is involved than just a boy and a girl kissing. It’s the Yara, whipping around us like a wind. Sweeping us into its current and filling us with its fire.

Miles pulls me to him until my chest presses tightly against his, but I want to be closer. I run my hands under his shirt, and he lets go of me for as long as it takes him to rip it off. My fingertips crackle with invisible sparks as I run my hands over his bare skin.

His eyes widen with surprise: The fireworks set off by the touch of our skin are obviously something new to him. I pull him back down so he lies beside me. We watch each other from inches apart, weaving our arms and legs and bodies together into a tangle of us. And then I kiss him and the world falls away.

We are two tiny dots on the surface of the planet, so close that we look like one. One with each other. One with the earth. Joined together, we are both set free.

I WAKE UP NAKED IN AN EMPTY TENT. I GROPE
around until I find my clothes, and pull on underwear, jeans, and the T-shirt Juneau bought me. Running my hands through my hair I try to pat down my bedhead before unzipping the door and stepping out into the oasis of trees where Juneau pitched our camp.

Flashes of sunlight bounce off the surface of rapidly moving water just yards away, and I catch a glimpse of Juneau’s red tank top from where she crouches next to the river. An enormous smile hijacks my face as I think of last night, and hope to God that things won’t be awkward between us. I push my way through thick bushes to the river’s edge.

She turns and, seeing me, puts her hands on her hips. Her expression is one that’s new for me—an intimate but teasing smile acknowledging that last night actually happened and wasn’t just
the best dream I’ve ever had. “So . . . did you sleep well?” she asks.

“I think I could call last night
Death-Sleep 2: The Sequel
,” I admit, and not knowing whether or not I should go up and kiss her, I stick my hands in my pockets and wait for a sign from her.

She looks like she wants to laugh, and extends a hand to me. Deciding to do what’s natural, I take her hand and pull her in for a hug. She feels like pure joy in my arms. I wonder if that’s how I feel to her. “Are you still worried?” I ask.

She leans back and looks at me, amused. She shakes her head. “No, somehow I got distracted last night. And this morning I poured all my worry into coming up with a plan.”

Pulling away from me, she squats down next to the water. The moment I could have kissed her has passed—she’s reverted back to all-business Juneau and doesn’t seem the kissy type—and I’m left with a stab of regret. Mainly over the fact that I wish I could take her back to the tent and see if the magical effects were a figment of my extremely happy imagination or if the sparks and fireworks and electrical shocks were actually real. Although last night wasn’t my first, it was definitely the only time sex had been a pyrotechnic extravaganza.

And then it occurs to me: This could be part of the earth magic. The Yara. Juneau and I hadn’t been alone. “The force that binds all living things,” or however the hell Juneau describes it, had been in the tent with us. And though it’s a freakily bizarre idea, it’s also kind of hot. Juneau interrupts this enticing train of thought by pointing to something in the river.

“Can you see the picture on the water?” she asks, and points
to a flat stretch of water cascading off a rock and reflecting the morning sun. I focus on it, and it’s like finding shapes in clouds: I can see colors reflected in it, forms moving around, but nothing precise.
There’s nothing there,
I tell myself. I shake my head.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I wasn’t expecting you to. Just wanted to be sure. What I see is the area where my clan is.” She gestures toward the patch of still water. “Far from their group of huts—but I can’t tell exactly how far—there’s a huge mansion-like house. And in front of it are some camouflaged guards, like the ones who were with Whit.”

She peers intently at the water, her forehead creasing in concern. “But this is the weird part. In another area of the fenced-in space it looks like there are wild animals roaming around.” She turns to me. “Do they have lions in New Mexico?”

“They probably have coyotes like we do in California and maybe cougars. But lions . . . I doubt it.”

Juneau purses her lips and looks back at the water. “No, I definitely see a couple of lions. And a zebra.”

“A zebra? Are you sure the water’s showing you New Mexico?” I ask, trying not to sound skeptical.

“Positive,” she replies, and turns back to me. “It’s all part of a huge fenced-in area that encloses the desertlike land where my clan is, stretching all of the way up into faraway hills with sparse trees, where the animals are.”

