Eilifir texted the driver of the SUV, then told the pair a car would be there momentarily. Madame Langlois asked if she would be free to smoke. Eilifir said she would. He asked what she was smoking. She told him it was a Cuban cigar.
“We have not enough land to farm our own,” she informed him.
Enok said nothing.
Walking over, Ben said, “They must like you. Until now, they kept to themselves.”
“Not true,” Madame Langlois said, retrieving her cigar and addressing no one in particular. “Everyone knows us in Port-au-Prince. Everyone.”
Ben wanted to give up. He didn’t know whether Madame Langlois was being difficult or whether she was just that literal. It didn’t matter. In a moment, she would be Eilifir’s problem, at least for a while.
While they waited, Ben leaned close, facing away from the Langloises.
“She was afraid you were a sorcerer,” Ben said. “Why?”
“Shouldn’t you ask her?”
“I don’t have time for more riddles, from them or you,” he said. “Is there something in your past, from Galderkhaan, that she might have picked up on?”
“Probably,” Eilifir said.
That caught Ben off guard. “Care to explain?” he asked.
“I apologize, Mr. Moss,” Eilifir said. “But one must be authorized to divulge information to outsiders.”
“I freakin’ read Galderkhaani,” Ben said. “How am I an outsider?”
“Being a scholar does not make you of our blood,” Eilifir said.
“By ‘blood,’ you mean Galderkhaani?”
“You already know my heritage,” Eilifir said.
“Right. And I’m asking if that’s what you just meant. Or by ‘blood’ do you mean something else, something clannish?”
“I will request permission to tell you more. If it is granted, I will contact you.”
As they spoke, a white SUV pulled over and double-parked near the tree. Eilifir turned; Ben grabbed his arm gently.
“These two people are not bound by your rules of omertà,” Ben said. “I want—I would like to know if they say anything that could help Caitlin.”
“Of course,” the man replied as he turned to open the door.
“One more thing,” Ben said, still holding his arm. Eilifir turned back with less patience. “You said earlier that your ancestors once lived with the Group members, yet you don’t communicate with them now. I assume you’re rivals.”
“Our argument is not with the personnel of the Group as such, but—what you said would be somewhat accurate. And now, that’s all I can say.”
“So your dispute is with… their sponsors,” Ben continued to press.
The other man was silent.
Ben released his arm and took a step back. Without saying anything, the man had confirmed what Ben had already begun to suspect.
Excusing himself, Eilifir prepared to put Madame Langlois in the SUV while her son examined the inside. Only when he stepped back did she get in.
Eilifir shut the door, then went to the passenger’s side and climbed in. He nodded a farewell. Ben briefly saw himself reflected in the dark window as the vehicle pulled away. He looked like crap. He felt like crap.
Plus now he was truly frightened. The world as he knew it had suddenly ceased to be. Despite his silence, Eilifir and his companions were not just descended from any Galderkhaani. He didn’t know which was which, but they were descended from either the Priests or the Technologists.
And they were still at war.
CHAPTER 8
Hearing Caitlin’s claim that she was from the distant future, brought here by transcended souls, Standor Qala stopped so suddenly that she had to throw an arm across Vilu to keep him from slipping off her shoulder. A half-smile quickly settled on Qala’s face, as though she couldn’t decide whether what Caitlin had just told her was a joke or whether she was mad. It certainly couldn’t be the truth. Undecided, the air officer continued walking toward the tower.
“The idea is absurd,” Qala said.
“No less absurd than Candescence.”
“That is irreligious.”
“As your comment is ill-informed,” Caitlin replied.
Qala slowed, studied her as they continued toward the tower. Her eyes were suddenly like tiny machines, studying her… evaluating her.
“You are in earnest,” Qala said. It wasn’t a question. She wasn’t insulted by Caitlin’s remark. She wasn’t afraid that someone might overhear them questioning the foundation of Galderkhaan’s religious faith. The Standor was genuinely curious.
“I am quite serious,” Caitlin replied.
“Are you going to tell me you are Candescent?”
Caitlin had not been expecting that. She frowned. “No. I don’t think so. What I can tell you is that I am new to this culture, its language, its religion. Events here will occur that impact people I know, far from here in time and place.”
“In this future time. From which you say you come.”
“I am from the future.”
“And you have somehow dropped into the body of another.”
“That is correct, by means I don’t entirely understand.”
The Standor was quiet again, contemplative rather than doubtful. “The Drudaya were forbidden,” she said. “Do they return?”
There was no English word that matched. The closest would have been a phrase: the children of the earth.
“That name is unknown to me,” she said.
“If such is true, then it is best that we not speak of it.”
“Why?”
“Did I not just say they are forbidden?”
“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said, deciding not to press the matter. She wanted to try and find out everything she could in order to understand why she was here, in this city… and whether she should remain in Falkhaan or go to the capital. Because Bayarma was not present when Bayarmii and her grandmother died, Caitlin was reluctant to place this body anywhere near there. It might change events, cause them to transcend, alter the way Caitlin interacted while she was trying to protect Maanik. The young Indian girl might be lost as a result.
Nothing must change, Caitlin told herself.
Yet if Vilu were going to Aankhaan, there was no way Caitlin would not go with him. The burden was ferocious in its complexity, and Caitlin was still fighting hard to accept the reality of what was happening.
The road was wide enough for two, or for one of the many bicycle-like carts that passed them. They seemed to be constructed of tightly woven vines covered with some kind of smooth, brown pitch. The wheels were made of some kind of rubber substance. Perhaps sap or animal fat or even skin. She had seen some citizens with masks around their necks that appeared to be made of a similar substance.
Nonetheless, once the conversation was ended—as Qala made clear by the forward set of her head—Caitlin fell in directly behind the Standor, now and then touching the forehead of the unconscious boy. As they walked, it was deeply distressing to Caitlin when she considered that the person she was desperate to return to had not yet been born. That thought made her want to scream—and yet it also had an unexpected, calming quality.
If Jacob does not exist, he cannot be missing me, she thought.
It was a strange, elusive comfort but it was the only one she had and she forced herself to hold on to it. She failed. Her memory was her reality. She also wondered about Ben, what he must be thinking, trying, fearing. And her parents. It occurred to her, with a flash of horror, that she still had a body in her time. She suspected—hoped, prayed—that it was still alive and that Ben would somehow see to its care.