Whispers on the Wind (25 page)

She laughed, then choked on the laughter. “Jon...it’s the strangest thing, but I actually believe you. I mean, about DaVinci and the others. Everyone said he was before his time—a visionary. He drew working models of helicopters, for heaven’s sake, before there was even fixed-wing flight.”

Then, rolling up on one elbow, she looked down at him. “Why would an Aazoni know about flight in aircraft when you can just translate yourselves from point A to point B? What would be the reason for that? And why would he try to tell humans about it long before their technology was ready to build what he drew?”

“Aazoni do not require flight,” he said, “but many other peoples do. Perhaps he learned from one of those races. As to why he might have attempted to educate humans regarding this, I cannot say. Truly, he should not have. Perhaps he never meant his drawings to be seen by other eyes.”

“Well, they sure as hell were, and they puzzled a lot of people for a lot of years.”

Lenore dropped back down onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling, silent, thoughtful, wondering.

Jon rolled toward her and lifted his upper body against the headboard, reclining on three pillows that had not been there before. “
Letise
, tell me what else it is you want to know. I sense a great question burdening you.”

“How can the union of an Aazoni and a human create a baby? We aren’t the same race.” She firmed her chin when it threatened to wobble and met his steady gaze. “I don’t even know what you really look like. I mean, is this—the way you are now—nothing more than a form you adopt when you’re on Earth? Are you really green, with scales and a long tail?”

He laughed. “
Letise
, this is my real form. The only one I have. Human and Aazoni are cousins, descending from a common ancestor. We did evolve in a slightly different manner, and on different worlds, but there are few physical differences in our bodies. Except,” he added, flicking undone the firm knot she had tied in her bathrobe sash, opening the front and touching her breasts, her belly, her thighs with a broad, firm palm, “the very important ones between male and female.”

She shivered at his touch and, in defiance of her own needs, tugged her robe closed again, knotting it even more tightly.

“And did the union of my mother and my father produce what we would call a mule? A sterile being—me—without the capacity to have children?”

“No,” he assured her. “You are fully functional in every way.”

She pulled in a long breath and let it out slowly, feeling as if a large weight had been lifted from her chest. “Good.”

“You are finding it easier to believe me.”

She nodded. “Strange as it may seem, but yes, I am. I’d be a fool to keep on denying things, wouldn’t I, with all the weird and wonderful evidence you’ve placed before me.”

“But you will believe me more, and will know more about what’s possible from a union between a human and an Aazoni, if you allow us the full bonding found only in
baloka
. Now I know your true heritage, I understand what my
Kahinya
has been telling me.”

“What has it been telling you?”

He was silent for a time, perhaps even morose. Then, so softly she could scarcely hear, he said, “That you could be my true bond-mate.”

“I cannot be that to you any more than you can to me,” she said. “Your time here is too short, Jon. If we share this...this
baloka
, how will I survive when you leave?”

“How will I?” he countered. “I only know I must leave. I have a duty,
letise
, one I cannot ignore. But I—we both—you and I, have a right, a need to know each other as deeply as we can. To store that knowledge in
Aleeas
for our
Kahinya
s to keep. Will you share that with me, Lenore?”

She wanted to! Oh, lord but how she wanted to. As frightening as it might be, to say no was beyond her. She met his gaze.

Yes, she told him without speaking, and saw joy leap into his eyes. It quivered through her, too, knowing she had reached out mentally to him and he had heard/sensed her response.

She looked down at the robe she wore and wished it away. It stayed exactly where it was, sash tied as tightly as she had done it following his loosening of it.

Her gaze flew to Jon’s amused one. “It won’t go away.”

“You must crawl before you can walk,
letise
, and walk before you can fly. Allow me?”

She could only nod helplessly. She would allow this man, this alien, anything, she thought.

And did.

He was right. Sometimes, for some couples,
baloka
was just...there, requiring no practice to achieve.

What it meant for their future—their impossible future, Lenore didn’t know, and Jon didn’t say, but sometimes as the days passed, she found him gazing at her with deep longing and sadness in his eyes. At those times, he shielded his mind from her completely.

