Twilight Crossing

Chapter 8

Jamie flinched away as Timon jerked back. “Jamie?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

All at once his face seemed to shift back to normal—though deeply concerned, uncertain, confused.

“You want to take my blood,” Jamie said, anger rushing in to replace horror.

“Take your blood?” Timon backed away and crouched again, studying her face intently. “I didn’t say that, Jamie.”

“That was part of the bargain, wasn’t it? Your Riders’ escort for our blood to feed you along the way?”

“What happened when the first raiders took you? Did one of them hurt you?”

She couldn’t answer. Though she knew he only wanted to help, the memories had been in her thoughts since the first raiders had captured the delegation. She looked at Timon’s face now, and all she could imagine were his sharp, tearing teeth, the feel of them sinking into her flesh.

“Don’t worry,” Timon said, holding up his hands. “I won’t touch you, Jamie. Not without your permission.”

“Please, leave me alone.”

Timon got to his feet and gazed down at her, his mouth pinched. “I’m going to leave you here for a short time,” he said, “and look for a better camp, farther off the main track. Is that all right with you?”

Oak leaves overhead shifted with the breeze, letting through a beam of sunlight. Sunlight the real bloodsuckers couldn’t tolerate.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, avoiding Timon’s eyes.

“Don’t try to move. Rest as best you can.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He hesitated, released his breath, and went to fetch Lazarus.

For a while, Jamie did nothing but listen tensely to every sound in her little haven: the slight rustle of fresh green grass just outside the circle of shade, the twitter of a bird, the chirp of an insect. There was no man-made sound anywhere within the range of her hearing, but she fought sleep as long as she could.

Then the dreams came. Timon was carrying her off, taking her away from her people just like the tribesman, his arm clamped around her waist and his expression grimly satisfied. He had claimed her for his own. He would brand her as his, with his body and teeth and his will, and no matter how hard she fought—

She didn’t want to fight. God help her; she would give in to everything, anything he wanted. Fear was gone. The barriers of pride and modesty and obligation had fallen under Lazarus’s pounding hooves.

“Jamie.”

Her eyes flew open. She thrust out her good arm as if to fend Timon off and draw him closer at the same time.

He caught her hand between his. She felt the roughness of his palm, the gentle clasp of his long fingers.

“Easy,” he said. “You must have been dreaming.”

Her entire body went hot. “I...”

After laying her hand on her chest, he let go and stepped back. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She caught her breath, glad he couldn’t actually read her mind. “Did you have any luck?” she asked.

“I found a good place for us deeper in the hills, with more trees and water nearby.”

“Can we get there before sundown?”

“If you’re up to it.”

“Let’s go,” she said.

“I’ll have to touch you, Jamie.”

Heat rushed into her face. “I...didn’t know what I was saying before. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You must have good reason.”

It had happened eighteen years ago, Jamie thought, and she should have been over it. To confuse Timon with him...

Irrational, she thought.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m all right.”

She was very careful not to cry out when Timon lifted her into the saddle. Timon watched her face with acute concern, but she thought she managed to fool him. He kept Lazarus at a walk, and even the horse seemed to understand what Timon was trying to do; Lazarus avoided rocks and furrows with precise footwork that amazed her.

They reached the new encampment by midafternoon. Timon carried her to a large oak and positioned her with her back to the trunk, almost as if he knew that she couldn’t bear another moment flat on her back. He arranged the remaining equipment nearby, unsaddled Lazarus and then offered her water. She was far thirstier than she remembered having been before and exhausted by the relatively brief ride.

But she said nothing of it. She was grateful when Timon checked her dressings and seemed satisfied. His lean and muscular body relaxed as if he felt more at ease in their new location.

“Tell me about your life in the Enclave,” he said.

Startled by the abrupt question, Jamie looked at him. His profile gave nothing away, but she knew he didn’t mean to make idle conversation. He was still looking for reasons for her strange behavior, and he wouldn’t give up unless she distracted him with other topics.

“What do you want to know?” she asked cautiously.

“About your childhood. Your parents. What you were like when you were younger. What you dreamed of doing and becoming.”

“My whole life story,” she said, trying to laugh. “Believe me—it isn’t very interesting. My mother was a biologist—a geneticist—and my father was a physician. They met while doing similar research at the Enclave Medical Center.”

“What kind of research?”

“They never really talked about it. I know they were both interested in recovering the lost pre-War treatments for diseases humanity once thought were wiped out.”

“And you carried on in their footsteps.”

“I grew up around scientists,” she said. “I only went to school until I was ten, and after that my father homeschooled me.”

“You didn’t have many friends.”

It was a statement rather than a question, and Jamie winced. “There weren’t many young people my age helping their parents in a lab,” she said.

“You were lonely.”

“I was too busy to be lonely,” she said, irritated at his presumption. “My parents didn’t deprive me of anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“But you had at least one friend. Greg Cahill.”

She wasn’t about to fall into that trap again. “My parents’ closest friends were my godfather and Greg’s parents,” she said. “He always had ambitions to go into politics, and he was very successful.”

“So it seems.” Timon shifted his weight. “How does he feel about the Conclave?”

“He supports it, of course!”

