Hellhole (53 page)

Always before, Jako had used psychological means to render her helpless so that he could have his way with her. The fact that he would use a debilitating drug showed his cowardly desperation, but it made her essentially powerless at the moment. She tried to raise herself to her elbows, but he shoved her back down, dropped to his knees beside her, and tore her blouse open.

She punched his chest, but without much force. He hit her back, much harder, then stared at her exposed breasts. “Now there’s a sight I’ve been wanting to see again.” He yanked at her pants. She tried to kick out at him, but her rubbery legs flopped up and down. She aimed for his groin but missed.

“Why are you fighting me? I made you what you are, changed you from a pampered vapid little princess into an independent woman. Aren’t you grateful I made you strong?”

Summoning a steel core from within herself, Antonia reached up and clawed his face. She scratched the skin of his cheek, trying to gouge out an eye. Though she missed her target, she did draw blood.

“Bitch!” He struck her face so hard that she reeled, fighting for consciousness.

And then he raped her.

He finished quickly, probably more concerned about being caught than about his own pleasure. “It’ll be better after this, I promise. There are so many worlds I want to show you. And no one will ever find us.”

When Jako stood up, she started to crawl away, using all the strength she could muster. “No . . .” she whispered, only to choke on uncontrollable sobs. She vomited on the ground. Her voice still wasn’t strong enough to call for help.

Behind her, she heard a wordless cry of rage and disbelief. She turned to see Devon in the backwash of light, his expression of rage exaggerated by shadows. He rushed forward, his mouth open, his blue eyes blazing with a ferocity that she’d never seen before. He picked up one of the large sharp-edged blocks of obsidian and raised it.

Still refastening his pants, Jako turned, just as Devon smashed him on the side of the head with all of his strength. A splash of crimson sprayed out from where the black volcanic glass struck.

Jako crumpled, raising his hands – as helpless now as Antonia had been a few moments earlier. Devon raised the chunk of obsidian and brought it down on Jako’s head again, crushing his skull.

Antonia struggled unsteadily to her feet, trying to block out the dying cries of her assailant. She lurched away into the night, desperate to hide in the darkness, but she didn’t think she could ever get away from what had happened to her.

Jako collapsed facedown on the ground, but Devon still wasn’t finished. He raised the rock a third time.

I
n the mocking starlight, Antonia staggered to the outermost slick-water pool. The tearing pain between her legs and the ache of the bruises on her face were nothing compared to the anguished horror that rippled through her mind and soul like Hellhole’s worst static storm.

She had left her torn clothes behind, but didn’t care about her nakedness, couldn’t think of it. Her body was wracked with spasms. Her mouth tasted foul from the vomit. She felt filthy in a way that made her want to scrub away her own skin.

Moaning, Antonia grasped the thin wire barrier around the alien pool and stared at its hypnotic surface. She had been foolish to let down her guard, to allow herself a bit of contentment and happiness. That wasn’t for her. She would never be free of her memories or of her past.

And now, because of her, Devon had become an animal. She had seen the look on his face and knew what rage had driven him to do. Even though he could justify his actions and had saved her, he would always have blood on his hands. Devon would
always
know what it was like to kill another person. And it was all because of her.

She should have stayed away from him.

Her head spun with images of her slain family, the years of running and living in fear. For so long she had believed Jako’s lies about Lord Riomini’s hunters pursuing them, and she had been terrified every time she saw a suspicious-looking man or law-enforcement official. Jako had manufactured that terror within her. Now he was dead . . . but not before inflicting another unendurable memory on her.

But Antonia had observed the serenity, the absolute acceptance, and gentle calm on the shadow-Xayans. Maybe if she accepted an alien personality, it would smother the voices she could not endure.

Antonia parted the wire fence and climbed through to reach the edge of the shimmering pool. She smelled faint ozone and a rich oily scent from the organic crystalline ooze. The slickwater was waiting for her.

She heard someone running up behind her, breathing hard; in a moment of panic, she thought it was Jako again, coming after her with his skull split open and his brains spilling out, hands extended like claws.

But it wasn’t Jako. It was Devon.

“Antonia, he can’t hurt you anymore!” The young man came closer. “He can’t hurt you! I’m here.” He held out his hands, pleading for her to stop, but the fence separated them. His hands were covered in blood.

Without hesitation, she dove into the pool.

The shock of contact became an instant enfolding embrace. She couldn’t move or breathe . . . but this was entirely different from the stun-drug Jako had used. In a matter of moments, all of her physical pain washed away.

Antonia felt the water swirling in a silver light, like a whirlpool spinning and spinning her. Her mind pleaded for release from her anguish. Her emotional outpouring thrummed like desperate music through the network of information that represented the memories of Xaya.

She observed miracles and fantasies, wondrous cities of curves and colors and crystals, and an unfolding history, the epic saga of a lost race. Now in her mind the Xayans’ caterpillar-like forms no longer seemed alien and repulsive, but streamlined, with structures of physical perfection, utility, and beauty.

Antonia understood much more now, but she was still empty, lonely, and yearning for it all to change. Her emotional state acted as a magnet, calling to a strong and sympathetic consciousness in the slickwater pool, a mind that could understand her. She opened herself . . . and found exactly the right presence, one that seemed destined for her.

