Elena's Journey by Vi and Parda
Chapter 2 - Day
Austrian Alps
The horse-drawn carriage creaked as it went up the steep hill, and Elena sighed as she looked around. Beautiful mountains. Cold, pristine snow. Evergreens. Gorgeous scenery and the brightness of a new morning. The incredible splendor of the Alps, all wasted on her. She had bought some clothes, two scarves, gloves, a hat, all for the frozen weather, at a chic village shop at the base of the mountain. Still, her coat felt too thin, and the wind sank right down into her bones. She shouldn't be here. She should be in the south of Spain, baking in the sun, riding her mare alongside Lorenzo then having a delicious dinner, some nice rioja, and bed. Bed with Lorenzo. Instead she was here in frigid Austria with people she didn't even like.
No, that wasn't fair and it wasn't true. She did like them. They were 'family,' of sorts, and one didn't choose family, did one? One just appreciated them.
Even though Elena hadn't told anyone she was coming, Cassandra was waiting inside the gatehouse of the ancient castle that now served as a girls' boarding school, started by the Phinyx Foundation only fifteen years before. As soon as Elena stepped down from the carriage, Cassandra gathered Elena into a hug. "I am so sorry, Elena," Cassandra said softly. "Lorenzo was a magnificent man."
Elena took a deep, shuddering breath. This was just what she needed to hear. "Gracias, mi vida. I was right to come here," she said then added, "Look, I know I told you from the airport that I was going to a convent in France, but—"
Cassandra dismissed the explanation with a wave of her hand. "You are always welcome, amiga," she said kindly
Elena didn't just appreciate these people. She loved them. Some of them, anyway. Cassandra, who would always be there for her, as long as Elena didn't make the mistake she'd made only once before and attack Cassandra with a sword.
Her sword. Elena had her sword with her, of course, in a long duffel bag hanging on her shoulder, and the driver had placed Elena's small suitcase and several shopping bags on the bench. Now he was holding the carriage door as two teenagers in dark blue cloaks climbed in, chattering to each other in Italian.
"I love riding in a horse-drawn carriage," Elena said, stepping forward to say goodbye to the nearest mare, Anna, who remembered Elena from her visit eighteen months ago. Elena rubbed Anna's nose, and the animal responded by turning liquid, dark brown eyes to Elena and snuffling. "Que linda estas, Anna," Elena murmured, wishing she had an apple, as she always did in at her villa in Andalucia, though of course you didn't feed a horse who was under harness. She exchanged friendly nods with the driver; then he climbed to the seat and picked up the reins, clicked to his horses and started them down the hill.
"The horses add to the school's charm; parents like that," Cassandra answered as she picked up Elena's suitcase and shopping bags. "Also, we don't have to use our fuel ration cards, and the horses' 'exhaust' is good for our gardens. Now let's get in from the cold," she said, for though they were sheltered from the wind by thick stone walls, the air was bitter. Cassandra herself was wearing a heavy wool cloak in patterns of red and white, and she didn't look the least bit cold.
I need more layers, Elena thought as she followed Cassandra up a very long stairway next to the castle wall.
As they started the climb, Cassandra looked at the duffel bag with a practiced eye. "Found a new sword?"
"No," Elena answered.
Cassandra lifted an eyebrow, but said only, "I see you did find some new clothes. The girls keep the shops in the village in business."
Elena nodded but said nothing, and they climbed the rest of the way in silence, needing their breath for all ninety-nine steps.
Cassandra pulled open a heavy wooden door, and they went inside a corridor of stone. It wasn't warm, but at least it wasn't frigid. "Espresso?" Cassandra asked. "Something to eat? And would you like to talk or sleep?"
"Coffee, please, but no food. And talk, yes, that would be good."
"I have coffee—and milk, I know you like café con leche—in my room," Cassandra said. "Your room will be down the hall from mine, just as before." She led the way up a flight of stairs, through a set of enormous double doors, and into another long corridor, this one with windows to pierce the gloom. As they passed yet another set of doors, Cassandra said, "The dojo's down that hallway, as I'm sure you remember."
Elena remembered. She'd logged a lot of practice hours in that room when she'd visited a year and a half ago. But dojos were the last thing on her mind. Dojos meant swords. And even as she carried her sword close to her body, her own version of a security blanket, she knew, swords were not what she wanted to think about right now.
Somewhere a bell rang, and suddenly the halls were thronged with girls, all robed in blue but with scarves striped in different color pairs: red with gold, green with white, and yellow with black. "I feel like I'm in Hogwarts," Elena confided. That series of books and videos set in a magical wizarding school had only become more popular these last fifty years.
