by Lia Faile
~*~
"The loathsome mask has fallen, only the man remains."
~*~
DAY 70:
"Yale, please stop this and come back to camp with me!" Devon Adair waded through the knee high snow alternately begging and reasoning with her wayward father/tutor. The cyborg trudged onward doggedly as if in a trance.
"I must find her! I *must*!" He repeated over and over like a mantra.
Finally Devon managed to get ahead of him and planted herself directly in his path. Grasping him by his coat lapels she shook him as hard as she could.
"STOP! Mary is *gone*! It's been two days and we haven't seen any sign of her. She either doesn't want to be found or she is...dead. Either way, we have to accept the fact that she is gone from our lives."
Yale stopped. His shoulders already sagging from fatigue, drooped even farther. He lifted his weary eyes and gazed at his former pupil turned heart-child "It's all my fault," he rasped as he raised his cybernetic hand to his temple and drummed it with his his index and middle finger. "I killed her as surely as if I put a gun to her head and squeezed the trigger." The metal hand then balled into a fist and came slamming down against his thigh. "She was happy! I was the one who filled her mind with doubt about her identity and made her question her way of life with the Terrians. I had no right! NO RIGHT!"
Her heart broke to see him in this self-tormented state. Devon released his coat and brought her mitten clad hands up to cup the sides of his face. Her eyes brimming with unshed tears locked on his in a fierce, determined gaze. "Now you listen to me, Yale! You didn't harm that girl in anyway. All you did was open a new door for her. Showed her a different way of being...a different way of looking at the world. Searching for our identity and questioning our way of life is a part of being human. If she hadn't already had questions and doubts, your words wouldn't have had any effect on her. You offered her your hand and heart in friendship. *She* was the one who chose to run away."
Yale's hands stole up and clasped Devon's. His own eyes grew watery. "But she did not make that choice rationally. She is so young, Devon. Practically a little girl. I cannot bear the thought of her out there all alone...even if she is dead."
"Yale, please come back to camp. You've barely eaten or slept in two days. Uly is worried sick about you. *I'm* worried sick about you. You're all the family we have left. We can't bear to lose you. We love you, Yale."
The elderly black man pulled the now crying younger white woman into his arms and squeeze her tightly against his chest and rested his cheek on top of her auburn head. They remained like that for several minutes until finally they both turned and headed back to the Eden Advance camp arm in arm. Neither one aware that the whole bittersweet scene had been observed by an unusual audience, numbering just one.
Whelan slipped his hand under his metal face mask and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The Witch was getting bolder and more powerful. Now he was being assaulted by visions of demons during the light of day and while awake. Strange though, before the visions and voices had always been of people he had known. These were unfamiliar to him. Was she trying a new tactic? No matter, it would prove as useless as her other schemes. His father had taught him well. He would not be fooled and she would have much to account for when he finally tracked her down.
###
DAY 74:
Excerpt from Yale's voice log:
The strange dreams have ended. Whether merely because Dell's holographic message had been switched off or because her soul was finally put to rest, we will never be certain. Whelan refused to join our group. It is perhaps for the best. He is a lone wolf who would not readily adjust to pack life. These woods which seem so haunted and sinister to us are his home. Meeting Whelan has gotten me thinking of Mary again. Not that I could ever forget her. I still scan the hills for glimpses of her.
So far we have met two children that were born here. In each case, their humanity had faded to a mere shadow. This planet left an indelible mark upon them. It has reached out and touched us all, but I feel the impact will be the greatest on the children. I now catch myself watching Uly and even True for signs of change. Was the planet's effect on Whelan and Mary solely due to the fact that they were orphaned at an early age and left to grow up with no human contact? Or does it go deeper than that? Will G889 eventually claim *our* children for its own and make them children of Eden as well?
