She no longer understood the words consciously. But she could tell that some part of her subconscious mind understood them. She still felt the way she had on top of the building, the knife in her hand as she tried to kill Ryan: herself, but one step removed.
Without warning, though, the voice became clear again.
Come see, Phlorin said. Come see how your man plays into our little game. He’s going to trap you forever, leave you to my mercy.
Why are you doing this? Krysty demanded.
Because it is necessary. I am of the Chosen. I must survive. You have forsaken your birthright.
I didn’t even know of you people, Krysty argued.
You knew that you were different. That alone should have started you on a quest until you found us, your sisters.
You’re not my sisters.
Your mother was.
Fear trembled inside Krysty then, and it reminded her of a moth’s wings brushing frantically against her palms when she’d caught one as a child.
My mother was many things, she argued, but she would never have been like you.
You never really knew your mother. How can you be so sure?
Because Gaia has told me. In truth, during some of her prayers while she was growing up, Krysty had asked the earth goddess about her mother. There’d never been any definite answers, but Krysty had never had any cause to feel sad or scared. She was certain that whatever other secrets Mother Sonja might have had, she was a good person. At least at the time that she’d lived in Harmony ville.
You use the goddess’s name in vain. Such sacrilege would normally be punished.
Then try. You’ve pushed me out of my own body, nearly chilled the man I love with all my heart. How do you think you can punish me any more?
The woman didn’t answer, and the silence that followed the question was almost deafening, trapped as it was in the small white room.
Sensing the weakness, Krysty twisted in the air until she made contact with one of the walls again. The weightlessness here was confusing, and getting herself set was hard. Still, she managed, finally able to get into a kneeling position on the surface she’d chosen. Then she pushed herself outward toward the opposite wall. She put her bunched fists in front of her, screaming out her rage and frustration, temporarily blocking out that voice.
The room’s walls exploded before her hands, tumbling away in jagged shards. Then she was inside the fort where the companions had holed up.
And she was looking down at her own body, her head in Mildred’s lap.
No, she thought, instantly afraid of the implications.
Fool, Phlorin told her. It isn’t you who has died. But I am about to so that I may live.
Krysty called out to Mildred, but her efforts went unheard. She reached for her friend, only to watch her hand pass right through Mildred’s. Hastily Krysty turned her perspective point, focusing on Ryan as he squatted beside Phlorin.
Now it begins, the old woman said inside Krysty’s mind. This man of yours is stupe, but he is determined.
The panga glittered in Ryan’s hand, the edge pointed up.
Krysty crossed the room, having no sensation of walking, just suddenly appearing at Ryan’s side. Lover!
Ryan stared at the woman. Krysty read in her lover’s movements that he was there to kill the old woman. “Time’s come to shit or get off the pot. You’re only one step away from catching the last train headed West. Release Krysty.”
Krysty reached for her lover, trying to cup her hand under Ryan’s head and force him to turn to look at her.
Ryan froze, then slowly his head came around. His single eye widened, showing the full blue of the iris. “Krysty,” he whispered.
Don’t, Krysty tried to tell him. You’re playing right into whatever she’s doing, lover. Before, she’d managed to reach Ryan through some aspect of her gift. She guessed that it could happen again if she tried hard enough.
Ryan shook his head.
“What is it?” Mildred asked.
“I thought I heard Krysty call my name,” he said.
Mildred shook her head. “Your imagination, Ryan. I’ve been with her the whole time and I haven’t heard a word.”