“And you’ve dedicated yourself to it, even though you’ve never had to deal with Opiri.”

“My parents advocated for a new peace for many years. My mother spoke of it often, and wrote about it in the journal she left me.”

“But you didn’t grow up with open war. At worst, Opiri and humans have lived in a state of cold war for most of your life.”

“The Citadels stopped claiming serfs from our Enclave five year ago.”

“And that’s why you think the Conclave can succeed.”

“I know that not all Opiri are barbarians.”

“In spite of your lack of experience?”

She wished she could stand up and pace away her anger. “Why are you asking these questions? Have we given you any reason to doubt our commitment?”

“I’d heard rumors that the San Francisco Enclave had reservations about this new effort.”

“That’s outrageous,” she said, far more calmly than she felt. “You supposedly have no interest in the outcome of the Conclave. Is this some part of your job, to test how devoted we are to the Conclave’s goals?”

His head came up sharply. “I only want to know more about you.”

The intensity of his gaze made her feel dizzy and uncertain. “I told you,” she said. “There isn’t much to tell.”

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Timon said. “What did you do when you weren’t in the lab? Did Greg take you out to dinner in one of your restaurants, or to walk by the Bay?”

Back to Greg again, she thought.

“You said you’d never been to San Francisco,” she said, changing the subject.

“I did my research.” He looked away. “Did you ever have fun, Jamie?”

“Of course I did. My parents were very cultured. My mother...” She swallowed. “Eileen saw the joy in everything, in every part of the world she saw in the lab or outside it. She died before my father, when I was still a child. He never told me how it happened, and he died when I was sixteen.”

“I’m sorry. It must have been difficult to lose both your parents when you were young.”

“And you...did you have a family, Timon?”

“I was born in freedom, outside the Citadel,” he said. “My mother also died when I was very young.”

“I’m sorry. Is your father—”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “He and his second wife are still living.”

“But you’re not close to them.”

“I’m a Rider. We put those relationships behind us when we join the Brotherhood.”

“You ever see them?”

“Not in fifteen years.”

She touched his hand. “When did you join the Riders, Timon?”

“I was seventeen.” He slid his hand out from under hers. “It’s not a very interesting story.”

So he didn’t want to talk about his past, Jamie thought. “Did you run away?”

“I was very young,” he said.

Had something his parents done driven him away? Jamie wondered. Something trifling and foolish he’d never admit to? Or had it been a matter of youthful rebellion, the kind she’d never experienced?

Had he had a choice to keep his family, when she’d been robbed of hers?

“Your whole life is the Riders now,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Your freedom is very important to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But we have our duties. Our leaders choose our assignments.”

“And how do you choose your leaders? Do you fight for your positions, like the Opiri of the Citadels do?”

“We don’t fight amongst ourselves,” he said, flashing her a reproachful look. “It’s a matter of consensus. Except in times of emergency, we hold elections. The highest-ranked Rider is called the captain. He arranges our hiring and holds ultimate authority over us.”

“You’re the leader of a band. Have you ever wanted to be more?”

“I wouldn’t want the responsibility.”

Jamie realized that he was being completely honest. He liked his life simple, uncomplicated by binding relationships or the desire to control others.

“Tell me more about your people,” she urged. “I already know you serve whoever hires you, regardless of their politics or race. What happens if—”

Moving as quickly and effortlessly as always, Timon got to his feet. “If you’re all right,” he said, “I have another thing to take care of. It might require a little more time, if you think you can stay alone for a while.”

“What is it?” she asked, sucking in her breath as she pushed herself a little more upright against the tree trunk.

“Horses. Lazarus can’t carry us both for long stretches of time, so we’ll need another mount.”

“You plan to go back to the tribesmen?” she asked in alarm.

“No. I saw a small herd of horses not far from here. I’ll bring one of them in.”

“A wild horse?”

“I suspect they escaped from captivity not too long ago.”

“And you think you can tame one well enough for me to ride it?”

“You’ll be on Lazarus—when you’re ready to ride.” He went to saddle the horse and returned to her. “If I can’t get one by sunset, I’ll return.”

Jamie gave no sign that she wished he would stay. Timon knew what had to be done, and she wouldn’t be any more of a burden on him than she had to be. If she didn’t want him to “heal” her with his bite, she had to do everything else possible to make sure they could move on a soon as possible.

She only wished her leg wasn’t hurting quite so much.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he said, peering into her face.

“I’ll just sleep,” she said with a smile. “Good luck.”

He accepted her reassurance with a brief nod. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Soon” proved to be much longer than Jamie had hoped. As the minutes passed, she began to feel warmer, and her leg continued to grow more painful. When she touched the bandage, it felt warm, as well.

An infection, she thought. That was no surprise, even with the antibiotics. The drugs hadn’t really had enough time to work. Undoubtedly the fever and pain would pass in good time.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Sometime later, she woke herself with shivering and pulled the blanket higher up to her chin. She drank from the canteen Timon had left for her and tried to go back to sleep.

The next time, she found herself in darkness. The steady clop of hooves approached from the north.

Timon, she thought, lost in a fog. The rider dismounted, and she heard him kneel beside her. A cool hand touched her forehead and then her bandages.

Jamie screamed.

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