###
DAY 77:
Mary sat huddled in a crevice in the side of a rocky hill that was barely large enough to shelter her. She shivered uncontrollably. The winter elements had taken their toll on her this past week. She had no fire because she didn't know how to build one without her lightening stick and it was back in the Tribe's cave. She had tried returning once but had been rebuked. ~Go back to your people. You made your choice,~ they had told her. But she hadn't made a choice to *leave*. She'd just wanted to help Yale. Those others were not her people. She might look like them but they weren't like her. Mary had been raised in Terrian ways and beliefs. Now she was tribeless and a Terrian without a tribe was nothing more than a soulless husk. Even the earth now refused to accept her. To her Terrian mind-set, the planet was God and God had rejected her. Forsaken by both the Terrians and the Mother, she sat there, a lost, dejected wretch.
She knew the Tribe had struck her from their collective memory. She never was and was no more. They did not think of her, worry about her or wonder what had become of her. They suffered no doubts or regrets about their decision to banish her. In fact, they no longer remembered her at all. Briefly she wondered if the humans had forgotten her too. She'd heard them calling out her name for the first few days but then the calls ceased. So too had Alonzo's seeking of her on the Dream Plane. Did no one remember her?
She looked up as a flock of noisy squawking birds flew overhead migrating to warmer climates. She watched them wistfully for several long moments. Soon the Tribe would retire and spend the harshest winter days in Dreaming. The ground would be frozen, too hard to travel through so they would traverse the Dream Plane like astral nomads until the spring. Though they couldn't bar her from the Dreamscape, Mary would never be allowed to join them on their journeys ever again. Nor would she ever again experience the sensation of spiritual flight while in the Mother's embrace. She would be forever alone.
Lost, alone, weak, cold and starving, something finally cracked within her and Mary raced out from her meager shelter into the snowy wind whipped woods. She ran beneath the flock with her arms stretched upwards in supplication. She ran and ran with no thought of where she was going. One long, continuous keening wail broke from her lips as she ran and echoed through the woods. Becoming overheated, she peeled off her jacket and dropped it in the snow as she ran on through the deepening snow. Piece by piece, she shed herself of everything that bound her to her old life. Mindlessly flinging all to the ground until she was racing naked in the snow like a wild thing. Running and crying in desperate pursuit of a life that was no more.
###
Whelan tromped quietly through the woods. The snow didn't even crunch under his fur boots. He was one with the wilderness and moved through it like any other predator, silently and stealthily. He wanted to check his traps once more before the winter storms began and forced him to remain in his cabin. He purposefully avoided the area around the Eden Advance camp. His encounters with them had disturbed him. He no longer wore his metal mask. He knew that the demon of his dreams was his mother and that she had loved him, had died for him. There was a part of him that still hated her. Hated her for abandoning him, for not being strong enough to save him or herself from his father. He was also jealous of the Eden group. They shared in something he couldn't comprehend. They cared for one another and even more surprising was that they trusted each other. Whelan's betrayals had come so early in his life and had cut so deep, he couldn't imagine trusting another soul again.
His eagle eyes zeroed in on something navy blue nearly buried by the falling snow. He cautiously approached it and jabbed at it with his laserbow. Satisfied it was harmless, he reached down and lifted it up shaking the snow off. He recognized the emblem it bore. It belonged to a member of the Eden group...but where was its owner? Several yards off he noticed another piece of clothing. Warily he followed the trail of clothes and faint depressions of tracks in the lightly falling snow. The owner must have gone snow crazed he concluded. He recalled something similar happening to a man named Barlow in his parents group. The man's body fooled him into thinking it was too warm so he removed his clothes. When he was finally found, he had frozen to death. Whelan was certain the person was nearby but he doubted if he would find him alive. Sure enough, less than a quarter of a mile away, Whelan found a faintly human shaped snow mound. Carefully brushing away the snow, he uncovered not a he but a she, nearly as lily-pale as the surrounding snow. Removing his fur coat, Whelan wrapped the nude female in it, picked her up and headed back to his cabin.
Upon entering his dark abode, Whelan kicked over his cot, spilling the bedding to the floor. He straightened the furs and blankets as best he could with his foot. When he was satisfied, he lowered his fur wrapped burden onto it. He draped several more furs over her, then he tossed more logs into the fireplace. Grasping a piece of tubular metal, he stirred the dormant, faintly glowing embers back to life with it. Once the fire was crackling and dancing assiduously, he set his make-shift poker down and swiveled on his heel and regarded the mounds of furs that concealed his "guest."
