Airel. Part 14

Bathing can be glorious. I hosed off in a scalding shower while fil ing the tub, then climbed in for a good soak. There were candles and matches, which I used, as wel as several clay pots of very yummy smel ing botanicals. I was guessing that everything in the bathroom, as wel as everything in the bedroom, had not been touched by any kind of manufacturing process at al . There were no electronics of any kind that I could remember either, come to think of it. Not even a clock. Wel , not an electronic one anyway.

Everything was rough, but wel -made. The tile, the fixtures-al of it bore the stamp of authenticity in a way that no house in town could touch. Even the water felt different. Maybe he had built a ma.s.sive boiler somewhere in the house that heated the water to be used for bathing. Or maybe it was coming from a natural hot spring. Whatever it was, it wasn't running out any time soon, for which I was grateful. I was starting to feel like myself again.

When I thought about the hal way, my mind flashed back to my parents, my friends, my whole life as I had known it. I sat there in the tub for a pretty long time, just crying. It had been at least eight days-that's what Michael had said-and my parents probably thought I was dead.

Oh, G.o.d! I couldn't imagine how they must feel by now. But I had to resolve myself to the fact that, as of right now, there was absolutely nothing I could do about getting back home. I might be able to set a few things in motion...

I had to get my mind back out of desperation mode. I looked at the candles that il uminated the enormous bathroom, watching them burn. Blackness rested against the outside of the lead gla.s.s windows, beyond which was at least a thousand foot drop to the val ey floor-I had peeked out earlier. Hmm.

I didn't know how, but literal y every piece of clothing I owned somehow showed up here, in the closet in my room. Cel . Wait, is the door still busted off the hinges? If the door was gone, I was basical y free. I dragged myself from the tub and back into the shower, resolving to check on that. First, I wanted -needed-to be squeaky clean.

When I was done and dressed, I took a pa.s.sing glance at the door that led to the hal way. It was as if I had never kicked it down. I shook my head, trying to hold onto my version of reality. It didn't matter that it was, like, version 6.2.7 by now. It just had to make sense to me.

I went back into the bathroom and peered into the mirror. Gorgeous, of course. Superhumanly gorgeous. Michael would die. So to speak. I ran a brush through my hair expecting it to frizz into a fro, but amazingly, it looked like I had just stepped off a cover shoot for a magazine again, only better. I looked into the mirror, leaning into it to get a closer look. "Aaaaaaaaand...no makeup necessary." Bonus.

This was weird, I was not used to being-looking-like this. I knew it was a gift and I decided to enjoy it, because if I did have a basebal size tumor in my head I was dead anyway.

My thoughts turned to Michael. He seemed to be under some sort of pressure. Was he just worried about me? I didn't want to push him to talk to me but at the same time I wanted to know what was going on in his head. I missed him.

After a few minutes sitting on the foot of the bed, I opened my eyes. I remembered, more than anything, two words: "I'm sorry." They came to me in a version of Michael's voice; it was recognizable but strange. I knew that he had sat at my bedside for the span of eight days muttering those two words.

Now why would he do that?

I decided I needed to break with al of this. I was clean, beautiful, and ready to take on the world. "Never mind that it's two a.m." I rol ed my eyes. It was time to create something new to look back on at a later date. I walked to the door that led to the hal way, expecting to find it locked, especial y since it was dark outside. I was trying to imagine kicking it down again. How had 98 pounds of me done that, exactly? I stood in front of it and extended my index finger to it. I placed it on the door and pushed. It swung free, yawning open on the hal way, which seemed to be dark and quiet.

Why do I sense a trap? I went back to the nightstand and grabbed a fresh candle, lighting it. I looked up and down the hal , finding no creeps mil ing around in the shadows. I took the plunge, walking out in my bare feet so as not to make unnecessary noise.

There were doorways to my left and to my right and I remembered my last trip down this particular hal . I had been a rabid wolverine looking for someone to kil . They say Hel hath no fury like a woman scorned, and I believed them. I pa.s.sed on by the room adjacent to my own, which I was pretty sure belonged to Michael. I wanted to go in, to talk to him, but I pushed the thought away.