"A lot of the girls say that, and they like to call themselves witches, too," Cassandra answered with a smile. "So we picked our house colors to match." The girls started to disappear, and by the time the bell rang again they were all gone.
Elena and Cassandra climbed another flight of stairs and went down another hall then Cassandra unlocked a door. "Your same room," Cassandra said, opening an antique black wardrobe and placing the suitcase and the shopping bags inside, then setting the key on the oak desk in front of the tall window. "There's no one in the room next door, so you'll have the washroom to yourself. Oh, there's a new netport in here," she said, opening a desk drawer, "if you want to contact Miyu or Duncan or check the news."
Elena had already contacted Miyu and absolutely did not want to call Duncan. She didn't care about the news. She took the long duffle off her shoulder, put it on the bed in the curtained alcove, and took off her outer layers. Then she looked over the familiar room. It was small and plain, but certainly adequate, almost soothing. Except for the indoor plumbing and the electrical items, it again reminded her of her convent cell from many centuries ago. "Thank you," she said.
"Not at all. I'll go make the coffee, while you get settled," Cassandra said. "Would you like me to come back here with it, or do you want to come to my room when you're ready? I'm still six doors down, on the right."
"This is fine," Elena said. She didn't want to move anymore.
After a moment, Cassandra said, "We'll sit on the bed and talk, like old times." She hugged Elena again before leaving the room, saying, "I'll be back soon."
Elena slid her sword under the bed then went into the bathroom to wash her face. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her left eye looked puffy, while her high-tech artificial right eye, which had surprisingly survived her 'swim,' was clear and still worked perfectly, including shedding 'real' artificial tears. She took the comb from the toiletry kit next to the sink then realized her hair hadn't grown out enough to even comb yet.
Just last year she'd totally shaved her head, the better to accommodate that terrible gray wig she'd worn to make her look older. At least she'd never wear that again. Small mercies. When the stubble had started growing she'd colored it a bright yellow. That color, combined with her American Indian complexion, made for a… unique… look. Lorenzo had liked it. "You're my Amazon woman," he'd told her. And he'd let her attack him, just like an Amazon would. Then he would surrender… She sighed. That part of her life, the part with Lorenzo Ponti, was over.
Under the woolen sweater and slacks she'd bought just that morning, she looked thin—she must have lost three kilos in the last four harrowing days—but she was still mostly lean muscle. No paparazzi, and she had seen many, could possibly mistake her now for the staid, sixty-seven-year-old Elena Duran-Ponti.
She looked longingly at the small bathtub. A hot soak would work wonders. But first she wanted, needed to talk, to unburden herself, to share part of her nightmare with someone who would understand, who would listen. Cassandra was good at listening, Elena remembered.
Cassandra returned with a coffee tray. She and Elena kicked off their shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed, facing each other, the way they used to do nearly fifty years ago in Argentina, back when they had each been battling nightmares from their past, drinking too much (not just coffee), sleeping a little, and talking a lot.
Time to talk again. But first, coffee. Cassandra poured and stirred, then handed Elena a steaming mug. "Gracias." Elena took several swallows, filling her belly with warmth and the Latin American version of comfort food.
She was still savoring the flavor when Cassandra said, "Duncan was on duty at the Search-and-Rescue station that day and saw the official report come in. When they reported no survivors, he knew you were either trapped in the plane or in the water. He went straightaway to look for you." She shuddered. "We all know how cold water can be."
Elena shuddered too. "Beyond cold!" Elena agreed. "Didn't Dante say the deepest level of hell was full of ice?" She took another warming sip of coffee. "I drowned many times and died of that thermic…"
"Hypothermia," Cassandra supplied. "Drowning at sea is a terrible way to die," she said, shaking her head and shuddering again. She met Elena's eyes, saying sympathetically, "Then, after such an ordeal, to finally reach land, only to be hunted…"
"Yes," Elena said slowly. "He hunted me, and I ran. I guess… I guess I panicked." She made a sound half laugh, half sob. "Not my finest hour. And Duncan—Duncan's a good friend."
"Yes, he is," Cassandra agreed, looking inward to some memory of her own before looking at Elena again. "After searching for you all day, Duncan killed the Immortal who was hunting you."
"I know," Elena said quietly. "I saw him."
"You saw Duncan?" Cassandra repeated, surprised. "Fighting?"
"Yes. But…" Elena didn't want to talk about this, not with Cassandra, not at all. "I left before the Quickening, so he didn't see me. I couldn't…" There was no way to finish that sentence without giving herself away.