Over the week, they translated and searched all the towns where fairs had been held, or were being held, but never with any sign of Zareth or others of Jon’s Octad.

Time, which once had seemed to Lenore to be stalled, now passed much too swiftly. As the clock of the open window between Earth and Aazonia ticked down, she forced herself to control her growing hope that the Octad would never be reassembled. To take her own happiness at the expense of others’ would be too wrong. Once, when she let the yearning surface and beam forth, she knew she had projected it for Jon to see. He held her and told her without words that he shared her longing for them to remain together, that he, too, felt guilt for that secret wish.

Still, they searched.

When they weren’t physically searching, they spent time net-surfing, seeking out other possible leads. Though they followed up, often by waiting until night and translating to the different locations, each one proved either to be easily explained in Earthly terms or simply false, another tabloid exaggeration.

Jon was right, though. Each translation became easier for her, though after three in one day, she was weak, scarcely able to stand.

She was never too weak to make love.

Jon awoke from a deep slumber and lay watching Lenore sleep. Her face was, for once, serene, and he was glad for that. He had given her peace, if only for a time. And she...she had given him a great deal more than peace. While she had accepted her Aazoni half over the past weeks, had accepted the powers it gave her, she was still reluctant to let him help her delve deeper. Her early memories of her mother and their parting still terrified her. Not once had she accessed her birth-
Aleea
, to revisit the unconditional love he knew she would find within it.

He knew that even their
baloka
could be richer if she would but let it, allow him into her mind all the way. But, he decided, sadness permeating the thought, it was likely better for her if she did not.

What they had together could not last. His obligations would take him from her and in the ten years before he could return, he could not know if she would choose to bury the memories of their bonding. If he were to return when he could and find her physically and emotionally mated with someone else on whatever level was possible, he was unsure what it would do to him.

He’d known of no other bond-mate union that had been broken but by death.

Now, knowing he had permission, he gently stroked over her mind, through it, seeking out memories she would cherish, to build her another
Aleea
. She had only three, the one from her mother—her non-Aazoni father having been unable to create one for her—and the one he had given her of their time with the
mazayin
, plus the duplicate of the one he carried, of their bond-mating enhanced by
baloka
. There were many memories for her to recover, so he filtered gently, seeking out the better ones—but then he hit a snag.

Something captured him, held him helpless as he experienced the teasing giggles of a small child, one who danced just out of sight, keeping to the shadows, tempting Lenore—or her mind—to follow. Lenore tossed restlessly in the bed at his side. Her mouth moved as if she were pleading or protesting.

Jon tried to contact the mind of the child, certain now it had to be Zenna hiding in her memories. That clear, infectious giggle was hauntingly familiar to him, but with the conduit of Lenore’s mind the only way to connect, he could go no further than Lenore was able to take him.

Would it be far enough? The other presence seemed so close, almost tangible. Hope sprang high in him, and a desperate need.

Come out
, he ordered the child as would a kindly parent.
Show yourself
! And for a split second, much too short a time for him to grasp and hold, he saw the bounce of tawny hair on narrow shoulders, glimpsed a bright blue garment reflected in the bright blue of Zenna’s eyes, but then it was gone, flooded out by a much more powerful presence, filled with evil, with anger, with death.

Rankin!

His sensing the other man snatched him away from the gentle child-mind. With rapier focus he homed in on Rankin, battling for supremacy, was fought back by an indescribable blast from which, for a terrible moment, he had no defense. It left him open, vulnerable, in that first second, and worse, it did the same to Lenore.

Instantly, as she cried out, her body twisting a into convulsion, Jon wrenched free of Rankin, clamping down hard on his mind, blocking access to the criminal he should have been following. But not while Lenore was in danger!

The seizure continued to turn her rigid, vibrating her limbs against the mattress however carefully he tried to enter soothing thoughts, assurances of safety. Did Rankin still have hold of her mind? He could not tell. She had erected a block so powerful he couldn’t penetrate it. Or had Rankin erected it to keep him out? What was the other man doing to her mind? Was he stripping it of all knowledge, using it as a means to reconnect with Jon?