I came to the staircase and descended it to the main level. It was a grand house, real y, like an ancient monument that just kept going and going and going. I found that the house was situated with its front toward the mountain and its rear to the cliff face where the waterfal cascaded. It al looked stately and majestic, except it was underground, which was stil weird to me.

I found the kitchen next to the bal room, separated by three ma.s.sive stone arches over two feet thick. I went in, needing food and al -of-a-sudden hungry.

I grabbed a handful of bright red grapes from a clay bowl, popping one of them in my mouth. I stopped and looked down at them, marveling at their taste.

Best grape I've ever had? I threw another one in my mouth and coolness satiated my jagged throat. I groaned aloud with delight and began to devour them.

Brick and granite ran throughout the kitchen, and the dark wood cabinets were carved with intricate feathers around their tops. A carving of an eagle was centered on each door.

A formal dining room was through the next set of arches, with a gla.s.s and silver chandelier hanging from a forty-foot ceiling. The room had to be seventy feet square, with an enormous dark granite table in the center that could seat over a hundred guests.

Okay, so this dude is excessive. I still don't like it. But the grapes were good. So I ate them. I finished the last one and wandered back through the kitchen and across the bal room. On the other side was a study, if you could cal it that, with leather couches encircling a stone fireplace that was forty feet tal , with a mantle that held a few books at about head height. A hearty fire was leaping in the grate, lighting the s.p.a.ce happily.

Bookshelves were stuffed handsomely ful on every wal . I couldn't resist scanning the spines for t.i.tles, seeing some I recognized, and a lot I didn't.

Some looked so old I was afraid to touch them. I felt as if I had spent too much time already, so I left that room and moved on.

I found myself standing at the head of another long hal way, this one aglow with wal -mounted torches and curving to the right so that I could not see the end.

I stopped and listened to see if I could hear anything, but al I heard was the faint popping and crackling of torches. Like on the second floor, there were doors on each side of the hal about every twenty feet. I opened a few and found that these rooms were clean and used, or at least ready for use.

I couldn't help wondering if my kidnapper had many guests. Was he a partier or something? Yeah. This place is party central. Did he have people over to dance the night away in the great bal room? What was he doing, flying them in? Somehow I didn't think so, but it was strange that he had al this s.p.a.ce for a single man. I guessed wealth just made people eccentric. Which is polite for really weird.

Toward the end of the hal I found another staircase leading down. Unlike everywhere else, it was pitch black. An earthy smel wafted up in a draft of cold air. I wondered if it might lead to the outside and if so, whether or not it would end under the waterfal . I didn't want to find out. My nerves were shot.

Besides, in front of me was quite the curiosity. It was a ma.s.sive double door, fil ing my end of the hal like a sleeping dragon.

I didn't notice how large the corridor was until I stood in the shadow of these gigantic doors. They were made from huge slabs of wood, carved and inlaid with copper and gold, forming an image of an angel fighting a beast with two heads. It was stunning. The sword in the angel's hand looked like there was light bursting from it and each ray was accented with silver and gla.s.s. At the top, the two doors arched toward each other and met in the middle. Big black pul s stood like hands at about shoulder height for me.

I stood in awe, unable to move as I studied the engraving. It was indeed very beautiful, but it was unnerving at the same time. I wondered who had done the work, but had no il usion as to whom this room belonged.

The kil er. He had no name to me. I figured he fancied himself a scholar of history or something. Maybe he brainwashed himself into thinking he was doing the world a favor by taking girls and doing G.o.d knows what to them. I had a feeling in the back of my mind that my conscience, and maybe even She, did not approve of what I was about to do.

I turned the large handle, pausing to gather my nerves, then pushed. The door was so heavy that for a brief moment I was afraid I wouldn't be able to open it. At last it swung in, silent on its hinges. The room was dark. But as the door opened my diminishing candle, aided by the torches in the corridor, threw an orange light into the room. My shadow fel long and fuzzy across thick carpet.

Straight ahead in the darkness was a canopy bed, very ornate. It stood on a raised platform against the wal . I crept in and closed the door gently behind so I wouldn't announce my presence, if I hadn't already done so.