He tried to fathom his own actions but couldn't. If this had happened a week ago, he would of explained it by claiming the demon had ensorcerled him. Only it was a week later and he knew now that Dell Curry wasn't a demon but a woman. A woman who died defending her child. Killed by a man who'd once pledged his eternal love to her and had promised to keep her from harm. Her only crime being that she refused to share in his twisted vision. Whelan's chalky face revealed no emotion as he briefly analyzed the major event that shaped his life. His eyes strayed to the darkened room at the back of the cabin. Only then did his stone visage crumble slightly. He didn't enter that room anymore. A fog of death lingered there though the stench of decay had long faded. The ghosts that dwelt there were of his own making and they did not disappear when Dell's transmission had been shut off.
Whelan turned his eyes and thoughts back to his current problem. He reached out and drew back the edge of the fur covering and gazed at the female's bluest-gray features. The snow that caked her hair had melted. The wet, stringy, tangled mess was plastered against her head and cheek. She laid there unmoving, like a corpse in repose. He cupped the palm of his hand over her nose. The barest hint of air told him that she yet lived. Though for how long was the question. Removing his hand, he let it stray to her cheek. He could detect no warmth and the absence of shivering told him how close to death she laid. Even her involuntary functions were starting to cease. Why had he brought this near-corpse here? Wasn't this place saturated with death and misery enough? He glared angrily at her as if expecting an answer to his unvoiced questions. Then a memory breached his swirling thoughts. A long dead memory from his long dead childhood....
It was winter, like now. Only he was young. Walking was a newly mastered skill and he'd just discovered that he could walk on water--frozen water anyhow. And he was taking great delight in this slippery new experience. The next instant there was a sickening cracking sound and the woods that was his whole world disappeared. Plunged into a freezing dark hell, his ice water soaked clothing pulled him further down. Through the dense water he heard his mother's muffled screams and cries of "Whelan!" Whether she was calling out to him, his father, or to both he was uncertain. He was only aware of the numbingly cold current dragging him further and further from his mother, from the surface, from the air, from life.
Lost in a shadowy place between consciousness and unconsciousness, between being and not-being, Whelan heard the ice cracking once again. Hands grabbed and lifted him up out of the water into the air. In a surreal reverse baptism he was reborn. His lungs spewed out the chocking water and greedily sucked in the life-restoring air. A frantic, half-garbled discussion took place that he vaguely realized involved him. The winter wind whipped around him and his wet clothing was beginning to stiffen. His cheeks, hands and feet burned as if they'd been plunged into a fire. The half-frozen cloths were shucked from his tiny body and then he was tucked inside his father's coat. He nestled instinctively against the warm bare skin. He felt the jostling of movement as his parents rushed him back to the cabin where everyone took turned cradling his body against theirs by the roaring fire. He remembered how hours later, they all rejoiced, hugged one another and even cried when he sat up and muttered that he was hungry. He was certain that was the last time his parents and the whole group acted out of love, friendship and a sense of unity...
Coming to a decision, he stood up and disrobed. Nude, he then slipped beneath the fur coverings. He hesitated a moment before drawing the still form of the female into his arms. A hiss leaked out from between his lips as he spooned his body against her icy back . He began to shiver as his body's life giving heat was being greedily siphoned away. Her flesh, so cold it burned. His hands rubbed up and down her frigid arms in an attempt to coax her blood beyond its sluggish flowing. He laid his cheek against hers so his breath could warm her face and throat. They laid there for sometime. Whelan stared at the dancing flames trying to pretend that after all these years without human contact, that this embrace had no effect on him. Then, imperceptibly at first, he felt her body begin to warm then shiver as her body sought to warm itself. Her breaths became stronger and more frequent. He no longer felt as if he held a statue of ice.