"I see," Cassandra said.
Elena seriously doubted that. Even if Cassandra was sleeping with Connor these days, she wasn't a passionate person. Cassandra didn't know what it was to have hot blood surging, burning, to really lust, to pant like an animal, for a man—even if it was the wrong man, even if she shouldn't be feeling these feelings.
"You need time," Cassandra said next.
"Yes," Elena agreed, seizing on that. "I am grateful for what Duncan did, but I'm not ready to see him. All right?"
"Of course," Cassandra said then offered, "Would you like me to let him know?"
That would be easiest, Elena knew. But Duncan deserved better. "No," she said slowly. "I'll tell him." Not on the phone and certainly not in a video call. She'd write. "But Cassandra, I didn't come all this way to talk about Duncan. Not today."
"Not today," Cassandra agreed. "Today we talk about Lorenzo."
"Yes," Elena agreed, feeling the tears again. She took a deep breath and began. "This last week has felt like a dream. Or more like a nightmare." With the tip of one finger, she traced the exquisite emerald bracelet Lorenzo had gifted her on Three Kings Day. His last gift to her. "We were flying back from Christmas in Rome," she said. "Lorenzo was piloting. Then…" She shook her head in frustration and tried again. "We had fuel. The engines just—
Cassandra nodded, taking Elena's hands in her own again and squeezing. "Tell me," Cassi said, her voice warm and encouraging, sympathetic. Loving.
Elena took another deep breath and for the first time, spoke of that day.
In the Water
When Elena opened her eyes, her hip was on fire and she couldn't move her right arm. She could feel the plane rocking, floating on the water, but still nose-down. The floor was tilted and her seatbelt dug into her hipbones. She curled herself erect, her whole belly throbbing from the seatbelt, and looked over at her husband. Lorenzo was still strapped in his seat, his head down at a strange angle. A deadly, unnatural angle. No way he was still alive—no way. Oh, God, he was dead. She leaned toward him, touched his face. His head lolled in the opposite direction.
"No!" she whimpered. Lorenzo, mi vida! She put her hand over her mouth to try to keep the sobs inside herself. She was afraid if she started, she'd never be able to stop, and she was still floating on the high seas inside an object that was not designed to float. She took a deep shuddering breath, calming herself then made her decision.
With Lorenzo dead, she decided she would "die" too. It was past time. Seventeen years ago, when her public age was fifty, she'd had to 'retire' to a villa in Spain to get away from the ever-present paparazzi. Even with makeup and a wig, she was past fooling the reporters by then. She couldn't be found here; she had to abandon the plane. Abandon her husband. And her life.
Taking a few extra deep calming breaths, Elena unhooked her seatbelt and reached for the strap in the ceiling with her left hand, then painfully lifted herself out of the seat, trying to get her feet under her, hissing in pain. She kept hold of the strap—her hip was not going to support her and the floor was crooked—then heard a noise behind her.
She turned, her hip creaking in agony—and looked straight down into Gina Ponti's brown eyes. The old lady was lying on the floor, her head toward the cockpit, her right foot wedged under her seat. There were flecks of blood on Gina's cheeks, maybe a collapsed lung, surely severe internal injuries. And her back was twisted. She wasn't moving from the neck down, not at all.
The old lady was alive, although not for long. Carajo, Elena had almost forgotten her mother-in-law was in the plane.
"Lorenzo?" Gina asked.
Elena immediately decided her mother-in-law, on her deathbed, deserved the truth. "He's gone," she answered, and Gina nodded resolutely, even as her eyes welled with tears. Elena felt her own tears start again. But Elena also knew the Pontis were strong Catholics. "You'll be with him soon, Mamma, in glory, at the feet of our Lord Jesus Christ."
"You're right," Gina agreed, startling Elena in spite of the situation. "At least he will not drown in the cold black waters," Gina wheezed.
There was Gina's fear, Elena realized, although from her labored breathing Elena guessed -—hoped—Gina would be dead before she had a chance to drown. But the plane was sinking, water was already seeping into the cockpit, and once it submerged Elena wouldn't be able to get the door or a window open against the weight of the sea, not until the plane filled with water and the pressure was equalized. By that time she, Elena, would drown in the cold dark waters, at the bottom of the Mediterranean. Probably several times. Or she might not be able to get out at all…
At least the healing was starting, and soon she would be able to move easily. She stripped off her hated wig and ran a hand through the short blonde stubble underneath. Blue lights swam around Elena's hip, her arm, her head, bringing tingling warmth and blessed well-being.
