Lord of Lightning (20 page)

“That was my guess, but he never introduced himself. He might have been a nomadic Lapp, or even a shaman. I was semiconscious most of the time, but I remember him holding the stones over me and chanting.”

“The runes?”

“Yes. It seemed as if every time I opened my eyes he was dousing me in the blue phosphorescence the stones gave off. He kept chanting
Jumala
and
Ilmarinen,
and a third word that I recognized as lightning. I learned later that the first two words meant Lord of Sky, and that the old man was actually chanting Lord of Lightning. It was the name he’d given me.”

“My goodness. What did you do to deserve such an exalted title?”

“I wish I knew,” he said, laughing. “The study required me to be in Norway during the arctic winter— six months of perpetual darkness. Among other things, I shot pulse lasers into the aurora to study the effect. Maybe the old man saw the lasers and thought I was making lightning.”

“Lord of Lightning,” Lise said. “It’s really rather beautiful. And he marked you with the lightning bolts?”

“I suppose it must have been him, although I don’t remember it happening. I finally lapsed into total unconsciousness, and when I woke up, I was in a hospital in Narvik. I’d been found by another research team near the crevasse where I fell. I had a brain concussion, and when I tried to tell them what had happened, they didn’t believe me. They thought I was hallucinating.”

His quick shrug said that perhaps he agreed with them. “They also told me I should have been dead— and would have been if someone hadn’t dragged me out of that glacier—and then found a way to relieve the cerebrospinal fluid building in my skull.”

“The old man?” Lise couldn’t hide her disbelief. “How did he do it?”

“There were no signs of surgery, primitive or otherwise. The stones are naturally magnetic—a legacy of the earth’s volcanic origins. Their phosphorescence comes primarily from minerals that interact with the ultraviolet spectrum. In all honesty, I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe that combination has some stabilizing effect on the body’s fluids.”

“Is that possible?”

“Theoretically? No, probably not. But something happened. I found the stones in my parka pocket when I checked out of the hospital. The old man must have put them there.” He rubbed his hand along his beard-shadowed jawline, an absent gesture. “I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it. I could almost convince myself it hadn’t happened, except for the stones, the marks on my body—and the blinding headaches I still get.”

His last reference triggered an insight. The headaches could account for those times when his eyes had lost focus and he’d seemed to be in a trancelike state, Lise realized. She needed a moment to digest all the information he’d given her.

“What sort of scientist studies the northern lights?” she asked finally.

“An auroral physicist, if you’re curious about the exact title. The job takes me to some of the most inhospital spots on earth. My last tour of duty was Antarctica—the South Pole—three years of trial by ice.”

He looked beyond her as though he was remembering. Lise could see the storm rising in his eyes, and it had all the bleakness of an arctic winter. She phrased a quick question in the hope of diverting his attention. “So that
is
why you’re here? To study the quarry lights? You said they were like auroras.”

He glanced out the window behind him, apparently checking the skies. “Your quarry lights are something of a mystery, Lise. Their electromagnetic properties are similar to auroras, and yet it’s unusual to see the phenomena at altitudes this low. There are other possibilities, including the release of radon, combustible gases from the earth, or natural phosphorescence—”

He turned back and hesitated, as though deciding whether to go on. “The lights are only part of the reason I’m here. They’re the symptom, not the cause. We’re in the middle of an intense geomagnetic storm—”

“We?”

“The earth, Lise—the entire globe. This last week we were hit by a solar wind with a velocity up to two thousand kilometers per second. I’m talking about sun-spots and solar flares—everything ol’ Sol can throw at us. In other words, the sun is throwing a tantrum, and it’s a beaut.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Not to human life at this point. But it’s dangerous as hell to our worldwide electrical, navigation, and communications systems. That’s the primary reason I’m here—to test a new laser communications device I designed. The Omega is built to withstand magnetic storms.”

A laser, Lise thought. Not
Star Trek
or
Star Wars.
Not even
Starman.
He was testing a communications device, shooting lasers at ... what? She pointed toward the roof of the cabin. “What’s up there?” she asked.