Her body moved restlessly as she came out of her coma-like state and fell into a healing deep sleep. She turned in his arms and automatically snuggled against him. Her nose pressed coldly on his collarbone. Her arms hugged him tightly, trustingly. Whelan laid there woodenly and attempted to ignore her. Soon his tensed muscles relaxed and his right hand stole up to lightly stroke the smooth skin of her bare shoulder. Inextricably his eyes were drawn downward. In the faint glow of the firelight he studied her sleeping, upturned face. She sighingly whispered, "Alonzo." Whelan's face blanked and his caressing hand stilled. Turning his head away, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
###
Whelan was startled awake by one of his regular nightmares. The cabin was oppressively hot and he didn't understand why. Then he remembered...the girl. He could feel that she was no longer laying next to him. His skin tingled at the memory of how she felt. Slowly he sat up and ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair while his eyes nonchalantly scanned the cabin. The cold, gray light from the winter dawn coming through the window cast the room in murky shadows. The warm feelings fled when Whelan recalled that he knew nothing of this person. Why hadn't he tied her up? She could have killed you while you slept, he chided himself. Just when he was about to conclude that she'd left the cabin, a movement in one of the deepest shadows caught his eye. Crouched in the far corner behind a crudely hewn chair was the girl.
Wide, frightened eyes locked on cool, wary ones. Cautiously, never breaking eye contact, Whelan reached out for his pants. Remembering his father's words that a sick, frightened, or cornered animal had nothing to lose so would readily attack at the slightest provocation. Whelan figured the same applied to humans so he kept his movements slow and non-threatening. As he awkwardly wriggled into his pants beneath the covers, Whelan experienced a new emotion--bashfulness. Though he had no name to give it. He only knew that he felt the skin of his face turn hot under her blatant scrutiny and that his hands fumbled clumsily at the simple act of dressing.
When the last button was secured, Whelan threw back the covers and shot to his bare feet. He strode over to her hiding place. All thought of caution forgotten in his anger and desire to regain control of the situation. He pulled the chair away and sent it skidding across the floor where it fell on its side with a thud. Mary pressed her body more firmly against the wall and trilled at him threateningly. The jabbering brought him up short and he froze. The possibility that she was insane or an idiot only now entered his thoughts. His anger quickly cooled as he saw the fear in her eyes and in her posture. He remembered how the others, including his mother, had cringed in fear of his father. For some reason, he found it inexplicably important that she not fear him. So he retreated a step and squatted down so he no longer towered menacingly over her. He tried to shape his inexperienced lips into what he hoped was a friendly smile.
"I will not harm you," his little used voice rasped out softly.
He was prepared to spend some time coaxing her out of the corner, when to his surprise, she immediately scooted towards him. Her eyes once so wide with terror, now filled with only a mild curiosity. She returned his smile. Laying her hand flat against her shirt she addressed him in halting human words.
"M-m-my...name...is Mary." She cocked her head and pointed at him, "you?"
He stared at her stunned. She did understand and could speak. She wasn't a complete idiot or a totally raving lunatic. Uncertain why but relief washed through his body at her lucid words.
Mimicking her gesture, he laid his hand against his bare chest and replied, "Whelan."
"Wh--Wh--Whelan," she repeated hesitantly.
He merely nodded, staring at her.
"I hurt, Whelan."
"Where?"
Mary's hand slide down her left leg and stopped at the scuffed, untied, oversized boot she wore. Whelan gently placed her foot in his lap and pulled the boot off as carefully as he could. Mary stiffen in pain and chittered loudly at him. Whelan scowled at her and tried not to show how much that unnerved him. Several more gasps and trills broke from her pain twisted lips.
"Why do you make that noise?" He asked irritably, unable to keep his voice neutral.
"It is not noise. It is the language of those who raised me," she retorted.
"Eden Advance? That where you got that jacket?" Angrily Whelan tossed the boot away. "Did Alonzo give it to you?" He asked hotly.
Mary gazed down at the navy jacket she wore and fingered the fabric gently, lost for a moment in her own private thoughts.
"No....the one named Danziger gave me this." Looking back up she continued, "the Terrians raised me...but Alonzo taught me touching."
Whelan fought the sudden urge to shake her. To demand where and how he'd touched her. He didn't understand why but he was seized with a desire to hunt down this Alonzo and kill him.
