In The Dark Of Dreams Part 40

Dream, said the Kraken. Dream your life. That is a life I wish to dream.

Sleep, then, Jenny told it gently, as Perrin said the same words, even softer. Sleep, and we will give you dreams to live on.

Sleep to live, rumbled the Kraken, and closed its golden eye. For a little while longer.

Sleep, Jenny whispered, and hummed to it the old song from the beach, feeling a strange tenderness for the immense beast settling deeper into the seafloor. Sleep.

Dream, murmured the Kraken, and its presence faded from her mind. Jenny hung there, waiting for more, for something to go wrong. A rush of admiration and love rolled over her mind.

You did it, Perrin said. You did it.

He settles into sleep, said the kra'a. We will dream him a life no other Kraken has ever known.

Good, Jenny told them, but couldn't even think another word. The rush was gone. She felt her real body, suddenly, tugging her back. She tried to hold on to Perrin, but slipped away-slamming into human flesh that felt like a corpse. Her thoughts slowed. She could not move. Or breathe.

Perrin swam with her toward the surface. Her chest hurt. Everything was numb. Heart, mostly not beating. Decompression sickness was a serious danger. If she survived the ascent, it would be a miracle.

Jenny forgot that anyone wanted them dead.

And by the time it mattered, she mostly was.

Chapter Twenty.

Three times Jenny's heart almost stopped beating. Three times he almost died with her. Perrin swam for the surface, knowing the ascent might kill her as much as anything but seeing no alternative.

You changed her enough to breathe underwater, he said to the kra'a, wis.h.i.+ng it were a person so he could throttle it. Make another miracle. Keep her alive.

But the kra'a was silent. All it did was tear down the wall between his mind and Jenny's. Her spirit flowed over him, but it was quiet, and he fed it with all his strength.

Live, he begged her, desperate. Live.

Perrin was so deep in Jenny's mind, he didn't realize they were surrounded until a blunt object hit him hard against the back of his head. He twisted in the water, still wrapped around Jenny's body and spirit, and found himself facing a pod of Krackeni hunters, swimming silently around him in a large circle. Sleek, strong, their pale gazes hard.

His father hovered in the water, watching him.

In his eight years on land, Perrin had spoken of his father only once-with Tom, on an early-winter morning after they left the homeless shelter to walk to a construction site that was rumored to need strong bodies.

Perrin had a strong body. Tom went along to keep him company before heading out into the city for a day of panhandling.

The subject came up because Tom happened to see a newspaper and remembered that his father, a "righteous dude," would have been eighty that day had he still been alive, and Tom, much as he missed him, was sort of glad he wasn't because the world had gotten ugly and dirty, and his only son was living on the streets instead of being the upstanding taxpayer all good folk were supposed to be.

Tom had asked Perrin about his father, and Perrin said, "We had an . . . uneasy relations.h.i.+p."

Now, it was just deadly.

Perrin studied his father's pale eyes. There was nothing there to find: no anger, no remorse.

There were many things he wanted to say to his father. Instead, he continued swimming toward the surface. If they wanted him dead, it wouldn't matter whether it was below or above.

Moments later, his father caught up. He said nothing. Simply swam with him, less than an arm's length away. Jenny was so still.

Perrin broke the surface, holding Jenny high out of the waves. He expected her to cough, vomit seawater-but she didn't react to the air.

She wasn't breathing.

You, Perrin snapped at the kra'a, and floated Jenny on her back, trying to hold them steady as the waves swelled. He pinched her nose shut, tried to tilt up her neck, and as the waves sent them spinning, he planted his mouth over hers and breathed for her.

Jenny, he called out to her. Jenny.

Jenny, breathe. Jenny, breathe.

Don't leave me. Don't. Please.

Please.

Each breath. Each breath he reached for her, inside. Each breath, begging, dying with her. He would die without her. He knew it. All his years surviving, and if he lost her, it wouldn't be a day before his heart gave out. Whatever bond they shared bound them too tightly for anything less.

He realized, then, that his father was helping hold her body. So carefully not looking at Perrin.