“You’ve heard of the Space Shuttle? The Discovery crew is picking up my signals as we speak. Or at least I hope they are. This is the last night of their mission—and my last chance to test the Omega.” He exhaled heavily. “So far the experiment has only been partially successful.”

“But why would they send you
here to
test a laser? Lise asked.

“Because of your quarry lights,” Stephen explained. “They’re emitting electromagnetic radiation in the range I needed for the tests.

A silence fell around them, bringing Lise alert. She experienced the fleeting surface chill that came with a premonition, and by the time she met his eyes, a trembling had started inside her.

“What is it, Stephen?” she asked.

He rose to his feet. “You understand that I have to leave.”

Lise couldn’t respond. The statement was too fraught with finality, with unthinkable implications.

“The Omega laser is my life’s work,” he explained. “If I can make it operational, the implications for ground- and space-based communication are”—he managed a grim smile—“at the risk of sounding dramatic, cosmic.”

Her throat flared with pain. That certainly put it into perspective, didn’t it? Cosmic wasn’t a word a woman could argue with. She heaved a sigh. “When do you go?”

“Soon ... I should leave tonight—as soon as the transmission is finished. There are modifications that have to be made to the system, and of course, more tests.”

She searched his features for some indication of his feelings. Was he hurting too? Did the thought of leaving her tear him apart? The way it did her? What she saw in his eyes was an icy glimpse of infinity. The depth of his pain was limitless, beyond anything she could imagine.

“Where will you be going?” It was the only question she could think to ask.

He shook his head. “My work is highly sensitive, Lise. I’ve told you more than I should have already.”

“But, you can’t just disappear. Surely there’s an address, a phone number ... I mean—what if I wanted to contact you?”

“I can’t be contacted.”

His statement caught her like an elbow to the midsection. It knocked the wind out of her. She rebounded with a brittle burst of laughter and disbelief. “Oh, I see—then you’ll write when you can—or call?”

He didn’t answer, and Lise suddenly understood what the premonition had meant. He wasn’t going to call. Ever.

The rocking chair gave a plaintive sound as she stood.
“I won’t see you again, will I?”

“Lise ... my work is consuming. I’m on the brink of a breakthrough, perhaps one of the biggest in modern physics. There’s nothing left over, no time.”

The air she tried to draw into her lungs took on a sudden, crushing weight. His work, she thought, his
life’s
work. That was reason enough for any man to sidestep a relationship, she supposed. If that was the real reason.

She nearly flinched with pain as she looked at him. He’d risen to his full height, and his eyes had crystallized to ice, inured to the hurting. Though it was the last thing Lise wanted at that moment, she found it impossible not to respond to him. His physical size, his presence, everything about him signified boundless strength. And yet the fatal flaw she’d once predicted was there, carved into his gaunt bones. He was a man divided. A man locked in mortal conflict—with himself.

“Stephen, if you have to leave, I won’t try to stop you. But
please,
tell me the real reason.”

Anger flashed through him, galvanizing him. “Your father destroyed your mother’s life—that’s what you said, wasn’t it? That he was a domineering bastard? Well, I’m a domineering bastard too. A woman died because she couldn’t say no to me. I pressured her into a relationship, into marriage, even pregnancy before she was ready. She’s
dead,
Lise.” He turned away on a harsh sound. “The baby’s dead.”

“Stephen, don’t you think it’s time—”

He whirled on her, furious. “To forgive myself? For Lord’s sake, don’t feed me platitudes! It isn’t about forgiving myself. It’s about knowing who I am. It’s about living with the knowledge that I can destroy people with my own selfish urges—that I have that power.”

“You don’t destroy people—you
help
them. Look what you did for my students, and for Em.”

He shook his head wearily. “Your students took me for an alien—or have you forgotten? The whole town did. Maybe they saw something you wouldn’t let yourself see.” He indicated his beard and shaggy lion-gold hair. “Take a look at me, Lise. I am an alien. I don’t belong here in this world—in
your
world. I’ve been away too long, from people, from life.”

A wave of longing rocked her as she met his angry gaze. “I know what I see.” She saw a man torn by guilt, but he was still the most wonderful man she’d ever known, the
only
man she’d ever wanted to give herself to. If he was angry and alienated, he was also capable of warmth and great tenderness. Even now he was beautiful to her eyes—rugged and strong and golden. He was the hero of her childhood daydreams.