Instead he shoved these violent feelings far, far down inside to be examined later and asked more calmly, "Terrians?"
"The earth swimmers."
Whelan's attention was drawn back to the task at hand. Whether her confession that she'd been raised by the natives of this world alarmed or intrigued him, he didn't say. Nor did he ask how she came to know the members of Eden Advance or how she came to be out in the woods alone for several days. He examined her foot with eyes and hands ignoring her gasps and groans. Lightly he traced her small toe. Unlike the rest of her foot which was a healthy pink, it was an alarming blotchy black.
"This must come off." He muttered, then his gazed returned to her. "You understand why? It is dead. If I do not remove it, it will spread and you will die."
Mary stared at her blacken toe. Is that what she'd become to the Tribe?. A diseased appendage that had to be cast aside in order to save the whole? Might her acts of individuality eventually caused others to stop thinking as one? If she'd stayed, would she have spread dissension along with her humanity through the Tribe like a plague? Poisoning a way of life they had struggled so hard to achieve? With watery eyes and trembling lip she quietly asked, "will it hurt?"
By way of answer, Whelan drew a dried leaf out of a small leather pouch. Mary recognized the leaf he held out to her. Taking it, she placed it into her mouth and chewed. All the while, watching him as he placed a knife in the fire then proceeded to methodically tear an old shirt into strips. Soon her vision and her thoughts grew blurry. Reaching out, she placed an unsteady hand on his bare shoulder. Whelan was unable to totally suppress the flinch his body made at the unexpected contact. Taking a steadying breath, his eyes traveled up her arm to her unfocused, dilated stare.
"Why do you help me?" she managed to slur out before her eyes rolled back and she slumped forward, unconscious.
"I do not know why..." He answered softly and truthfully.
Gently, Whelan eased her onto her back. Pulling down on her chin, he reached into her mouth and removed what remained of the leave so she would not choke on it. Taking the knife out of the fire, his experienced hand quickly and cleanly cut through the dead flesh and bone in one swift motion. The heated blade cauterizes the wound as it cut. Setting the knife down, he placed several of the crushed leaves against the wound and tightly bound her foot. Standing up, he walked shakily out the door of the cabin and shuffled several feet before falling to his knees retching in the snow.
Numbly, he sat back on his haunches with eyes closed tightly trying to drive back memories that the smell of burned flesh evoked. Reaching down, he lifted a handful of snow and rubbed it on his face to clean and cool it. He then took a mouthful of snow and allowed it to melt before swishing it around and spitting it out. Wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, Whelan shakily stood up. He could not remain out here, shirtless and shoeless. His stomach gave one last spastic twitch then he marched back into the cabin, his emotions and memories firmly under control.
Many hours later, Mary finally stirred. Groggily, she tried to sit up and nearly fell out of the cot as the panic seized her like it had before. Quickly she recalled where she was and that she had nothing to fear here. She was not alone. Turning her head, she saw Whelan seated by the fireplace intently watching her. He got up and fetched a bowl and cup from the table and handed them to her. Mary gulped down the water greedily until the cup was drained. Without a word, Whelan took the cup and refilled it. This time, she drank more slowly and stopped when it was only half gone. Peering over the cup rim, Mary's eyes fell on the darkened shadow of the doorway across the room. It reminded her of the dream she'd had but the medicine leaf made it difficult to recall it all. Though she remembered that it had to to with Whelan...
"Where are the others?" she asked.
With heart pounding and eyes averted he flatly answered, "There are no others."
"You are alone?"
Whelan nodded then took a piece of jerky from the bowl and held it out to her. "Eat," he commanded.
Mary took it from him. Turning it this way and that she then gave it an experimental sniff. It looked like tree bark but didn't smell like any tree she knew. "What is this?"
"Jerky."
Mary cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look.
"Dried meat," he clarified. "Eat."