Jhera
.

The powerful Xayan consciousness helped her, soothed her . . . and became one with her.

On the crumbling shore of the pool, Devon collapsed to his knees, crying out, “Antonia!” He had cut his palms and forearms on the fence wires as he tore his way through in a rush to stop her. But he was too late.

This night had already been so full of horrors. When he remembered what that disgusting man had done to Antonia, Devon wanted to kill him all over again, and yet he hated himself for what he had done. The soft crunch of broken skull had been so easy. The rush of blood, the power he’d felt in taking the man’s life . . . the feeling sickened him.

His hands were still sticky from the killing. He was appalled that he had meant to reach out and grab Antonia with those hands, to stop her from diving into the slickwater. He shuddered at the thought of getting blood on her skin. Then he collapsed into even greater despair.

She was lost. She had gone into the slickwater. He knew what that meant.

After an interminable interval, Antonia emerged naked, glistening, silvery and beautiful. As she stepped out of the pool, slickwater dripped from her dark hair; her perfect body came toward him like a water angel.

“It’s all right, Devon,” she said. “My pain is washed way.”

His throat was raw and sore from calling out her name. He stared, couldn’t find his voice, then finally croaked, “Is it you, Antonia? Is it still you?”

“It is still me . . . and also Jhera. This is what I needed, and now I can finally be at peace. I don’t have to worry about my past ever again.
We
don’t have to worry about it. You and I can still be together.”

Devon’s heart lurched. For months, he had longed to hear her say those words. When she’d kissed him that night, he had been so hopeful – that one moment, the highest high point in his life had been crushed down to insignificance.

“We can still be together,” she repeated, standing in the pool. The water level was shallower than he’d thought, which made no sense, because he had seen her dive in.

“We can’t, Antonia.” He had seen it before. When couples came to the slickwater and contemplated their future, if one became a shadow-Xayan and the other didn’t, a vast gulf appeared, and the relationship was never the same. “We never had a chance.”

“But we do now.” Antonia smiled. “Jhera is a powerful telemancer, and she is me. She has lost her love, too, in the slickwater pool. Birzh is still dormant in there, and she cannot bear to be separated from him. I love you, Devon – and Jhera loves Birzh. We can be together, both of us . . . all four of us. I can make it happen. If you enter the pool while I am here, Jhera can choose the right one for you . . . for
us
.”

Devon stared at the pools, and at her. He felt an impossible longing. He had hoped for so long that he and Antonia could be together, and he wanted her more than anything in the world.

If he entered the slickwater, it would devastate his mother, but everything about this evening was bound to destroy her as soon as she found out. The man he had killed, the attack on Antonia . . .

Devon had never been tempted by the alien baptism before, but if what Antonia said was correct, this might be his only chance to be with her. If he managed to take on the Birzh personality, the lover of Jhera, their future would be doubly cemented together. However, if he hesitated and talked to his mother about it, he knew she would not let him make up his own mind. And, with all the new volunteers that had just arrived, some other convert might receive Birzh’s personality. And Devon would lose Antonia forever.

“Devon,” she said in a soothing, hypnotic voice, “I’m not afraid any more. You and I belong together . . . and Jhera belongs with her love who is also here in the slickwater pools. She can guide you to him, binding us closer together than you ever imagined.”

He didn’t want to question it, didn’t want to think about it. He knew what they both had been through. Drawing a shuddering breath, Devon extended his hand to her. His fingers were still coated with Jako’s blood, but Antonia didn’t seem to notice. She took his hand and drew him into the alien water.

T
hough Ishop Heer gave her the necessary information, Keana couldn’t rely on anyone but herself to do what needed to be done. No question about it:
she
would have to go to that horrible planet and rescue Cristoph. After so many downturns and missteps, she needed to do something right for once.

With secret assistance from Heer, Keana made arrangements to depart quickly for Hallholme. She disguised her identity, left no record of where she was going, told no one (although she was sure Bolton would be distraught about her disappearance), and packed only the absolute necessities.

Diadem Michella would be furious when she found out what her daughter had done. And that brought a smile to Keana’s face.

She just left.

Exiting the passenger pod at the Michella Town spaceport, Keana wore a drab brown dress that she had purchased along with a tattered valise from a serving woman on Sonjeera. Not knowing how much simple clothes were supposed to cost, Keana was sure she had paid far more than the outfit was worth, but the promise of anonymity was worth the extra money. To complete the disguise, she messed up her auburn hair and secured it with a stained band.

The excitement in her eyes could easily be misinterpreted as desperation, and she did look like many of the others who had signed on for a new chance out in the Deep Zone. For Keana, this was a great adventure, unlike anything she had ever done – and it was the
right
thing to do. She was entirely out of her element, and she felt strengthened by it. Louis would have been proud of her.

Tucked into a side compartment of the valise were the only possessions that truly mattered to her – love letters and passionate poems that Louis had written, old-fashioned tokens of his devotion. She had also saved some of her own responses as tangible reminders of those two years of joy. She kept her favorite image of Louis with her at the edge of the Pond of Birds, as well as a picture of Cristoph de Carre, ostensibly so she could show others and ask his whereabouts, but Keana just liked to study the lines of his face and envision his father’s features there.