Emerson, Ru - Night-Threads 01 by The Calling of the Three

Author:The Calling of the Three [Three, The Calling of the]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-12-24T00:08:52.659000+00:00

Chapter 10

the water was icy; her fingers were blue and trembling uncontrollably by the time she was finished, but she was washed and her hair was at least reasonably clean. After Lialla bathed, Jennifer waded to the other side of the stream and sat in the sun on the far bank until the chill baked out of her bones and her hair was dry, then waded back and sought her previous resting place. It was unexpectedly cool down on the sand, even with only dappled shade to cover her. A breeze blew across her face, rustling aspen leaves. It put her in mind of a camping trip, long years before, when her mother and father had still been together—perhaps a picnic, down along a stream bed. Yellow and red leaves everywhere, tall mountains with snow on their peaks. Aspen rustling. She smiled, and fell into a long, heavy sleep.

The shadows faced the other direction when she woke, too warm, disoriented from the nap, and hungry. The shade was still dappled but there was more sun mixed in it now; the breeze was stronger and hot, now; desert-dry. Her eyelids felt gummy, her face and hands horribly dry from sand and wind. “Caffeine,” she groaned, and pushed herself up onto her knees. Some attorneys carried packets of instant coffee around with them. “Some attorneys have foresight and brains,” she muttered crossly. “And if I ever get home, I'll never be caught out without it again.” It occurred to her suddenly there might be something similar here, something in Sikkre. After all, Chris might be right, there might be a crossover point. She sighed. She wouldn't dare let herself hope any such thing. The letdown would be horrible if she was wrong.

She could hear two voices above the noise of the creek— Chris's and Aletto's. Apparently the high feelings of the previous night had been talked out or temporarily forgotten; they had the map between them once more and were at least talking. Chris tapped the paper and ran a finger along it. “So, anyway, this place up here, what'd you call those guys?” He looked up. “Hey, Jen, I think I'm getting a feel for where we branched.”

“Huh?”

“Branched,” Robyn said with heavy patience from Aletto's other side. She was sitting cross-legged in the sand, wet hair hanging over her shoulders; her eyes were slightly glazed as though she had heard the word entirely too many times this afternoon.

“Branched,” Chris echoed. “Look, if you go back far enough, we've got people and place names in common, just like I told you we would.”

Jennifer blocked a yawn and pressed her knuckles into the small of her back. “Names. Such as?”

“Rome. Caesar. Moors. Castile. Maya. Cortez.” Chris shrugged. “Buncha others. Somewhere around Cortez, it starts falling apart, though. So—”

“Is this actually useful data?”

“Jennifer!” Chris broke into English; it sounded strange, after two days of continuous Rhadazi. “I mean—you know?”

She answered him in kind, sternly: “I-mean-you-know doesn't tell me one damn thing. Try real English.”

“I

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