I held my candle aside and down, waiting until my eyes adjusted a little. I kept my back to the wal . This room was round too, and opposite me were large windows much like the ones in the bal room, showering the floor with starlight. I sneaked boldly to the bedside. Nothing stirred in it as far as I could tel .

I came to the windows of tal etched gla.s.s and observed a setting moon, blood-orange, against the snow of a distant mountain range. There was a trailhead at the edge of the porch outside the windows. It seemed to lead toward the base of those mountains. There was a shed or shack, partial y on stilts, that clung to the mountainside. Below it was a square patch that looked like one of those places where gymnasts do their floor routines for the Olympics, but it was washed-out brown and stuck out over the drop as if it were floating.

I forced myself to look away. Though life was getting difficult to a.s.sess- which is an understatement- I stil wanted to be cautious. If it turned out that being savagely murdered in the dream meant certain death in the real world, I had to keep my guard up. It didn't matter if I sometimes couldn't tel what was a dream and what was the real. I was so overwhelmed with my life that it was getting difficult to stay tough.

I took a brief survey of the rest of the room. I found a bathroom, a tub that was more pool than tub, and some odds and ends that I couldn't real y place.

I watched the bed curtains to see if I was safe to explore further. I heard respirations barely louder than a whisper.

I moved to the closet, which was like a private WalMart. It was fil ed with every kind of clothing imaginable, in every style. 80's MC Hammer pants, old suits like the mobsters used to wear, and even robes, al of them appearing to suffer from the occasional actual use. It blew me away. It looked like a costume wardrobe from a movie studio. Of course, there wasn't a st.i.tch out of place; everything was orderly. I think I would have felt more comfortable if there was one thing normal in the place. Like shoes kicked in the corner or even dirty undies in a pile of old t-shirts or something.

I was creeped out, and I'm not sure if it was the thought of kil er underwear or not. But I felt the irresistible yanking need to turn around, as if he was standing right there. I grimaced, dreading what was coming-not sure if I was going to die of embarra.s.sment or a knife wound-and raised my hands in surrender, turning slowly around. I almost said, "Okay. You caught me," but I didn't, because as soon as I had turned and opened my eyes again, there was no one there. Just another unexplainable item to add to the list.

I was not deterred from my nosiness, and continued on creeping through my captor's private life. I chalked it up to the fact that I figured he owed me at least a little information-and if he wasn't going to volunteer any, I would find some, so help me, and he would be at the mercy of my interpretation of it. So there.

It was a b.u.mmer that al I found after that was a bare concrete room, it was about the size of a restaurant refrigerator. Kil ers need storage s.p.a.ce too.

But that was probably the weirdest part of another weird night strung on the necklace of my existence. Palatial house, in which everything is obscenely overstuffed-then a tiny bunker of a room that's just...empty. I was seriously wondering how many of these kinds of things were going to continue to happen to me.

I wasn't leading a life, I decided. My life was leading me. Where, I did not know, and was almost afraid to ask. But whenever I asked the heavens for explanation, they were silent. Typical.

I yawned and decided I was getting sleepy and needed to make my exit sooner rather than later. I retraced my trail to my room, being extremely careful not to leave any crumbs. I fel into the soft bed and this time I didn't dream of anything. No monsters, no running. Just blank sweet sleep. Was that good or bad?

Chapter XIII.

1250 B.C. The City of Ke'elei "They never intended to give even one man," Kreios said aloud, primarily to himself, but in the presence of his brother and friend. Yamanu sat smoking his pipe as if readying himself for a very long sleep, and Zedkiel was pacing by the fire. They had al three returned to the inn where they had found lodgings at the great City of Refuge.

"You read their thoughts?" Yamanu asked a tone of surprise in his voice. "A bit risky, if you open your mind up to read you are vulnerable as wel ."

"Yes, I know. But I am not afraid of the likes of the council; they have grown weak. I am sick of the lies. They had no intention of giving us even one man."

Kreios paced the room.

He was not going to let the Seer or the council control him. He knew that the Seer wanted him and his baby girl for some dark purpose beyond his imagination, and the only way to be rid of the Seer and the threat against his daughter was to kil him. Cut the head off the snake, and the rest of the body wil die.

