Black (9 page)

“No, that wouldn't be the case. You would bear another mark.”

Surely they didn't expect him to pursue this woman out of obligation. “I still have to choose her, right? But I can't .Not in this condition. I don't even know if I'll like her.”

The two Roush stared, stupefied.

“I'm afraid you don't understand,” Michal said. “It's not a matter of liking. Of course you'll
like
her. It is your choice, otherwise it wouldn't be choosing. But—and you must trust me on this—your kind abound in love. He made you that way. Like himself. You would love any woman who chooses you. And any woman you choose would choose you. It's the way it is.”

“What if I don't feel that way?”

“She's perfect!” Gabil said. “They all are. You
will
feel that way, Thomas. You will!”

“We're from different villages. She would just go away with me?”

Michal raised his eyebrow. “Minor details. I can see this memory loss could be a problem. Now we really should be leaving. It will be slow on foot, and we have quite a road before us.” He turned to his friend. “Gabil, you may fly, and I will stay with Thomas Hunter.”

“We must go,” Gabil said. He unfurled his wings and leaped into the air. Tom watched in amazement as the white furry's body lifted gracefully from the earth. A puff of air from the Roush's thin wings lifted the hair from his forehead.

Tom stared at the magnificent forest and hesitated. Michal looked back at him patiently from the tree line. “Shall we go?” He turned back to the forest. Tom took a deep breath and stepped after the Roush without a word.

They proceeded through the colored forest for ten minutes in silence. The sum of it was that he lived here, somewhere, perhaps far
away, but in this wonderful, surreal place. Surely when he saw his friends, his village, his . . . whatever else was his, his memory would be sparked.

“How long will it take to return me to my people?” Tom asked.

“These are all your people. What village you live in isn't terribly significant.”

“Okay, but how long before I find my own family?”

“Depends,” Michal said. “News is a bit slow and the distances are great. It could take a few days. Maybe even a week.”

“A week! What will I do?”

The Roush pulled up and stopped. “What will you do? Are your ears not working as well? You've been chosen!” He shook his head and continued. “Dear, dear. I can see this memory loss is quite impossible. Let me give you some advice, Thomas Hunter. Until your memory returns, follow the others. This confusion of yours is disconcerting.”

“I can't pretend. If I don't know what's happening, I can't —”

“If you follow the others, perhaps everything will come back to you. At the very least, follow Rachelle.”

“You want me to pretend to be in love with her?”

“You
will
be in love with her! You just don't remember how it all works. If you were to meet your mother but didn't remember her, would you stop loving her? No! You would assume you loved her and thereby love her.”

The Roush had a point.

Gabil suddenly swept down from the treetops and lit next to Tom, plump face grinning. “Are you hungry, Thomas Hunter?” He held up a blue fruit with his wing. Tom stopped and stared at the fruit.

“No need to be afraid, no sir. This is very good fruit. A blue peach. Look.” Gabil took a small bite out of the fruit and showed it to Tom. The juice glistening in the bite mark had the same green, oily tinge he recognized from the river.

“Oh, yes,” Michal said, turning back, “another small detail, in the event you don't remember. This is the food you eat. It's called fruit and it, too, along with the water, has been touched by Elyon.”

Tom took the fruit gingerly in his hands and looked at Michal.

“Go ahead, eat it. Eat it.”

He took a small bite and felt the cool, sweet juice fill his mouth. A flutter descended into his stomach, and warmth spread through his body. He smiled at Gabil.

“This is good,” he said, taking another bite. “Very good.”

“The food of warriors!” Gabil said. With that the short creature trot-waddled a few feet, leaped off the ground, and flew back into the sky.

Michal chuckled at his companion and walked on. “Come. Come. We must not wait.”

Tom had just finished the blue peach when Gabil brought another, a red one this time. With a swoop and a shrill laugh, he dropped the fruit into Tom's hands and took off again. The third time the fruit was green and required peeling, but its flesh was perhaps the tastiest yet.

Gabil's fourth appearance consisted of an aerobatics show. The Roush screamed in from high above, looping with an arched back then twisting into a dive, which he managed to pull out of just over Tom's head. Tom threw up his arms and ducked, sure the Roush had miscalculated. With a flurry of wings and a screech, Gabil buzzed his head.

“Gabil!” Michal called out after him. “Show some care there!”

Gabil flew on without a backward glance.

“Mighty warrior indeed,” Michal said, stepping back along the path.

Less than a mile later, the Roush stopped on a crest. Tom stepped up beside the furry creature and looked down on a large green valley covered in flowers like daisies, but turquoise and orange, a rich carpet inviting a roll. Tom was so surprised at the sudden change in landscape that he didn't at first notice the village.

When he did, the sight took his breath away.

The circular village that nestled in the valley below sparkled with color. For a moment, Tom thought he must have stumbled onto Candyland, or possibly Hansel and Gretel lived here. But he knew that was a lost story from the histories. This village, on the other hand, was very, very real.

Several hundred square huts, each glowing with a different color, rested like children's playing blocks in concentric circles around a large pinnacled structure that towered above the others at the village's center. The sky above the dwellings was filled with Roush, who floated and dived and twisted in the afternoon sun.

As his eyes adjusted to the incredible scene, he saw a door open from a dwelling far below. Tom watched a tiny form step from the door. And then he saw that dozens of people dotted the village.

“Does it jog any memories?” Michal asked.

“Actually, I think it does.”

“What do you remember?”

