Annoying was another word Lexi wouldn’t use, but Marge was prattling on, ignoring Lexi’s lack of enthusiasm.
“Immortals can speak any human language they want, but for their magic they use mental images called one words—it’s a complete concept. They project it telepathically, just send it into someone’s mind. Robbie told me it takes a strong power to control the one word Christan used to put himself into the Void. That’s how he kept himself there, too. Only two immortals are strong enough to have forced him back. Probably the one they call Three did it.”
“They go by numbers?”
“The immortals on the Calata do. Some old tradition. Christan is her enforcer.”
“I can imagine what that means,” Lexi said, looking at the man.
“No, actually you can’t. It’s quite appalling in some respects, although I find it tragic. Everyone respects him. They would do anything for him. They’re trying to protect him right now, even though he doesn’t need protection.” Marge picked up a cube of the cheese, held it between her thumb and forefinger. “How do you see Christan, now that you understand what they are?”
“I haven’t formed an opinion,” Lexi said, although a part of her remained confused by the emotions he aroused. She was both aggressive and vulnerable at the same time. When he’d put her on the ground, the force of it felt empty, but there’d been more behind his action than ending an argument over photographs. He’d looked at her, and his eyes were dark and ancient. Bitter. She could still feel it.
“How do I factor into this, Marge?”
“You have memory lines.”
“One,” Lexi corrected. “Barely visible, and without memories, which I assume is the purpose behind it.”
“But you’re smart enough to know what it means.”
Toward the edge of the canyon, bits of dirt swirled in a dust devil that jumped and skittered across the ground. Lexi watched it fade away, then glanced at the faint line beneath her skin.
“What life was this?”
“If I had to guess, it was Gabrielle.”
“She died young.”
Marge nodded. “The lines record every remembered lifetime, not just those with the warriors.”
“They aren’t around for every life?”
“No, they don’t always interact. Sometimes, it’s due to circumstance. Choice in others.”
Lexi scrubbed her boot across the ground, a child, erasing something written in the sand. “How was Robbie able to find you?”
“The magic creates a bond energy in the girls. If a warrior is sensitive enough, he can pick up on it.”
“Describe it.”
“I feel a silver thread. When Robbie is near there’s a tugging sensation in my throat.”
Lexi turned her head to gaze at a distant juniper tree, gnarled and bent. Half of the tree had been severed from the other as if struck by violent lightning, exposing the inner heart, blood red.
“I don’t feel anything like that.”
“But you recognize him. You’ve been aware of him this entire time.”
Lexi looked back at Marge. “When Arsen changed, you said, not him.”
Marge picked at a thread from her khaki slacks. The low sound of male voices carried, filling the silence, and Lexi turned her eyes toward the juniper again. “It’s not Arsen, is it?”
“It was a long time ago,” Marge said. “Warriors are immortal. They wanted what no immortal should have dared conceive, and the Calata gave it to them.”
“I don’t think it turned out all that well.”
“No. For most of them, it wasn’t the gift they expected, and they failed to realize love could be so fragile. They made mistakes. The girls made mistakes. We were never meant to remember, you know, for that reason. But the magic wasn’t perfect. It didn’t prevent some of that pain from bleeding into each life, even when there’s no memory of the cause.”
“You’re telling me that because I feel lost and alone after some of those dreams, it’s a fragment of a past life leaking through?”
“Is that so hard to believe, given what you sense from the earth?” Marge placed a hand on Lexi’s forearm. “I’m not saying it’s easy. We have to face who we really were, what we did, what they did. It can be shattering in some instances. I had difficulty, but Robbie was better able to cope. He helped me through it.”
“Who’s supposed to help me through it, Marge?”
The other woman glanced at the two men standing in the distance. “Christan is everything they are, cruelly immortal in so many respects. But he follows a code of honor. There’s goodness in him, or at least there was. I think he’s forgotten what it’s like to be human.”
Lexi pressed a fist hard against the pain in her chest. Desperate, stinging emotions held her riveted, taut somewhere on the edge of the past. A past she could not remember.
“If it’s Christan, I can’t do this.”
“Of course you can.”
“No.” Lexi shook her head. “You see the way he looks at me. I. Can’t.”
“He’s been in the Void a long time. Robbie tells me it’s a cold, empty place devoid of all emotion. It takes time to find who you are again.”
“I’m not going on that journey with him.”
“He’ll just come find you again. At least talk to him.”
The image of Christan sprawled in her office chair rose unbidden, and Lexi’s chest felt so tight she thumped her fist below her collarbone. “We don’t talk, Marge.”
“You’ve had many lifetimes with him. Aren’t you the least curious?”
“No.”
“How can you pretend your reality hasn’t changed? Can you unsee Arsen, changing in front of you? You can’t. And you can’t sleep at night, either, now that you know someone was in your cottage. They forced you to dream and watched while it happened.”
“Why, Marge? It makes no sense.”
“Not in human terms, but perfect sense for immortals. Arsen thinks this is an old enemy trying to weaken the Calata. Night terrors exploit the weakness in the magic and bring the past life memories closer to the surface. Someone wants us to remember and they don’t care what they have to do. It’s harming the girls, and the warriors will break the Agreement if it’s not stopped.”
“Is that why Christan’s back?”
“Part of the reason. He can control the warriors.”
“And the other part of the reason?”
“They’ve killed three girls. And whoever is doing this now seems to be targeting you.”
“God, Marge.” Lexi squeezed her eyes shut, felt the return of the migraine as it sliced behind her eye. “I’m already terrified.”
“There’s a threat out there.” The woman grabbed Lexi's hands and leaned forward. “I would never lie to you about something as important as this.”
Lexi tugged free of Marge and rose to her feet, walked several paces away until all she could see was the darkening light that filled the canyon. It was too late, she thought, as shadows settled into purple. They would never leave this place in daylight.
She followed a small trail, worn down by the animals who existed in this wilderness, the deer, perhaps, who roused themselves at dusk to feed. The various predators who culled the herds. This was Hells Canyon, marked on the old maps as the Empty Place. It was fitting, she supposed, that everything she once believed had been called into question, in this landscape filled with utter emptiness, other than the susurration of the wind.
The wind stopped and Lexi saw him. He was standing ten feet away, legs apart, arms crossed, so still he could have been carved in stone. In the hard blade of his mouth she could see the beautiful, implacable weapon the immortals created, an impossible creature of ancient origins. The dying sun lost itself in his hair. The scent of him weakened her legs. The space between them vibrated as if electrically charged.