Mary set it carefully back down into the bowl and gently shook her head. Whelan picked it back up and broke off a bite size piece. Then without warning, he grabbed her by the jaw with his free hand and forced her mouth open. Popping the jerky in her mouth, he then pushed it shut before she could spit the food out. With the heel of his hand clamped under her chin and his fingers pinching her nose close, he stared coldly into her eyes. "Chew," he softly ordered. She merely glared back. He knew she would need to take a breath soon and if she wanted to breath, she'd have to chew up the jerky first.
"You need to regain your strength. To do that you must eat. This is all there is....now chew."
Mary's lungs decided for her and she obediently began to chew. Whelan loosen his fingers from around her nose allowing her to breath but continued to hold her mouth shut. After a sufficient time, he told her to swallow. When she complied, he released her. Pointing at the bowl, he indicated she was to eat it all. Mary gave up and did as he commanded. The taste of the food had reminded her how very hungry she was.
When she was nearly done, Whelan handed her another cup. This one contained a hot tea made of the same leaves that he had used to knock her unconscious. In this diluted form, it would merely relax her and ease any pain she might be feeling. Mary sipped at it while watching him prepare a place to sleep on the floor in front of the fireplace.
"You do not find it frightening?" She queried. "To be alone?"
Whelan stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. "I find others more frightening than solitude," he told her bluntly. "You can not predict or control what others may do. That makes them dangerous."
"I had never been alone before. I was so frightened that I did not want to live."
Whelan swiveled on his heel to face her fully. "Are you still afraid? Do you still want to die?"
Mary smiled and laid down on her side pillowing her head on her arm. "No, because now I am not alone." Her smile faded and she gazed at him worriedly. "But...now you are not alone and you do not want others around."
"Finish the tea and go to sleep," he told her and slipped beneath the covers of his new bed. After several minutes of silence, he thought her asleep. Then her voice whispered softly to him in the dark.
"Whelan?"
"What?"
"Do I frighten you?"
There was a long pause before he answered. "More than you can imagine," he finally whispered.
"But I would not harm you."
But I might begin to need you and you might leave me if you knew the truth. Instead of telling her that, he rolled on his side putting his back to her. "Sleep," he gruffly told her.
###
Shouts of anger punctuated with cries of fear and pain brought Whelan to a gasping, bolt upright position in his makeshift bed. Shaking and sweating profusely, he woke with screams and curses still ringing in his ears. Rubbing his constricted chest with one hand, he took several deep breaths and slowly his heart sank down from his throat back to where it belonged. Calmer though still shaken, he glanced over his shoulder at the cot to see if he'd awakened Mary with his nightmare. His still thudding heart froze at the sight of the empty cot. His eyes darted about the shadowy cabin but there was no sign of her. How did she get passed him again without his knowing it? Scrambling out of the tangled bedding he went to the door. A quick inspection of the the locking mechanism told him she did not leave through there.
Whelan leaned his back against the door and frowned. He didn't like guessing games or hide and seek. His eyes wandered to the darkened doorway across the room. The inner sense that he often counted on to help him track his prey when the trail had grow cold kicked in and he knew for certain that she would be found in there. He forced himself to ignore the childhood terror that seized him and made his way to the old communications room. He stopped just outside the doorway, refusing to cross the threshold. The snow outside captured the moonlight and reflected it up through the window of the room so his eyes immediately located her. She was squatting in the center of the room facing the east wall with her palms flat on the floor and her head bowed as if in prayer.
"Come out."
Lifting her head, she turned and gave him a warm smile. "Hello, Whelan."
"I said come out...you shouldn't be in here."
Mary cocked her head and gazed at him curiously. "Why?"
"Why?!" Caught between disbelief and bewilderment, Whelan angrily retorted, "Look around!" Though he himself refused to take his eyes off her.
Still crouched on the floor, Mary's head swiveled and silently regarded the smashed remains of the comlink and then the skeletons lining the wall. "They do not blame you, Whelan," she softly replied.
"And how do you know that?" He demanded harshly, not realizing in his sudden anger that he had entered the room he never entered anymore. Grabbing her by the upper arm, he hauled her roughly to her feet. Pulling her against him, he stared coldly down at her. "You don't even know what happened here," he icily whispered.
"Yes, I do...They told me."
