In The Dark Of Dreams Part 17

"Tell me," she said, and her alarm brought him back.

"I heard something," he told her, and closed his eyes as he heard something else, then.

A woman singing.

"Perrin," Jenny whispered.

"Come on," he said, still shaken.

She didn't move. "Wait."

"Jenny," he said, but she squeezed his hand, and he realized she was staring behind him, at the forest. Jaw tight, every inch of her tense, straining, like she was fighting the urge to run.

Perrin turned. And saw that the forest had loosened its many shadows, the eyes he had felt watching them.

Not animals.

Children.

Chapter Nine.

Jenny had never been a big fan of all those Mad Max movies. Postapocalyptic wastelands rife with brutality, bad teeth, and men in a.s.sless chaps were not her idea of entertainment. She preferred historical romances, light with banter and stolen looks; cla.s.sic black-and-white films where women were dames and the comedy screwball; or those old Westerns where the men moved slow and easy-except on the draw-and talked with spa.r.s.e tongues.

The children who walked out of the woods were straight from the proverbial wasteland, fitting into another world: where laws did not exist; where adults were myth; and over the next hill might stand a place where it was common to fight to the death.

Small, lean. None was older than ten. Few shared the same ethnicity. She saw an Asian girl with straight black hair, a lean blond boy covered in freckles, and another with ebony skin and no hair at all. A Hispanic-looking girl with haunted eyes stood in the shadows, and there were smaller children near her, very young, with round faces and st.u.r.dy little bodies that should have been tumbling over soft rugs dragging teddy bears and sucking their thumbs instead of standing barefoot on the border of a rain forest, on an island in the middle of nowhere.

All wore loincloths made of soft pale leather, and nothing else. Jenny counted twelve children, but she was afraid there might be more, out of sight. Their youth didn't make her feel safe. She had heard of kids going feral-mostly to describe schools where bullies were getting rougher, more violent. That was nothing compared to this. This was old-school feral. Raised-by-wolves feral. Hunger in their eyes, and distrust, and just enough curiosity to make it all very dangerous.

"This is new," Perrin said, mildly.

Jenny didn't dare look at him. "Is that good or bad?"

"She's old," he replied. "I'm not sure."

She decided to err on the side of bad. "I'm not going to hit a kid."

"That would probably be for the best," he replied, still with that soft voice. And just like that, something snapped inside her: a peculiarly rich vein of anger, throbbing in her gut. Anger, combined with a streak of wild protectiveness.

Jenny's hands curled into fists. "Who is this woman, and why are these children here?"

Perrin tensed. "I don't know. She's not human. Her reasons-"

"I know plenty of nonhumans," she snapped. "Some are s.h.i.+t, but if any of them messed with kids? No mercy. A bullet in the brain."

And you remember what that looks like, she thought, with disgust, and nausea. What it feels like to pull the trigger.

Jenny's knees weakened, but she took a step toward the children, and then another. All of them swayed sideways with shambling grace-like little zombies-watching her with silent, feral hunger. She was afraid of them, but her concern was stronger.

Perrin loomed, warm and solid, close enough that their arms brushed. Jenny felt ashamed of her relief. Ashamed, and uneasy that his presence was so familiar, so comfortable, that instead of feeling like a stranger, he felt more like a constant, a touchstone, some piece of home.

He made her feel safe.

It wasn't right. It was too easy. Her heart was going to find itself broken into pieces. Because he was a stranger, he wasn't even human, and those dreams-those dreams, now that they were flesh and blood, and real- Coward, she told herself. Brave until you get what you want most.

But she'd had what she wanted most, not so long ago. And lost it.

Perrin gripped her shoulder. "Careful."

Yes, she thought, and swallowed hard, meeting the flat, a.s.sessing gazes of all those staring children, before settling on the Asian girl.

"Hey," she said, trying to smile. "What's your name?"

"Stranger," whispered the girl. But the word had power, as though saying it released some strange current that raced against Jenny's skin. The base of her skull throbbed.

She heard the woman singing again: delicate, haunting, each note s.h.i.+mmering in her mind like a storm of falling light. Warm air rushed over her face. Smelled like rain. She felt sticky with sweat, weak, and suffered the overwhelming urge to throw herself naked into the sea, as though that would solve all her problems.

"And why wouldn't it?" asked a woman, suddenly.

Yes, said another voice inside Jenny's mind, echoing oddly, as though it wasn't quite part of her. Yes, heal.

