Part 15 (1/2)

You are going to live, he told her silently. You are going to live, and nothing else matters.

His dream woman, his dream friend, in the flesh.

Alive. So alive.

Would A'lesander have killed her, too? Like Pelena, who also trusted him? Lonely Pelena, who would have been intrigued by his presence, despite A'lesander's exile? Who would have remembered only her childhood friend-and not thought about the man he had become?

Perrin pushed himself harder, ignoring the strain in his muscles, the fatigue. Pelena, dead. Her kra'a gone. He had never imagined that. Not even a little. There were myriads of reasons for the beast to wake, but the murder of a Guardian? That had never happened, not in ten thousand years.

And if Perrin had not thought of it, then likely no one else would, either. Guardians spent so much time alone, there was no way to know for certain whether the rest of his people were yet aware that Pelena and her kra'a were no longer bonded.

Though if the earthquakes have started, then they must realize something is wrong. They'll be looking for her.

Just as Perrin would be looking for her kra'a.

Unfortunately, there was only one person who could help him locate it. And she might be just as happy to see him dead.

Jenny's hands loosened beneath his. He turned his head, and glimpsed her checking the gauge on her tank. He could not see the device, but her eyes narrowed behind her mask.

She tapped his chest and pointed up.

Perrin took her to the surface, breaking into the light with a wince. Even an overcast sky felt bright after being underwater. He closed his aching eyes and stretched his tail, trying to ease the ache in his lower body. Away from the sea too long, and his adrenaline rush had faded. Even the pleasure of being in the sea was losing its power. The base of his skull ached.

”Sorry,” Jenny said, breathless. ”Ran out.”

He rubbed his eyes. ”I needed to rest anyway.”

She was silent a moment, her body warm against his. ”Where are we going?”

”To find someone who has answers that I need.”

”I need a radio.”

”I know.” Perrin tried opening his eyes, but the sky was so bright all he could do was squint at the water. ”I know, and I'm sorry. If this wasn't important, I would take you first to . . . to . . .”

He stopped, unsure what to tell her. Where would he take her? He had no idea where Eddie and the fis.h.i.+ng vessel were, and even if he did find some other s.h.i.+p in the area, he couldn't simply toss her on it without making certain she found her own people, safe. a.s.suming he could stomach letting her out of his sight in the first place. He wasn't sure he was that strong.

A swell glided them up, then down, a rolling motion that happened again, and again. Perrin had been on a roller coaster, just once-a little one-and this reminded him of that. Before his exile, he had never thought much about the surface of the sea, except as a boundary, but now it felt as alive as the back of a twisting eel, or a dancing whale. Perrin pulled Jenny closer, kicking his tail to keep them afloat as the surface grew choppy. Bright spots of red appeared in her pale cheeks. He hoped it wasn't the fever.

”You need a doctor,” he said, and felt sick himself, and torn. She needed a doctor, human medicine, and they were hundreds of miles away from help. Help that would be on land, which might as well be a death sentence if he couldn't set things right.

Jenny clung to his shoulders, blinking away the salt spray in her eyes. Her clear green gaze settled on him with a steadiness that made him forget himself, the world, everything but her. ”You said you had business in this region.”

He hardly remembered telling her that, and didn't know how much to say. Words filled him, awkward and uneasy, and frightening. But he couldn't lie. Not to her.

”Something bad is happening in these waters,” he finally said. ”I came to stop it if I can.”

”Bad,” she echoed. ”What's that supposed to mean?”

”Many people will die.”

”Your people?”

Enough would die, too many, trying to stop the beast. ”Humans, mostly.”

Another wave tossed them, this one more violent, twisting them sideways and underwater, briefly. Jenny also twisted, right out of his grip. He followed, afraid of losing her.

Close, but not touching. Her red hair glimmered, coming loose from her braids in wispy strands. She watched him with those unnerving green eyes, so thoughtful. He considered how alien he must seem, and that made him feel lonely.

Perrin reached for her. She kicked just enough to slide away from his hand. He reached out again, just beneath the surface. Caught her wrist and pulled her near. She did not fight, but every inch of her was rigid, tense.

”Get rid of the gear,” he said, hating his voice for sounding so rough. When she didn't move fast enough, he fumbled around her waist for the harness clip. Jenny pushed his hand away. He didn't apologize. He was not good with words. Not human, or otherwise. Not when it mattered. Like now.

”Don't be afraid of me,” Perrin said, and wanted to punch himself in the head, both for the statement and his tone. Like he was back in prison, where talking gentle got you killed, or worse.

But Jenny stared at him with those steady eyes, not looking particularly afraid. Just confused. Slowly, carefully, she shrugged out of the scuba gear and let it sink. She almost went down with it, and he caught her around the waist, holding her up. His tail b.u.mped against her legs. He wondered suddenly if that disgusted her. Or worse, his scars. His scars were ugly, and everywhere.

”Why?” she asked him. ”Why will people die?”

Again, it was so hard for him to speak. ”The woman . . . the woman of my kind who you found dead . . . is, was, special. She had a . . . a job to do. And without her now . . .”

”Bad things,” Jenny filled in, after an awkward moment of silence. ”Bad, deadly things. But you think you can stop it.”

”I don't know,” he said, heart aching, drowning. ”But I have to try.”

Eight years, lost. Eight years without purpose, except to survive. And now he had a good reason to live. The perfect reason. Right in front of him, in his arms.

Except he was going to lose his life, anyway. He was going to die, and it didn't matter, because if he didn't try with all his will to change things, then Jenny would die. Quick, or slow. But lost, all the same.

Jenny kept staring at him. Her eyes, those eyes. As though she could see right through him. He had never felt so naked in all his life, stripped down, and small.

”I used to trust my instincts,” she whispered. ”But I trusted Les.”

”I'm not him.”

”Not yet.”

”Never.” Perrin's voice felt raw in his throat. ”I was never like him.”

Grief flickered in her eyes. He could only imagine the burden, the insanity, the fear she had to be suffering. Her world, upended.

His world, too. Crus.h.i.+ng them both.

”That doesn't mean anything,” she said. ”I don't know you. I didn't know him, either, I suppose.”

Cutting words. Perrin struggled to show nothing on his face, but it was a losing battle. What he felt for her was too strong. For eight years she had shared his dreams, his soul-and for eight years after that, during his exile, she had still inhabited his thoughts.

Now, she was with him in the flesh.

You're my missing heart, he wanted to tell her-and felt like a fool. All he'd ever known of her was in a dream. This . . . what he felt . . . this need to draw her close, as though she was the only thing keeping him alive . . . was ridiculous. So ridiculous he couldn't help but touch her braid, and then the edge of her jaw, afraid to look into her eyes. Feeling like a boy again, afraid of the sky because it was too large for his small life.