Her heart quickened with the need to persuade him that he was wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak. The future was clearly defined in his unyielding expression. He was going to leave her. He
had
to leave.

“Lise, I can’t do it,” he said, his voice hard and aching. “Don’t ask me to try. It will kill us both. I can’t live here with you, and I can’t take you with me.”

She nodded, her heart twisting. He was pleading with her to understand. Even if he could make peace with himself, even if his work wasn’t an issue, he didn’t believe himself capable of making the adjustment to her life—to small-town life—perhaps even to happiness. He had chosen self-exile. It was his path, his penance.

She became aware of the rocker creaking behind her. It was still teeter-tottering from her sudden departure, and the anguished sound brought an ache to her throat. What did she do now? Leave? That would be the civilized way to handle it. Make her good-byes,
somehow.
Leave before her emotions betrayed her.

“I think I left my shoes”—she jerked a hand toward the bedroom—“in there.”

Stephen watched her go with a suffocating sense of loss. The dull pain that throbbed at the base of his skull built to splitting proportions, and his hands fisted. He had to restrain himself from putting one of them through the wall.

She was fumbling into her sandals when he entered the room. He told himself not to speak to her, or touch her. He had no right. He had to let her go.

A low moan of despair came out of her as she flung the offending sandal aside and then hobbled over to retrieve it.

“Let me get it,” he offered.

She pivoted, startled. “No!” She knelt to get the shoe and stayed down on the floor, tucked into a crouch. “Go away, Stephen, please. Don’t make this any harder.”

“Harder?” He let out a sound riddled with frustration. “Ah, Lise, this is tearing my
heart
out. It couldn’t
be
any harder. I don’t want to leave you,” he said raggedly.

She glanced up at him, disbelieving. “You don’t?”

“No,
I don’t. I feel as though I’m losing part of myself, something irreplaceable, but—”

“I know, I know,” she said, a throaty break in her voice, “you have to go.” She rose, her dawn-blue eyes swimming with tears.

They stood apart, staring at each other helplessly, until finally Stephen spoke. “What do we do now?”

“We say good-bye.”

“Yes ... but how?”

A sad smile touched her lips, and then it wavered and broke into something soft and heartbreakingly radiant. “You could make love to me ... one last time.”

The shock that flared through him was a physical force. But it was her expression that struck at his soul. She was so open, so achingly vulnerable, he couldn’t move for a moment. Every emotion played on her face exquisitely—love, pain, longing. She was risking it all. Lise Anderson was a woman defenseless, naked. There was nowhere for her to hide.

He took the shoe from her hand, tossed it aside, and dragged her into his arms. As they clung to each other their eyes squeezed shut, and he let out the butchered sound that was locked inside him. His heart felt strangled as he pulled back and kissed her tear-streaked lashes. She had unlocked all the torment inside him. She had laid open the wounds.

Lovemaking was out of the question. They both knew it would be too painful to bear. And yet they couldn’t part without knowing the raging sweetness again. He touched her face, a question in his eyes, and at her silent nod, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

They were lovers stunned and slowed by the immediacy of their responses. Each point of contact was so exquisitely charged that they barely had to touch. When they did come together, it was with a shellburst of longing. Their coupling was graceful and poignant. It was searingly silent. They were made mute by feelings, neither of them able to say the words of love their bodies expressed so eloquently.

It was the most beautiful, painful interlude of Stephen’s life, and he knew by its end that he would have her with him always. She was indelible, as much an element of life as the breaking dawn. When his world was ice and darkness, she would be there, like the dawn, lighting his way.

He was gone when Lise awoke the next morning. The first thing she did when she touched her feet to the floor was walk to the storeroom and open the door. The room was empty, and her immediate response was denial. How could he possibly have moved his equipment without waking her? A dozen other questions stormed her mind until she released them all with a sigh of resignation. Stephen Gage wasn’t subject to a normal man’s flaws, or his limitations. Even though he denied it, he had some kind of magic on his side.