Then from the floor, Gina asked, "What is that? Those lights?" The old lady's eyes were full of fear and grief, but the spark of intelligence was not dimmed, not one bit. "Who… what are you?" she demanded. "A demon?"
Cono, this was not the place for an explanation of Immortality. Elena didn't have time for any of this; she needed to get out of the sinking coffin. She had to; although she couldn't—wouldn't—leave Gina Ponti alone in her last moments. "No, I'm no demon," Elena said, laboriously crouching down in the narrow space between the seats and gently stroking the other woman's white hair. "I'm your daughter, for thirty-eight years."
"Si," Gina agreed then weakly added, "You loved my son with a passion."
Elena found herself crying again. She let the warm tears fall. "We both did."
Her husband's mother nodded slowly then said, "Perhaps then… you were his angel."
Elena barely heard that last improbable compliment, the voice was so weak. Then Gina closed her eyes, each breath a painful wheeze.
The plane shifted, the metal creaking and groaning, and tilted even more. Water sloshed back and forth on the floor; it had already covered the foot controls in the cockpit. There was little time. Elena moved back to the front of the plane and dug into the side compartment. Her headphones were still playing Rachmaninoff's concerto, the final cadenza. Elena ignored the beautiful music and grabbed the bottle of water and the emergency kit. Her waterproof pouch with money, two different passports (one for Elena Duran-Ponti and one for Luz Marina Gutierrez), and bank cards was already wrapped around her waist.
Elena reached into the overhead compartment and grabbed her sword, sheathed and in a soft leather case. If it became too heavy, she'd take it off and let it sink. But if she could salvage it, she would. This particular sword had been a gift, and it meant a lot to her.
While she waited for the old lady to die, Elena used the knife from the kit to cut out the GPS locator from her life vest. Because Elena Duran-Ponti would not be rescued today. Her body would never be found. But Elena didn't fancy braving the cold waters of the Mediterranean with only a seat cushion for help. She took off her shoes and put on her life vest, then placed the sword on her back and lashed it to her. The water bottle and emergency kit were tied to her belt and tucked inside her shirt.
Gina was still breathing. Elena couldn't leave the old woman to drown, and though Elena had, sometimes, felt the urge to kill her interfering and controlling mother-in-law, she'd certainly never seriously considered it. Not the woman who had raised her wonderful Lorenzo.
Then Elena took another look at the water. Outside, it was lapping at the windscreen. Inside, it had nearly reached Gina's head. Elena wouldn't let the old lady drown, either. If she absolutely had to, she would kill Gina. At this point it would be an act of mercy. But thankfully, the death rattle soon came, and Gina Ponti went to meet her son at the foot of the heavenly throne.
Moving to her husband, Elena touched Lorenzo's head gently and kissed him one last time. "Que Dios los guarde," Elena murmured to them both.
Now. Her hip felt mostly good, her arm was totally healed. She opened the door, and let the sea water rush in. As the plane lurched beneath her, she lunged for the open air and daylight, and braved the cold waters of the Mediterranean Sea.
In Elena's Room
Elena stopped talking and reached for her cup. The coffee was only lukewarm. She drank it anyway.
"That water was very cold," Cassandra said, prompting her to finish the story.
"And I'm sure I felt a shark or something rub against me. In the night," Elena said swallowing in remembered terror. "Anyway, I swam and floated and drifted eventually to shore." Cassandra gave her an encouraging smile. "It wasn't too far, I guess," Elena said, "although it seemed forever." Too far for their plane, though. Too far for Lorenzo.
"I kept my sword," Elena offered next, holding onto that one good thing. Cassandra nodded, not smiling, and Elena felt her tears well up again. She'd kept her sword and lost her husband. "I would have stayed, if he'd been alive," she whispered. "I wouldn't have left him. I didn't want to leave him."
"I know," Cassandra said softly. "Lorenzo was a magnificent man. You loved him."
"I did." Elena nodded fiercely. "I do. Dios mio, Cassi, I miss him so much, and now he's lost, and I expected to spend a little more time with him, just a few more years, he was still strong…" She shrugged then sobbed once. "Now he's in that cold, dark grave!"
She shuddered again then started to shiver all over. Cassandra pulled a blanket over both of them then wrapped her arms about Elena and held her as she cried.
Continued in Chapter 3 - "Chance Encounters" wherein Elena deals with the MacLeods
Translations (Spanish):
Rioja – a red wine
Que linda estas – how pretty you are
Café con leche – milk with espresso and sugar