Black (36 page)

Within an hour it was back to normal.

And Thomas remembered Bangkok.

Rachelle approached him, laughing throatily. “Now that, my dear Thomas, is what I call a fabulously good time!” She spontaneously threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.

Tom was so surprised that he neglected to return the hug. Rachelle pulled back, but she didn't release him. She cocked her left leg behind her and stared into his eyes.

“Would you like to kiss me?”

“Kiss?” He could smell her sweet breath.

“I am helping you restore your memory, or have you forgotten that as well?”

“No.” He swallowed.

“So then I would like to help you remember what it is like to kiss. I will have to show you, of course.”

“Have you kissed anyone before? I mean, another man?”

“No.
But I've seen it done. It's very clear in my mind. I'm sure I could show you exactly how it's done.” Her eyes flashed. She ran a tongue over her lips. “Perhaps you should wet your lips first; they look quite dry.”

He did it.

She leaned forward and touched her lips gently to his.

Tom closed his eyes. For a moment everything seemed to shut down. But in that same moment, a new world blossomed into existence.

No, not a new world. An old world.

He had done this before.

Rachelle's lips separated from his. “Trust me, dear, you're not in a dream. We'll see if that sparks your memory.”

Heat spread down Tom's neck. He'd done this before. He'd kissed a woman before! He was sure of it.

He must have looked stunned, because Rachelle offered a satisfied smile. It was true, her kiss had taken his breath away, but there was more. It had brought something back.

“Tanis is coming to speak to you,” she said. “He still insists that you're his apprentice in the fighting arts, but I think he's more interested in the histories.” She put a finger on his lips. “Just remember, they're dreams. Don't get carried away.”

Rachelle turned and stepped down the path, looking pleased and supremely confident despite her best efforts to appear nonchalant.

Tom's mind immediately chased a new thought that had presented itself while she warned him about the histories. Suppose both realities were not only real, but woven together? Like the boy had said at the upper lake, the lion and the lamb, both real. Both images of the same truth.

The same reality.

What if . . .

“Rachelle?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

If the two realities were interwoven, maybe he was meant to rescue in both. Rachelle here, Monique there. Could Rachelle lead him to Monique?

“You're staring at me,” Rachelle said. “Is something wrong?”

“That was very wonderful,” he said.
Very wonderful?

She winked. “It was meant to be.”

“Could I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“If there was one place from which you would like to be rescued, where would it be?”

“That is your job. To rescue me.”

He hurried forward, taken with the possibility that worked his mind. “Yes, but if there was one place. Say you were trapped and I was to rescue you. Where would that be? Please, I have to know so that I can rescue you.”

“Well, I'm not exactly a storyteller. But . . .” She faced the forest and considered the question. “I would say that I would be held in a . . .” She spun toward him. “A great white cave full of bottles. Where a river and the forest meet.”

“Really? Have you ever seen such a cave?”

“No. Why should I have? I am fabricating this for you, like a storyteller would.”

“Is it here, in this forest, or somewhere far away?”

“Close by,” she said after a moment's thought.

“And how would I find this cave?”

“By following the river, of course.”

“And which direction is it from here?”

She looked at him curiously, as if objecting to his pressing for details. “That way,” she said, pointing to her right. “East.”

“East.”

“Yes, east. I'm sure of it. The cave is a day's walk to the east.”

He nodded. “Then I will rescue you.”

“And when you rescue me, I should want another kiss,” she said in complete seriousness.

“A kiss.”

“Yes. A real kiss, not one from your silly dreams. A real kiss for a real woman who has fallen hopelessly in love with you, my dear prince.”

She turned and walked down the path.

Tom walked quickly, if for no reason other than that he was thinking quickly.

Rachelle's kiss had spawned a whole new thread of possibility. It found its origin in this one thought: What if the two realities were more than just interwoven; what if they
depended
on each other?

What if what happened in Bangkok depended on what he did here? And what if what happened here depended on what happened in Bangkok? He already knew that if he was healed here, he was healed in Bangkok. And what skills he learned here, he could also use in Bangkok. But to think that the realities might
depend
on each other . . .

It was a staggering thought. Yet in so many ways it made sense. In fact, he was quite sure he'd come to the same conclusion in Bangkok. If it were another way, the boy would have said so. Elyon would have discouraged his dreams. But he hadn't . He'd left the choice up to him.

God wasn't a lamb or a lion or a boy. He was all of them if he chose to be. Or none of them. They were metaphors for the truth.

The truth. One truth. Two sides of one truth. Lion and lamb. The colored forest and Bangkok. Possible?

He still wasn't sure which reality was real, but he was that much more convinced now that
the truth
in both realities was real. And he had to be very careful to treat both as real.

Kara had said that.

Of course, this didn't mean that just because he loved Rachelle he was meant to love Monique. But it was quite possible he was meant to rescue Monique. That was why he was learning how to rescue Rachelle in this Great Romance.

It had to be. And if so, he may have just discovered
how
to rescue her. Or at least where to rescue her. He should sleep immediately, dream of Bangkok, and test this theory.

Tom stopped on the path. If he was meant to rescue Monique in the histories, then what was he supposed to do here, if this reality also depended on his dreams?

Tom stopped on the path. If Monique was real, wasn't it possible that Bill was also real? That they really had crash-landed in a spacecraft as Teeleh had insisted?