“Okay,” I concede. “So what’s the plan?”

Juneau weaves her fingers through mine and I try to ignore the current running between us and concentrate on what she’s saying
as she leads me away from the water, back toward the camp. “There are armed guards driving around in jeeps,” she explains, as we edge by a bush of prickly leaves that sting me through my jeans. “So we can’t just scale the fence and wander through. But we could follow the fence around the perimeter until we find my clan. Their huts are definitely visible from the fence—I’ve seen it behind them in all of my Readings. We need to get there first, though, and see it for ourselves before we plan our strategy.”

I stop and rub my stinging leg. “You’re saying ‘we’ as if I’m going to be a part of the strategizing,” I point out. “After all of the stupid things I’ve done, you’re going to trust me to help you come up with a plan?” Okay, I know I’m digging for compliments, but maybe after all we’ve been through I need a bit of encouragement.

Juneau lifts an eyebrow. “You’ve learned to make a fire, pitch a tent, and cook since I met you. And you didn’t do too badly at target practice yesterday. At this point I’m considering you an asset.”

“Why, thank you,” I reply, satisfied now that I’ve gotten the back pat I needed.

“Plus, I’ll bet you’re good for more than that,” she adds. “I saw metal boxes at several places along the top of the fences. With lights on them. Do you know what they do?”

“That probably means the fences are electrified,” I say.

“As in, if you touch it, it shocks you?” she asks.

“Exactly.”

Juneau brushes a branch out of her way and turns to me. “See. You’re a definite asset. Yes, we’re going to be creeping around in
the wilderness, which is my domain. But we’re doing it in a modern world that I still haven’t gotten close to understanding. Your domain. Like my Seattle oracle so prophetically put it, I need you just as much as you need me.” And she gives me a smile that fills up all the empty places inside me.

We emerge from the trees into our clearing, and Juneau kneels down next to the atlas. “Here’s where the point on Whit’s map was,” she says, tracing a barren-looking area with her finger, and then moving it to the left where some green appears on the map. “It’s not far from where this tree line starts. That’s got to be it. At least, that general area. My clan can’t be too far away. Maybe a three-hour drive.”

Juneau crosses her arms, staring at the map. “Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods. “I’m fine. But from what I saw, my clan is being guarded by men who are well armed and well organized. We can’t take them head-on. We’ll have to come up with a plan to whisk my people out from under their noses. We can strategize while we drive.” She sits down and begins pulling food out of the grocery bags.

“Breakfast, then we go?” I ask.

Juneau closes her eyes. Her worry is almost palpable. I want to take it from her—to see her in one of the rare moments where she forgets her “mission” and seems almost carefree.

She exhales, and then raises her face toward mine. “How about kiss me first, and then breakfast, and then we go.”

“Gladly,” I respond. I take her face in my hands and kiss her softly. “How did you know what I was thinking?” I murmur.

“You’re easy to read,” she replies, and then asks, “So why didn’t you kiss me when you wanted to . . . by the river? You were trying to be sensitive, right? Or polite?”

“Gentlemanly,” I add to her list.

“That’s nice,” she says with a bemused smile, “but you forget I was raised in the wilderness. No gentlemen for miles around. Only wild men. And savages.”

“So are you saying you’d rather I just grab you and kiss you whenever I feel like it, regardless of the seriousness of the moment or the level of danger we’re in?”

She crosses her arms and cocks her head to one side. “That depends. Can I assume that, as it would in my world, what happened in the tent last night signifies something?”

“What, exactly, would it signify in your world?” I ask, supremely enjoying the direction this conversation has taken.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that we’re together?” Juneau suggests.

I rub my chin, pensively. “Together?” I ask, looking confused.

“A couple,” Juneau clarifies, a dangerous sparkle in her eye.

“Hmm, yes. I think that in my society, one could assume from what happened in the tent last night that we are, indeed, a couple,” I say.

“Then, yes, you are allowed to grab and kiss me whenever you wish,” she concludes, daring me.

As Juneau knows by now, I never turn down a dare.