Jenny twitched. Her back arched, and her eyes flew open. Bloodshot, blood red, through and through. A tangle of broken veins covered her cheeks, and her lips were peeling and raw. Her bruises were wicked. She floundered in the water, coughing, vomiting, scrabbling against Perrin's chest and shoulders as her body rebelled. It was the most painful thing he had ever witnessed, but all he wanted to do was laugh with relief, and weep.

"Shhh," he whispered, tears burning his eyes-holding her as she trembled and tried to breathe. The sounds she made, forcing air into her lungs, were horrible. Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth. Her nose began to bleed, too.

Perrin held her as close as he dared and risked a look at his father. Turon floated near, his gaze unreadable. No others were with him, but Perrin could feel his kind ama.s.sed below, watching, waiting. No doubt wondering what it meant that a kra'a had chosen a human woman, who had then settled a waking Kraken. No Krackeni, Perrin was certain, would have been able to accomplish what she had done, in so little time, and with such ease.

I wasn't alone, she said in his mind. You were with me. We did it together. It was the two of us and what we've shared that made the difference.

Perrin kissed her brow, drowning in the pained warmth flooding him through their bond. He looked at his father again and rode on her love, letting it fill him until he felt transcendent, beyond all the old pain and bitterness. He could not be bitter, given the blessing in his arms. Not then, maybe not ever.

But there was still the possibility of battle.

"I won't let you hurt her," Perrin said. "Don't even think of it."

"Bold," whispered his father.

"No. When I first returned from exile, I would have let you take my life. I would have let you do as you must and not fought. But not anymore." Perrin looked his father dead in the eyes, letting eight years of exile rise in his gaze-eight years, being forged into a different man, a survivor, a fighter, uncompromising and cold. "She is my life now. And I will live for her. I will protect her from you-all of them-who remain so small in their hearts."

"Small in our hearts," echoed Turon, with a great deal of thoughtfulness. His gaze flicked down to Jenny. "I felt her quiet the Kraken. We all did, in different ways."

Perrin watched him warily. "The kra'a chose her. She might still die for it."

"She might," agreed his father. "There are many who were frightened by that display of power, who believe the kra'a should be taken from her."

Jenny coughed until she shuddered. "You people are good at that sort of thing."

Turon tilted his head. Perrin said, "The kra'a will defend her."

"And will it defend you, my son?" he replied, with deadly softness.

"Yes," Jenny rasped. "Go to h.e.l.l."

Perrin kissed the top of her head, never looking away from his father. "Do it now if you're going to try. Finish it if you can. Otherwise, get away from us."

Turon frowned. "There was always something . . . wild . . . about you. I was not the only one who noticed. And when you killed Frilia . . ."

His father paused. Perrin sensed a strange vulnerability inside him but did not allow himself to hope. A good thing, because when Turon met his gaze again, anything vulnerable was gone, and in its place was a cold remoteness that was far more familiar than affection.

"Guardians have lost their minds in the past. It is the isolation, the pressure of dreamtime. The kra'a, and the presence of the Kraken, too much to bear. And with the power a kra'a gives a Guardian, there can be no . . . hesitation . . . if there is a possibility that all is not well within."

"I don't forgive you," Perrin said. "If you had listened to me-"

"I would do it again," replied Turon, though he did not sound entirely sure of himself. "What you did, both the murder and the dreams you fed the Kraken . . ."

Turon did not finish. Perrin whispered, "I would have told you then, as I'll tell you now . . . all I gave the Kraken were dreams of someone I loved. And that was something no one . . . no one had the right to try to take from me."

Jenny stilled against him. Perrin held her close, though there was nothing closer than the s.p.a.ce they shared, side by side, in their minds.

Turon looked at Jenny again but spoke to Perrin. "Pelena had many visions while you were gone. She claimed that a human woman would bear the burden of the kra'a, and that we must not harm her when that happened. No one, of course, believed her."

His father drifted backward. "Take the girl and go. We will not remove the kra'a. Not unless she proves herself . . . too weak . . . to bear the burden. As for you . . ." Again, he hesitated, and Perrin wondered if he would ever find common waters with his father, or if this was it. Always an exile.