Jenny flinched, turning. Perrin moved with her. Around them, the world spun with a sickening jolt, sky melting into sand, the sea roaring over the thunder of her heart. The parasite pulsed, trembled, fluttered like it was growing wings- -and everything stopped.

Jenny found herself staring at sand. On her knees, in the sand. Her body tingled, and her head swam. She sucked in a deep breath, and slowly, carefully, looked up. Perrin stood beside her. Large, rawboned, his alabaster white skin carved with scars. Fresh from the fight, like the line from an old song. Frightening, intimidating.

Until he glanced at her, and she witnessed a heartbreaking vulnerability in his eyes that stole the breath right out of her. He was a boy again, that little boy, afraid and alone.

There and gone. She blinked, and found herself looking at a cold hard mask, his eyes empty, unreadable. He reached down and helped her stand. Her knees shook.

"Perrin O'doro," murmured a low, feminine voice. "Guardian."

Jenny stopped breathing, again. Slowly, as slowly as if her life depended on it, she turned her head.

A woman stood in the sea. Naked in the foam, her skin ice white. Even her nipples were white, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s heavy and round, shrouded in tumbling waves of blond hair that lifted in the breeze like strokes of floating sunlight. Her face was not clearly visible, but Jenny glimpsed a flash of terrible beauty, and a pale light that shone in her eyes, in her mouth. Jenny felt afraid all over again. Afraid and small, and infinitely vulnerable.

The sea was a pitiless place. Maurice called it spiteful, a jealous lover, but those were human emotions. If the sea had a spirit, nothing of it was jealous, because jealousy needed love, or hunger, or need, and the sea was a G.o.d without a heart. Too powerful for mercy. Too powerful for right and wrong. A force of nature, old as the world, beyond the tethers of a soul.

Jenny was reminded of that when she studied the woman-and it sent her past terror into cold, numb horror.

Focus only on what is necessary, until you see nothing else, she suddenly remembered Perrin saying. Until nothing else can affect you.

"Lady Atargatis," said Perrin coldly. "Or have you become Aphrodite?"

"My names slip away," she whispered, and Jenny steadied herself, trying not to sway as she listened to that melodic voice. "My names always leave me, and I have tired of wearing new ones. Call me crone, or witch, or lonely, for those are the words that will follow me into death."

Then her eyes narrowed. "You believe that I will kill you."

Jenny believed it, in that instant. Death would be easy for this creature, whatever she was. Death was nothing to the sea.

For a moment she was a child again, watching a man rise from the waves. Breathless, frozen with fear. Then that pa.s.sed, and Jenny heard screams and the shots of guns, and a phantom pain in her stomach made her touch herself. She had been near the ocean that day, too. Listening to the waves crash as she lay bleeding in the gra.s.s.

I would have run that day, too, if I could have.

Hot shame filled her. Shame, and the absolute certainty that it was the truth. Jenny would have run away. If she could redo that day, she would still run. For one good reason.

But that was the past, and this was now.

No, she told herself. Not again. You will not run.

Jenny gritted her teeth and stepped into the ocean toward the woman. No plan. No idea what to do. Just that if she was going to die, it would be there, defiant, in death's face- Perrin made a low rough sound, and grabbed her arms. With pure raw strength, he lifted her off her feet and placed her in the sand behind him. She glimpsed the forest, and the beach, but it looked different from where they had just been, and the children were gone.

"Kill me," she heard Perrin say roughly. "But keep her out of it, and keep her safe."

"She does not want safe," murmured the woman. "Her heart is wild."

Perrin growled. "You know why I'm here."

"I know," whispered the woman. "But do you?"

Jenny turned to face them, feeling as though she were moving through mola.s.ses. Heavy, sticky, the taste of the air suddenly too sweet.

"I'm here to find the kra'a," Perrin said, his voice hoa.r.s.e. All Jenny could see was his broad, scarred back, and his long silver hair. Beyond him, the woman-crone, witch, whatever she was-continued to stand in the sea with perfect, inhuman, stillness. Waves broke around her as though she were made of rock, rooted to rock, and the water did not cling. Her hair remained untouched, and her skin glowed dry and heavy with light.

The woman looked at her. It was just a look, but Jenny felt as though scales slithered against the inside of her skull. She knew what it meant, even though the sensation was colder, and more powerful, than any human's mental touch. None of her grandfather's training against telepaths kept the woman out. She slipped past those walls as though they did not exist, and Jenny fought to stay calm, and strong.

I'm me, she kept thinking. You can't take that away. I'm me, I'm me, I'm- More than you were, said the woman inside her head, her voice carrying a hiss that her speaking voice did not-which Jenny heard, moments later, when she said, "You speak of the kra'a that was taken from you."