"Who told you?"
Mary tilted her head towards the east wall, "They did."
Taken aback by her answer, he released her. Nervously Whelan eyed the white bones propped up against the wall and tried to swallow the lump that threatened to choke him. "The dead don't talk."
"They do...if you listen."
She reached out and touched her fingertips to his forehead. The only protest Whelan was able to make before his head bowed and his eyes closed was a sigh...
Whelan opened his eyes on an alien landscape. His winter-white, woodsy world was gone. In its place was an arid, featureless place of wind and nearly identical hills of sand. Breathing harshly, his eyes full of fearful distrust, he backed away from Mary. "What kind of witch are you?" He whispered.
"Do not judge her or condemn her as hastily as you did me, Whelan."
Whelan spun around to face this new danger that seemly appeared from thin air. There stood Dell Curry. "Mother...?" Whelan moved forward, captivated by the sight of the woman gazing lovingly at him. Remembering the empty loss he'd felt when she disappeared in the cave before he was able touch her, he cautiously lifted his arm and reached out slowly. Afraid to shatter the illusion, he paused a few inches from contact. Dell nodded and smile encouragingly at him. Holding his breath, he closed the gap between them. When his fingertips gently brushed against her warm cheek, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Mother..." Overcome with emotion, he hugged her fiercely, burying his face in her shoulder. "Mother..." was all he was able to choke out though a thousand things he wanted to say ricocheted through his stunned mind.
"Yes Whelan...I know, I know." Dell cooed motherly while hugging him to her and rocking him gently as if he was a distraught baby. "I'm sorry, Whelan. This wasn't the life I'd hoped for you. You know that, don't you?"
He rubbed his cheek against the rough fabric of her jumpsuit. Her smell and touch eliciting a calming effect on him like it had in his childhood. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he opened his eyes and started to speak but was greeted with another voice robbing sight. Like in his nightmares there stood the murdered members of his father's group. Unlike his nightmare though, they were not half-rotted corpses shrieking curses and accusations at him. They were hale and hardy as he recalled them being before that fateful day...and they were smiling at him. Feeling his body retense, Dell turned and seeing what Whelan saw, she stroked his back reassuringly. "It's all right, Whelan."
"You don't understand...I just--I just....stood there."
"You were a little boy, Whelan and your father was a very sick man. There was nothing you could have done."
Whelan lowered his head and confessed to his terrible crime. "Afterwards," he whispered hoarsely, "afterwards, I desecrated their remains."
"We were dead, Whelan." A man named Traherne stepped forward as he spoke. "Our bodies were no longer of any concern to us. We know you meant no disrespect. A ten year old boy, alone in a cabin full of corpses waiting for his murderous father to return from hunting down his mother, running out of supplies, neither his father or his mother ever returning...God knows, the niceties of society don't always fit every situation." He laid his hand on Whelan's shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. "Life would be very simple indeed if everything was either black or white...but it's not. If we don't learn that while we live, we certainly learn it when we died."
Whelan looked up in disbelief. "You forgive me? Why?" he rasped.
"Why not? We forgave your father."
"How?" he asked incredulously. "After all he did..."
From behind him, Mary answered. "It is human to forgive because it is human to harm. Terrians do not harm so they do not have a need to forgive."
"She is right," Dell said. "You must let go of the past Whelan so you can move forward. You don't have to forget, but you must forgive...and most importantly, you must forgive yourself." Dell kissed her son on the cheek. "Remember I love you."
Whelan once again found himself in the cabin. Standing there facing the skeletons, he felt a sense of peace descend upon him. The silence of the cabin penetrated his thoughts and he felt the panic return when he realized Mary wasn't standing next to him.
"Mary?!"
She lightly touched his shoulder. "I am here, Whelan." Whelan turned around and sank to his knees before her, relieved by the sight of her. He reached out and pulled her into a desperate embrace. "Don't ever leave me, Mary." He gazed up at her, "I don't want to be alone," he finally admitted.
Mary looked down at him, smiled and brushed his hair back from his eyes. "How could I leave you? We are a tribe."
fini