"You are bonded to the woman," said his father. "I look at you both and know it. I hear it in your voices. If I take your life, I will be taking hers." He looked at Jenny. "I should have killed you when I had the chance, all those years ago. It would have saved my son . . . so much."

"You're the one who's hurt him," Jenny replied.

Turon frowned. Perrin said, "I didn't kill Pelena."

"Perhaps not," replied his father, tearing his gaze from Jenny. "But she is dead."

He sank below the waves and was gone.

"I think your father likes me," Jenny croaked, before being wracked with coughs all over again. "Jesus, I hurt."

"Don't talk," Perrin murmured, trying not to s.h.i.+ver. Whether it was adrenaline or nerves, or just relief, his entire body trembled as he lay back in the water, holding Jenny against his chest.

She laid her hand over his heart, and inside his mind whispered, Perrin?

We're alive, he said tersely.

You thought you would die, she said. You thought your father would kill you.

Yes. Perrin just hadn't realized how afraid he was, until then. It wasn't death that scared him-just the possibility that his father would be the one to pa.s.s judgment and take his life. He had come close once before. Looked Perrin in the eye and condemned him to exile, which was the same as death.

But here Perrin was, still alive. Holding his dreams in his arms.

I'm afraid to breathe, he told Jenny. Is this real?

She didn't answer him. Unconscious. Perrin held her close, swimming carefully, slowly. No land. No sign of help. He was certain there must be other Krackeni watching, but he did not expect any of them to offer their help. His kind were slow to change and accept new things. Perrin doubted that he and Jenny would ever be welcome. Tolerated, perhaps, out of necessity-which meant that vigilance would always be required, just in case any of the Krackeni took it upon themselves to challenge the kra'a's choice in Jenny. Not to mention there were other, practical concerns, that needed to be addressed.

Enough. One thing at a time.

Like getting Jenny to safety.

I found my answers, thought Perrin, focusing on the sea witch and her island. Filling his heart with need. He didn't trust the crone, but surrounding them was nothing but open sea, and Jenny needed help.

No island appeared, though. No magic swell of lush mountain and mist.

Nothing, except a golden streak of light in the ocean.

Perrin couldn't hide his relief when Rik drew near; but he said nothing, just nodded at the circling dolphin, who melted and s.h.i.+fted until a young human man took its place, treading water.

"Jenny," Rik said, studying her with genuine concern.

"She's alive. Is anyone following you?"

"I don't know. I was searching for you, then . . . here you were. As if you came out of nowhere."

Sea witch, thought Perrin, and hugged Jenny a little closer. Her mind was cool and dark, drifting close to dreams. Heartbeat steady. He pressed his lips against her brow, closed his eyes, and said, "Thank you for coming, Rik."

When Rik said nothing, Perrin opened his eyes and found the shape-s.h.i.+fter staring at him with a strange sort of resignation.

"You love her," said Rik quietly. "I wish I could say I hate you for it, but I can't. I wanted to. I wanted to punish you both. But I can't do it anymore."

Perrin looked away, at the far-off horizon that was empty and silver with the sea. Alive. He was alive, but just as easily he could have been dead, Jenny dead, the Kraken awake, the world already s.h.i.+fting into a new age.

Rik had lost his miracle.

"Razor's edge," Perrin said, to himself and Rik. "It's so easy to fall."

Rik closed his eyes, which still didn't hide his pain. "They say the kra'a is part of your soul. How did you cope after it was cut from you?"

"You know how I coped. The same way you did."

"One moment at a time," Rik murmured, disappearing briefly under the water. When he resurfaced, he rubbed his face and said, "I wanted to die after I lost Surinia, but I didn't have the guts to take my life. And then the Consortium captured me. They . . . did things to me, for a long time, and I realized that I wanted to live. But that felt wrong, too, like I was . . . betraying her somehow."

Perrin shook his head, holding Jenny closer. "Never."

"Never," Rik whispered. "I wish I could love again."

"I think-" he began, and then choked as the kra'a reached through his link with Jenny and yanked hard on his heart. Wild, wordless warning.