Yamanu sat back in a long low chair, feet up, jovial y puffing on his pipe. He looked up at the two brothers as if they were two figures in a play discussing nothing more important than whether one lump or two was proper. "I am ready to fight, ladies, but I wil require a dinner of lamb and greens with bread smothered in b.u.t.ter, if it please you."

Kreios let out a pinched laugh and swept Yamanu's upraised feet off the table. "Nothing gets to you, Yamanu, does it?" Yamanu shrugged and looked innocently at him.

Kreios's smile faded slowly as the jest died away under the gravity of their situation. His eyes turned to Zedkiel. "I think you should stay here with Maria.

She needs you to help her with the childbirth, and I wil feel better if you are here to protect what is left of my family."

Zedkiel protested lightly as a matter of course. "I wil pray for you my brother. Every moment."

Kreios did not answer him.

Yamanu regained his reclined posture, regarding the brothers.

"They wil stay here, instead of taking a chance to surprise the Seer and wipe the horde from the face of the earth. 'Fortify and defend,' they say, but in the end the war wil be long and hard. Every day that goes by, the horde wil grow stronger and we wil grow weaker-they simply need to be led to the foot of the wal s and besiege us with their encampment! Not even having to raise a sword! It is madness. Why would they risk so much in refusing to risk so little?"

Yamanu took the pipe from his lips, standing at last. "Kreios, we do not have the time to uncover this mystery. We should ready ourselves; grasp what is already in our hands." He poured out the bowl of his pipe into the fire, where it sparked and sizzled. "If you don't mind, I require a good night's sleep and a hot meal. After that, friend Kreios, you and I wil go to see how many demons we can kil ."

Kreios managed a weak smile, nodding. "We go at sunrise. We wil eat and sleep-then we wil hunt."

Chapter XIV.

Somewhere in the mountains of Idaho, present day Cool mornings in the mountains, with rain on some nights, made the earth smel so good that it invaded the mind. I sat up and drank it in, feeling better than I ever had up to this point. For the first time in a long time I felt like I had a good night's sleep.

I took stock of my situation: I knew Michael was alive and wel . He was off his game, but at least he was breathing. My host was disturbingly generous and wealthy. Either that, or he was working for someone who owned an entire country.

I let my feet fal to the floor and shuffled into the bathroom. I wasn't going to think about my parents and how they were doing. Let's at least wake up and clear the cobwebs before we burst into tears.

A pink sticky note looked at me from the mirror. The handwriting had to be Michael's. I imagined the kil er's hand would be cursive. I pul ed it free and read what it said.

Went for a walk. Don't worry about me-I was a.s.sured I was being watched, so I won't go far. See you at breakfast-8 a.m. sharp!

- Michael Alexander I looked outside, down the lush green val ey, but did not see Michael. The enormous grandfather clock against the wal was reading... little hand on the seven, big hand on the nine... quarter 'til. I was experiencing culture shock, ful on. Literal y nothing digital in the entire place, unless it was numbers themselves. "Man!" What could I say? I decided to get ready and head downstairs.

I found a hair band, pul ed half my hair back, and tied it tight. Smoothing out the rest with my hand, I looked in the mirror. On second thought, I pul ed the band out of my hair and let it run wild, hiding part of my face, providing cover. I decided that was better, and pul ed on a black shirt and my favorite jeans, trying hard not to think of how they had appeared here in the middle of freaking Narnia.

I opened the door and stared straight into the dark eyes of my captor, which prompted a sharp gasp and a long, "Shhhhhhhhh-" aborting the rest of the curse.

He smiled, his lips drawn thin. "Morning," he said. "I hope you're feeling wel ."

I recovered quickly, rebuilding the wal by reattaching the mask to my frightened face, glaring at him. "Wel actual y I'm feeling pretty good. Better than I have been, since you asked." He turned to walk and I fol owed. "But I think I may need a doctor to find out what's wrong with me. I started getting sick a month or so ago." I didn't know why I told him, but somehow I felt I must.