What if that was the only reality?

Maybe everything else was only a dream. He was really from Earth, being terribly affected by this strange planet. His stomach turned. The thought suddenly felt terribly compelling. It would explain everything.

He had to at least eliminate that as a possibility. The only way to know was to return to the black forest. He should at least consider—

“Thomas! Thomas Hunter, there you are!”

Tanis ran out of the forest, waving a crooked red stick in his right hand. “I have looked everywhere for you. Did you enjoy the change this morning?”

“Incredible,” Tom said. “Spectacular!”

“The last time, he split the whole planet in two,” Tanis said. “You may have forgotten, because it was before you lost your memory, but we could see the stars above and below. Then the fissure filled halfway with water and we dived. The dive itself lasted a full hour.” Tanis chuckled and shook his head.

“That's amazing,” Thomas said.

“This?” Tanis waved the stick. “You like it?”

“I meant your story's amazing—falling for an hour. What is that?”

“Well, it's something I've come up with based on something I remember from the histories. Maybe you know what it's called.” He held it up proudly.

It was a stick, shaped and bent like waves with a hook on the end.

Tom shook his head. “No, I can't say that I recognize it. What does it do?”

“It's a weapon!” Tanis cried. He jabbed the air like a clumsy swordsman. “A weapon to scare off the vermin!”

“Why would that work?”

“You don't know? The Shataiki are terrified of the colored forest. This is a weapon from the colored forest. It follows that they would be terrified of it as well. We could use these weapons on our expedition.”

Thomas took the device. It was a sword of sorts from the histories. A very poor one. But the fact that it was made from the colored wood made for some interesting applications. Tom could hardly forget Teeleh's reaction to the small piece of colored wood from Johan.

Thomas swung the sword. It had an awkward feel. He looked at Tanis, saw the man was watching him with interest.

“This is called a sword. But You've forgotten to give it a sharp edge.”

Tanis jumped forward. “Show me.”

“Well, it needs to be flat here and sharp along this edge so that it can cut.”

Tanis reached for the sword. “May I?”

Tom gave it to him. The man went to work with his hands. He was a storyteller, not a craftsman, but he had enough basic skill to quickly reshape the sword by coaxing the wood into what looked more like a sword. Tom watched, confounded by the sight. Rachelle had explained the process to him, but he'd failed miserably at all of his own attempts. Reshaping molecules with his fingers was something he would evidently have to relearn.

“There!” Tanis shoved out the sword.

Tom took it and ran his fingers along the now flat, sharp blade. Amazing. This in a matter of moments. What else could Tanis build with the proper guidance?

Tom felt a stab of caution.

“It would never work.” He tossed the sword back to Tanis. “Remember, I've been in the black forest. One small sword against a million Shataiki—not a chance. Even if they are afraid of the wood.”

“Agreed!” Tanis said. “It would never work.” He hurled the sword into the forest. It clattered against a tree and fell to the ground.

“Now, about the histories—”

“I don't want to talk about the histories right now,” Tom said.

“Your dreams are wearing you out? I understand completely. Then more training. As my apprentice, you have to apply yourself, Thomas Hunter. You're a quick study, I saw that the first time you attempted my double-back, but with the right practice you could be a master! Rachelle has taught you some new moves. Show me.” He clapped twice.

“Right here?”

“Unless you'd rather do it in the village square.”

Tom glanced around. They were in a small meadow. Birds chirped. A white lion watched them lazily from where it lay by a tall topaz blue tree.

“Okay.” Tom took two long steps, launched himself into the air, twisted, and rolled into a forward flip. He landed squarely on his feet, back to imaginary opponent. Amazing how easy it felt.

“Bravo! Wonderful. I call that the reverse, because your opponent will never see your heel coming around on the flip. It would knock a black bat dizzy. Here, tear your tunic up the thigh to give you more freedom of movement.”

Tom did so. The leather pants they often wore wouldn't present this challenge, but the tunics could be restrictive during wild kicks.

“Good. Show me another.”

Tom showed him five more moves.

“Now,” Tanis said, stepping forward. “Hit me!”

“I can't hit you! Why would I want to hit you?”

“Training, my apprentice. Defense. I will pretend you are a bat. You're bigger than a bat, of course, so I'll pretend you're three bats, standing on each other's shoulders. Now, you come for me and try to hit me, and I'll show you how to protect yourself.”

“Sparring,” Tom said.

“What?”

“It was called sparring in the histories.”

“Sparring! I love it! Let's do some sparring.”

They sparred for a long time, a couple of hours at least. It was the first time Thomas had been exposed to the full breadth of the fight method developed by Tanis, and it made the martial arts of his dreams feel simple by comparison.

True, all aerial maneuvers were easier here, in part, presumably, because of the atmosphere. But he suspected the moves were easier also because of the method itself. Hand-to-hand combat was far more about the mind than muscle, and Tanis had both in abundance. Not once was Thomas able to land a blow on the leader, though he got closer with each attempt.

Amazingly, Tom's stamina seemed nearly inexhaustible. He was growing stronger by the day. Recovering from his fall in the black forest.

“Enough,” Thomas finally said.

Tanis lifted a finger. “Enough for the day. But you are improving with astonishing speed. I am proud to call you my apprentice. Now” —he put his hand on Tom's shoulder and turned him toward the forest—“we must talk.”

The histories. The man was incorrigible.