"Pelena was murdered. Her kra'a is gone, and the beast wakes. It must be found." Perrin stepped sideways to block Jenny from the woman's sight-anger in his voice, in every line of his body-cold, restrained hurt and fury.

"And so you come here, thinking I will help you? You are desperate." Somehow the woman moved without moving, so that suddenly she was in Jenny's line of sight again, staring at her with breathtaking intensity. "But are you desperate for yourself, or others? If you find your kra'a, will you kill for it? If it has bonded to another, will you steal it away as it was stolen from you?"

"No," Perrin said, with such sharp pain it stopped mattering to Jenny that she was afraid. She heard the words and felt the story behind them, and the grief. Puzzle pieces. Beast. Wakes. Kra'a. Stolen.

The woman's gaze left Jenny and settled on Perrin. "Liar."

That word was the same as a hammer strike, a physical blow. Perrin slammed down on his knees into the sand-with such force he bounced. He made a strangled sound, twisting and guttural, and Jenny watched in horror as his scars split open and bled. She reached for him, and found herself frozen, her feet rooted in the sand as though she had become part of the beach.

Helpless. Unable to do anything but watch.

Memories flashed again. She saw another beach, and a boy being pulled from her-and in her memories she also heard whispers, whispers from adults who meant her family harm-only no one would listen to her. And in her memories she heard a gunshot, and her own screams, and saw blood that would not stop. She saw Maurice thrown overboard. Les with his hands on her. And all she could do then-for her entire life, it seemed-was watch, helpless.

I will not run. I will not stand idle. I will not be helpless. I will not, I will not- "Stop this," she whispered, hating herself-hating the woman-watching as Perrin's eyes squeezed shut, and his breath rattled in his throat. "Stop."

The woman did not move from the sea, or look at Jenny. "Perrin O'doro, tell me the truth. Tell me what you would do if you found your kra'a."

"I would not kill."

"Liar," she said again. "You killed once to survive, and you did so without mercy or regret. Even after eight years, no regret. You would kill again. Again, and again, in rage and in calm. You are stained with blood."

Perrin's expression turned savage, agonized, every muscle straining. His scars bled more freely, mixing with his sweat, dripping into the sand around him. Jenny fought the compulsion holding her, fought with all her strength, and in the base of her skull, the parasite pulsed, once.

"You would kill all but one," murmured the woman, almost to herself. "And for that one, you would let the world die."

Jenny staggered, suddenly able to move again. Perrin fell forward, bracing himself on his hands, dragging in deep, heaving breaths that sounded as though his lungs were shredding. Jenny flew past him, grabbing a rock. She didn't throw it, but stood in front of him, staring at the woman.

"Stop," she whispered.

"Stop," echoed the woman, and the light died from her eyes, and her hair stopped moving; and even the waves pushed her forward, just a little. "Some things cannot be stopped."

Perrin touched Jenny's ankle, then let go to slowly stand. Hunched over, blood dripping down his chest and arms. He nudged her aside, staring at the woman in the sea.

"Kill me, or don't," he said quietly. "But you know my reason for coming here is important."

"Everyone's reasons are important. I wish, sometimes, that it was not always so. I am tired of being used." The woman tilted her head, regarding him and Jenny with new thoughtfulness. "But then, I suspect the both of you will soon feel the same."

Jenny frowned, wondering what that meant. Perrin said, "Explain."

The woman replied, "You, both. Come to me."

He shook his head, grim. "No, this is all wrong. Never mind how you helped my father. You've changed. I want your promise the woman will be unharmed."

"The children," Jenny corrected him. "They matter more than me."

Again, he hesitated. But when she looked at him, ready to argue, all she found was his steady regard, and somewhere deep, deep in his hard gaze, a flicker of admiration and concern that was there and gone in a heartbeat.

"The children," he rumbled, looking again at the woman in the sea. "The children are a puzzle."

"Come to me," replied the woman. "No one has, or will be, harmed."

Perrin's jaw worked. "Harmed in body or mind."

The corner of her mouth coiled into a sad smile. "Once, you would have taken me at my word."

He said nothing. Just stared, his silence gathering its own power. Pressure gathered in the base of Jenny's skull, followed by a chill.

The woman sighed. "It was for the best, Perrin O'doro. There was much you needed to learn, though you are too close to see that-and so many other things."

He drew in a deep breath. "Jenny, stay here."

She wanted to. She was afraid. But she was certain that if Perrin went out there alone, he would not come back.