"You'l be fine. You need a good breakfast, and there is much to talk about. It wil become clear in time-and try not to think of me as your captor or kidnapper," he looked at me. "I only did what I had to do."

He stopped short when he saw the look on my face. I had no interest in being his friend or buddy, if that was what he was looking for. I remembered something from a movie, where victims actual y started to like their captors, building a sick version of a relationship-I was not afraid of that happening to me.

"I don't want to be your friend. I don't want to know you, and the first chance I can find to escape, I wil . I'm trying to make the best of al this, but don't pretend anything's normal." I didn't care if he had tried to nurse me back to health or any of it. he was a murderer and a kidnapper. And that was just the stuff I knew about him.

His eyes grew hard. "Have it your way. But know this: you cross me or try to escape, I wil kil you. Do not mistake my generosity for weakness."

He ground his teeth, turned, and walked away. I fol owed him, wondering if I had made my situation better or worse. We descended the stairs together, and for the briefest of moments I imagined what it might be like to descend the same magnificent stairs in an impossible five thousand dol ar princess gown on the arm of my Michael. Instead I was walking at a distance from my kidnapper that more than suggested repel ence.

He wore jeans and a tight black t-shirt with a white intertwined ivy design laced from the hip to the shoulder. It was an interesting shirt; I couldn't quite place where he might have gotten it. He moved smoothly for his size; he looked like he was a panther. Maybe it was the black shirt. Nothing about him was wasted. Not even his words. He seemed to think long and hard before he spoke in order to avoid saying something he might later regret.

He led me to the far side of the bal room and through a set of heavy gla.s.s doors. I saw a round table and three chairs under a white umbrel a in the morning sun, looking like a slice of Paris. The porch was a hundred feet long at least, and surrounded with bushes and plants of al kinds. I saw Michael standing by the edge of the porch and my heart skipped a beat.

I ran past the kil er and threw my arms around Michael's big shoulders, hugging him tight. "Michael," I said breathlessly. "I'm so glad to see you!" I pul ed back, looked at him, and hugged him again. I had to hold back a tear. I hadn't had time to realize how much I had grown to care for him, but suddenly it was realized. I didn't want to let him go.

"Airel, I was so worried about you. How are you feeling?" He seemed better and back to his normal confident self.

"Great! I'm fine, al better." I was fine, better than fine. I was alive, I felt great, and I had Michael next to me. How could I not be fine, even in the black-eyed face of my captor?

Michael held my hands and looked at me with his deep blue eyes. These were the eyes that could look into my very soul, and I gladly al owed it. "Are you sure, though? I mean, are you stil sick?"

"I'm better; I think it was al the stress and maybe something I ate or drank." I gave our captor a glare and said it just loud enough for him to hear.

Michael smiled and nodded. "Good. You had me worried there...I don't know what-"

The kil er cleared his throat and sat down. The chair sc.r.a.ped on the cobblestone as he pul ed it closer to the table, and I got a strong sense that it was intentional. "There wil be time to ask and answer al of your questions. Al the time in the world. Let us eat." He had a calm look on his face as if this was al quite routine for him.

Michael shot me a look and pul ed out a chair for me. I could only guess at the meaning of his expression. He slid his chair closer to mine so that we sat opposite from our mysterious captor, the table serving as a buffer. He glanced at us without any concern, even seeming amused by it.

There were three white china plates on the table. Each was piled with fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon gril ed to a perfect crisp, country sausage, and crusty cracked wheat toast with plenty of soft b.u.t.ter. Baskets of fruit and m.u.f.fins stood in the center of the table.

I could see cherries, mango, oranges, papaya, peaches, grapes on the vine (the kind I had discovered the night previous), and fresh pineapple.

Gla.s.ses of freshly squeezed orange juice were in front of each plate, droplets of condensation forming deliciously on al of them. I took the cold gla.s.s in my hand and sipped it. It was amazing.

Michael started on his eggs hungrily, and so did I. The kil er took a smal bite out of his toast as he studied us. Then, just as abruptly as a punch in the stomach, he introduced himself. "My name is Kale. My last name is of no importance. I thought you ought to know."