Seeing with the Heart Read online

  Braxx ignored him and simply looked at the Elder.

  “In a case of The Race, the male who wins need not claim his female at once,” the old male replied. “But he must at least mark her with his scent so that other males know he intends to claim her at a later date.”

  “Which is exactly what I did at the Feast of Pledging back on the Surface,” Braxx growled, feeling a surge of frustration. If only he had gone with Molly when she went to take her wash in the stream—all this could have been avoided!

  “The Surface is another world—you are in the Depths now,” the Elder answered stonily. “Are the two of you ready to run The Race? You must start at the Stone Finger, follow the path up and over the Bridge of Safe Distance, and come at last to the door of the Claiming Cottage. The first male to get there is the winner and the owner of the contested female. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Braxx said, nodding.

  “Understood,” Drogor echoed.

  The two of them went to stand at the base of the huge stalactite which was as big around as a good sized oak tree and as tall, Braxx thought. He sized up his opponent as they both tensed, waiting for the word from the Elder to begin. Drogor was muscular but heavy and Braxx knew himself to be fast. He should be able to win this easily, barring any unforeseen events.

  He tensed, ready to spring into action the moment the Elder said “go.” He was still barefoot, as he had taken off his boots along with his other “off-worlder” clothes when he put on the negu at the Wise One’s hut. But the road seemed smooth and level and he didn’t anticipate any difficulty. On either side of it were loose pebbles and rocks, however, so he must be certain to keep on the path.

  “Get ready,” the Elder said and Braxx felt the Deep Dweller tense beside him.

  “Go! And may the male deemed worthy by the Cha’llah win!” the Elder shouted.

  His thin, reedy voice echoed in the dim cavern but Braxx was off like a shot, before he even spoke the second word. Drogor was right beside him, to his left, keeping pace. Apparently the Deep Dweller was faster than he looked.

  This might be a close race after all.

  Braxx put on a burst of speed and began to pull ahead. Looming in the foreground was the steep rise of the Bridge of Safe Distance. Any moment he would be there, then up and over and to the Claiming Cottage with Molly in his arms…

  Suddenly Drogor was beside him again. With a hard shove, shoulder to shoulder, the Deep Dweller knocked him off the smooth path and into the loose pebbles and scree on the side of the road.

  Braxx felt his right ankle roll even as he tried to regain his balance. He swore as he jumped to his feet and felt it give way beneath his weight. Either it was broken or very badly sprained. There was no way he could run on such an injury—not fast enough to catch up to Drogor who was already mounting the steep bridge.

  Braxx took a step and groaned. He saw the Deep Dweller throw a look of smug triumph over his shoulder as he raced up the bridge. Then his eyes were drawn across the river of Cha’llah to see Molly, still standing at the window with a look of horror on her face.

  No, he thought, tightening his hands into fists. No, I can’t let him have her. I love her!

  He didn’t know where the thought came from but he knew it was true. He wanted to claim Molly as his own for life, not just as a sham to keep her from being taken by Drogor. But how could he do that? How could he get to her first when the Deep Dweller was already a fourth of the way up the bridge and Braxx had a severely injured ankle? Even if he ran on it—which he was prepared to do—he wouldn’t be fast enough to catch up, let alone beat the other male to the finish line.

  If only there was a short-cut he could take!

  His eyes were drawn to the river of Cha’llah, roiling in its stone bed. A short-cut. It would be much faster to walk straight across, through the river, than to go around the long way by the Bridge of Safe Distance.

  Wincing as he put weight on his wounded ankle, Braxx began making his way as quickly as he could down the bank to the river of blue and green.

  “Beware the Cha’llah,” whispered the Wise One’s voice in his head. “If your inner healing is incomplete, it can freeze you, at least on the outside.”

  Braxx knew his inner healing was nowhere near complete. He was a mass of turmoil inside because of what he’d felt compelled to do during the crash that had taken his brother and ruined his face. If he walked into the Cha’llah now, he would lose any chance he might have to one day look normal again.

  Once more he heard the Wise One’s words. “In order to take back Molly, you will have to let go of your last hope.”

  My last hope, he thought. I’m losing my last hope of ever being healed.

  He kept going, making his way quickly down the steep river bank towards the flow of Cha’llah. He would be scarred forever—so be it. Molly was worth more to him than any hope he had of regaining his old life. It was gone, anyway—burned away in fire and blood the moment the ship had crashed. For how could he ever be whole again on the inside after what he had done?

  Broken inside and out, he thought and took his first step into the Cha’llah.

  * * * * *

  “Oh—oh, no! Oh my God—what is he doing?” Molly stared in horror as the big Kindred started wading into the swirling river of greenish-blue light. It was like watching him walk into a pool of blue lava.

  Does it burn? she wondered wildly.

  If it did, Braxx didn’t show it. He simply kept moving forward, sinking deeper and deeper into the Cha’llah flow until first his hips, then his broad chest, and finally his head disappeared into the roiling bluish-green depths and he was gone from her sight.

  Beside her, the healer Llewith drew in a long, shuddering breath.

  “Oh, Molly from the Stars,” she whispered in a trembling voice. “Truly, he must love you.”

  “Is…is it that dangerous?” Molly asked timidly.

  “It can be. The Cha’llah can heal or harden, transform or transfix,” the healer said softly. “I have never known anyone to go into it willingly.”

  “But will he come out again? Will he be all right?” Molly demanded. “Please, Llewith—tell me he’ll be okay!”

  “You love him too, don’t you?” the healer said, looking at her. “You do—I can tell it.”

  “Yes,” Molly whispered and knew it was true. Despite the short time they had known each other, she had fallen hard and fast for the big Kindred. The thought that he had sacrificed himself for her by going into the Cha’llah put a lump in her throat.

  What if he doesn’t come out? What if I never see him again?

  The thought made her eyes sting and her heart feel like someone had dipped it in lead.

  Please, she prayed, although she wasn’t sure who she was praying to—maybe the Kindred Goddess her new friends aboard the Mothership had talked about? Please bring him back to me! Please don’t let him be gone forever—please!

  It seems she watched the rippling waves of the Cha’llah flow forever, waiting, hoping to see Braxx’s head emerge. The minutes ticked past and still he didn’t show. How long could he hold his breath? Or was it even necessary to hold your breath in the Cha’llah? Was it more like water…or fire…or electricity? Or maybe some kind of radiation?

  Maybe it was all of them mixed together somehow into a deadly amalgamation of power.

  Molly bit her lip, watching anxiously. Was Braxx dead at the bottom of the river? Had his body dissolved or distorted or mutated past recognition? She couldn’t help remembering what Llewith had told her about the reason the Bridge of Safe Distance was so high above the flow.

  It causes birth defects if a pregnant woman touches it directly, she thought. So what might it do to someone who had completely immersed themselves in its raw power?

  She was dimly aware of Drogor arriving and claiming that he had won The Race, shouting triumphantly that she was his. Thankfully, Llewith put him off and told him to leave her be for a moment. Then the Elder arrived, his f