Though her mouth opened in a silent scream of terror, he dared not interfere with whatever defense mechanisms she might be creating for herself. Her brown eyes remained wide but sightless and he sent out a concentrated blow, smashing it indiscriminately toward where Rankin’s had originated.

He felt resistance, pushed harder, felt Rankin give and then cave in.

He glanced again at Lenore, still twisted by a rictus that locked her body into contortions.

Her heart stopped. He started it again.

He inadvertently let his alarm for her safety beam out in an uncontrolled burst, a plea for help, for Wend, who could heal.

In that instant, yet other presence overwhelmed him totally.

It overwhelmed him with gladness, with relief, with the sense of connection that had been missing since his Octad had broken and Fricka—Fricka!—tumbled naked to the floor beside Lenore’s bed. And then...Fricka’s signature wavered, collapsed, though her body, scratched, bleeding, badly damaged, remained.

A gurgling groan jerked his attention back to Lenore as she continued to convulse in dreadful spasms. He saw as much as he felt her consciousness leave her body, and cried out, grasping her shoulders, shaking her, as the rictus left her limp and flopping like something dead. He sensed no patterns from her brain as again, her heart froze, unable to continue beating.

Wend!
His mind bellowed again a wild and terrible projection made without care for who else might hear, who else might zero in on his desperate cry.

Wend! Come to me! Help us! Now!

Jon’s instinctive call for the Octad’s medic had an effect, but not the one he had wanted. A scream of outright rage at his presence flooded Jon’s mind. Rankin again! And stronger, much stronger, as if he were nearer. He was coming after them!

Swiftly, Jon acted, flinging the rage back tenfold, blasting it through the atmosphere with killing intensity. Even as he did so, he reached out with his mind and gathered in Fricka, reached out with his arm and cradled Lenore, then translated away. Out. He knew not where, he cared not where. He knew only that they must be gone from the spot in which he had so carelessly let down his defenses, blasted forth that cry for help and let Rankin in.

His powers nearly depleted, he felt himself thud to a hard surface. Under his head and right shoulder, something cushioned him as his own body cushioned Lenore’s. He glanced blearily around, but it was dim and his
Kahinya
had not enough strength to illuminate it properly. The place felt and smelled vaguely familiar to his all-but-scattered mind and he tried to focus on something recognizable but found nothing.

The substance under his head and shoulder was loosely woven brown, cream and orange threads, much like the mantles worn by the
Grales
. That told him nothing. He knew he couldn’t have translated to their time and place, despite the enormous jolt of fear he had experienced at the thought of losing Lenore. Not without an Octad.

Of Fricka, there was no physical sign, but he knew she was there—or what remained of her was there. Her essence ran weakly through his mind, struggling to the tenuous thread connecting them.

He automatically ticked off the seconds since Lenore’s life-signs had faded to nothing. How long did he have? He could start her heart again, her breathing, but it was her mind that most concerned him. He knew he could not bring her back unaided. He needed two intellects. He really needed Wend, but all he had was himself and Fricka.

He must help her so she could help him recover Lenore. Deftly, having done this many times before with others, he melded his mind to the fragments of Fricka’s, building, knitting, patching, feeding warmth and strength and positive thoughts into her until, at last, she flickered, almost formed, on the floor at his side, and then was there, growing ever more solid.

As her corporeal self took shape, she gazed at him, still stunned, but he couldn’t give her time to fully recover. With his fingers playing her
Kahinya
in a clumsy and only partly effective imitation of Wend’s expertise, he imparted to Fricka the urgency of need to help Lenore. He formed a physical bridge between the two women, gave Fricka threads to hold, fragile ones, but vital, while he reached in and carefully, skillfully braided in the most tattered ones within Lenore. It took great effort on both their parts, but when she began again to breathe, when her heart took up a slow but steady beat, her mind to function as it should, he knew they had won.