“Well, nothing in particular. It's just all vaguely familiar.”

Michal sighed. “You know, I've been thinking. There may be some good that comes out of your little adventure in the black forest. There's been talk of an expedition—an absurd idea that Tanis has somehow latched onto. He seems to think it's time to fight the Shataiki. He's always been inventive, a storyteller. But this latest talk of his has me in fits. Maybe you could talk him out of it.”

“Does Tanis even know how to fight?”

“Like no other man I know. He's developed a method that is quite spectacular. More flips and twirls and kicks than I would know what to do with. It's based on certain stories from the histories. Tanis is fascinated with them—particularly the histories of conquests. He's determined to wipe out the Shataiki.”

“And why shouldn't he?”

“The Shataiki may not be great warriors, but they can deceive. Their water is very inviting. You've seen. Maybe you could talk some sense into the man.”

Thomas nodded. He was suddenly eager to meet this Tanis.

Michal sighed. “Okay, stay here. You must wait for me to return. Do you understand?”

“Sure, but . . .”

“No. Just wait. If you see them leaving for the Gathering, you may go with them, but otherwise, please stay here.”

“What's the Gathering?”

“To the lake. Don't worry; you can't miss it. There'll be an exodus just before dusk. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Michal unfolded his wings for the first time in two hours and took to the air. Tom watched him disappear across the valley, feeling abandoned and unsure.

He could see now that the dwellings must have been made out of the forest's colored trees. These were his people—a strange thought. Maybe not his very own people, as in father, mother, brother, sister, but people just like him. He was lost but not so lost after all.

Was the woman Rachelle down there?

He sat cross-legged, leaned against a tree, and sighed. The houses were small and quaint—more like cottages than houses. Paths of grass separated them from one another, giving the town the appearance of a giant wheel with spokes converging on a large, circular building at the hub. The structure was at least three times as high and many times wider than any of the other dwellings. A meeting place, perhaps.

To his right, a wide path led from the village to the forest, where it vanished. The lake.

Thoughts ran circles around his mind. It occurred to him that Michal had been gone a long time. He was looking for an exodus and he was looking for Michal, but neither was coming fast. He leaned his head back on the tree and closed his eyes.

So strange.

So tired.

8

T
om opened his eyes and knew immediately that it had happened again. He was lying on the beige chaise in the apartment in Denver, Colorado. Covered by a batik quilt. Light streamed through a gap in the drapes on his left. On his right, the back of the couch, and beyond it, the locked door. Above, the ceiling. Orange-peel texture covered by an off-white paint. Could be clouds in the sky, could be a thousand worlds hiding between those bumps. Tom lay perfectly still and drew a deep breath.

He was dreaming.

Yes, of course he was dreaming. This couldn't be real because now he knew the truth of the matter. He'd been knocked on the head while in the black forest. The blow had robbed his memories and kicked him into these strange dreams where he actually thought he was alive on ancient Earth, being chased by some men with
ill intent,
as Michal had put it.

He was, at this very moment, dreaming of the histories of ancient Earth. Or other Earth.

Tom sat up. Amazing! It all looked so real. His fingertips could actually feel the texture of the quilt. Kara's mosaic of masquerade masks looked as real as real could be. He was breathing, and he could taste his musty morning mouth. He was engaging this dream with nearly as much realism as if he were actually awake, touching the trees of the colored forest, or biting into the sweet fruit brought to him by Gabil. This wasn't quite as real, but very convincing.

At least he knew what was happening now. And he knew why the dream felt so real. What an incredible trip.

He swung his feet to the floor and pushed the quilt aside. So, what could he do in his dreams that he couldn't do in real life? He stretched his fingers and curled them. Could he float?

He stood. As he expected, no ache in his head. 'Course not, this was only a dream. He bounced on the balls of his feet.

No floating.

Okay, so he couldn't float like in some of his dreams, but he was sure there were plenty of unusual things he could do. He couldn't get hurt, truly hurt, in his dreams, which gave him some interesting possibilities.

Tom took a few steps and then stopped. Interestingly enough, dream steps actually felt very similar to real steps, although he could tell the difference. His legs didn't feel totally real. In fact, if he closed his eyes—which he did—he couldn't really feel his legs. He could feel his feet, sure, but as far as he knew there could be air rather than flesh and bone connecting his feet to his hips.

Dream standing. Incredible.

He walked around the room in awe of how utterly real everything felt. Not quite as real as walking with Michal and Gabil, of course, but if he didn't know he was in a dream, he might actually think this room was real. Amazing how the mind worked.

He ran his hand over a black cassowary carving he'd imported from Indonesia. He could feel every bump and nick. It probably even—Tom bent to sniff the wood—yes, it did smell like smoke, exactly as he'd imagined. The wood had been hardened by burning. Had the carver been dreaming when he carved—

“Thomas?”

He wondered if that was Michal calling him. The Roush had returned from wherever he'd flown off to and was trying to wake him. Tom wasn't sure he wanted to be awakened quite yet. This dream—

“Tom.”

Actually, the voice sounded higher, more like Gabil's voice.

“What are you doing?”

He turned around. Kara stood by the couch, dressed in a blue-flowered camisole and boxers. He should've known. He was still dreaming.

“Hi, sis.”

She wasn't really his sister, of course, because she didn't really exist. Well, in this dream reality she did, but not in
real
reality.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Never been better. Don't I look okay?”

“So . . . so you're not freaking out over what happened last night, I take it?”