Part 40 (1/2)

Dream, said the Kraken. Dream your life. That is a life I wish to dream.

Sleep, then, Jenny told it gently, as Perrin said the same words, even softer. Sleep, and we will give you dreams to live on.

Sleep to live, rumbled the Kraken, and closed its golden eye. For a little while longer.

Sleep, Jenny whispered, and hummed to it the old song from the beach, feeling a strange tenderness for the immense beast settling deeper into the seafloor. Sleep.

Dream, murmured the Kraken, and its presence faded from her mind. Jenny hung there, waiting for more, for something to go wrong. A rush of admiration and love rolled over her mind.

You did it, Perrin said. You did it.

He settles into sleep, said the kra'a. We will dream him a life no other Kraken has ever known.

Good, Jenny told them, but couldn't even think another word. The rush was gone. She felt her real body, suddenly, tugging her back. She tried to hold on to Perrin, but slipped away-slamming into human flesh that felt like a corpse. Her thoughts slowed. She could not move. Or breathe.

Perrin swam with her toward the surface. Her chest hurt. Everything was numb. Heart, mostly not beating. Decompression sickness was a serious danger. If she survived the ascent, it would be a miracle.

Jenny forgot that anyone wanted them dead.

And by the time it mattered, she mostly was.

Chapter Twenty.

Three times Jenny's heart almost stopped beating. Three times he almost died with her. Perrin swam for the surface, knowing the ascent might kill her as much as anything but seeing no alternative.

You changed her enough to breathe underwater, he said to the kra'a, wis.h.i.+ng it were a person so he could throttle it. Make another miracle. Keep her alive.

But the kra'a was silent. All it did was tear down the wall between his mind and Jenny's. Her spirit flowed over him, but it was quiet, and he fed it with all his strength.

Live, he begged her, desperate. Live.

Perrin was so deep in Jenny's mind, he didn't realize they were surrounded until a blunt object hit him hard against the back of his head. He twisted in the water, still wrapped around Jenny's body and spirit, and found himself facing a pod of Krackeni hunters, swimming silently around him in a large circle. Sleek, strong, their pale gazes hard.

His father hovered in the water, watching him.

In his eight years on land, Perrin had spoken of his father only once-with Tom, on an early-winter morning after they left the homeless shelter to walk to a construction site that was rumored to need strong bodies.

Perrin had a strong body. Tom went along to keep him company before heading out into the city for a day of panhandling.

The subject came up because Tom happened to see a newspaper and remembered that his father, a ”righteous dude,” would have been eighty that day had he still been alive, and Tom, much as he missed him, was sort of glad he wasn't because the world had gotten ugly and dirty, and his only son was living on the streets instead of being the upstanding taxpayer all good folk were supposed to be.

Tom had asked Perrin about his father, and Perrin said, ”We had an . . . uneasy relations.h.i.+p.”

Now, it was just deadly.

Perrin studied his father's pale eyes. There was nothing there to find: no anger, no remorse.

There were many things he wanted to say to his father. Instead, he continued swimming toward the surface. If they wanted him dead, it wouldn't matter whether it was below or above.

Moments later, his father caught up. He said nothing. Simply swam with him, less than an arm's length away. Jenny was so still.

Perrin broke the surface, holding Jenny high out of the waves. He expected her to cough, vomit seawater-but she didn't react to the air.

She wasn't breathing.

You, Perrin snapped at the kra'a, and floated Jenny on her back, trying to hold them steady as the waves swelled. He pinched her nose shut, tried to tilt up her neck, and as the waves sent them spinning, he planted his mouth over hers and breathed for her.

Jenny, he called out to her. Jenny.

Jenny, breathe. Jenny, breathe.

Don't leave me. Don't. Please.

Please.

Each breath. Each breath he reached for her, inside. Each breath, begging, dying with her. He would die without her. He knew it. All his years surviving, and if he lost her, it wouldn't be a day before his heart gave out. Whatever bond they shared bound them too tightly for anything less.

He realized, then, that his father was helping hold her body. So carefully not looking at Perrin.

Jenny twitched. Her back arched, and her eyes flew open. Bloodshot, blood red, through and through. A tangle of broken veins covered her cheeks, and her lips were peeling and raw. Her bruises were wicked. She floundered in the water, coughing, vomiting, scrabbling against Perrin's chest and shoulders as her body rebelled. It was the most painful thing he had ever witnessed, but all he wanted to do was laugh with relief, and weep.

”Shhh,” he whispered, tears burning his eyes-holding her as she trembled and tried to breathe. The sounds she made, forcing air into her lungs, were horrible. Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. Her nose began to bleed, too.

Perrin held her as close as he dared and risked a look at his father. Turon floated near, his gaze unreadable. No others were with him, but Perrin could feel his kind ama.s.sed below, watching, waiting. No doubt wondering what it meant that a kra'a had chosen a human woman, who had then settled a waking Kraken. No Krackeni, Perrin was certain, would have been able to accomplish what she had done, in so little time, and with such ease.

I wasn't alone, she said in his mind. You were with me. We did it together. It was the two of us and what we've shared that made the difference.

Perrin kissed her brow, drowning in the pained warmth flooding him through their bond. He looked at his father again and rode on her love, letting it fill him until he felt transcendent, beyond all the old pain and bitterness. He could not be bitter, given the blessing in his arms. Not then, maybe not ever.

But there was still the possibility of battle.

”I won't let you hurt her,” Perrin said. ”Don't even think of it.”

”Bold,” whispered his father.

”No. When I first returned from exile, I would have let you take my life. I would have let you do as you must and not fought. But not anymore.” Perrin looked his father dead in the eyes, letting eight years of exile rise in his gaze-eight years, being forged into a different man, a survivor, a fighter, uncompromising and cold. ”She is my life now. And I will live for her. I will protect her from you-all of them-who remain so small in their hearts.”

”Small in our hearts,” echoed Turon, with a great deal of thoughtfulness. His gaze flicked down to Jenny. ”I felt her quiet the Kraken. We all did, in different ways.”

Perrin watched him warily. ”The kra'a chose her. She might still die for it.”

”She might,” agreed his father. ”There are many who were frightened by that display of power, who believe the kra'a should be taken from her.”

Jenny coughed until she shuddered. ”You people are good at that sort of thing.”

Turon tilted his head. Perrin said, ”The kra'a will defend her.”