The Host 17 page

It had not taken long with Maggie and Jared working together for them to decipher Jeb’s riddle. The four of them had gotten to the caves before I’d moved from Chicago to San Diego.

When Jamie and I spoke of Melanie, it was not as difficult as it should have been. She was always a part of these conversations‑soothing his pain, smoothing my awkwardness‑though she had little to say. She rarely spoke to me anymore, and when she did it was muted; now and then I wasn’t sure if I really heard her or just my own idea of what she might think. But she made an effort for Jamie. When I heard her, it was always with him. When she didn’t speak, we both felt her there.

“Why is Melanie so quiet now?” Jamie asked me late one night. For once, he wasn’t grilling me about Spiders and Fire‑Tasters. We were both tired‑it had been a long day pulling carrots. The small of my back was in knots.

“It’s hard for her to talk. It takes so much more effort than it takes you and me. She doesn’t have anything she wants to say that badly.”

“What does she do all the time?”

“She listens, I think. I guess I don’t know.”

“Can you hear her now?”

“No.”

I yawned, and he was quiet. I thought he was asleep. I drifted in that direction, too.

“Do you think she’ll go away? Really gone?” Jamie suddenly whispered. His voice caught on the last word.

I was not a liar, and I don’t think I could have lied to Jamie if I were. I tried not to think about the implications of my feelings for him. Because what did it mean if the greatest love I’d ever felt in my nine lives, the first true sense of family, of maternal instinct, was for an alien life‑form? I shoved the thought away.

“I don’t know,” I told him. And then, because it was true, I added, “I hope not.”

“Do you like her like you like me? Did you used to hate her, like she hated you?”

“It’s different than how I like you. And I never really hated her, not even in the beginning. I was very afraid of her, and I was angry that because of her I couldn’t be like everyone else. But I’ve always, always admired strength, and Melanie is the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

Jamie laughed. “ You were afraid of her? ”

“You don’t think your sister can be scary? Remember the time you went too far up the canyon, and when you came home late she ‘threw a raging hissy fit,’ according to Jared?”

He chuckled at the memory. I was pleased, having distracted him from his painful question.

I was eager to keep the peace with all my new companions in any way I could. I thought I was willing to do anything, no matter how backbreaking or smelly, but it turned out I was wrong.

“So I was thinking,” Jeb said to me one day, maybe two weeks after everyone had “calmed down.”

I was beginning to hate those words from Jeb.

“Do you remember what I was saying about you maybe teaching a little here?”

My answer was curt. “Yes.”

“Well, how ’bout it?”

I didn’t have to think it through. “No.”

My refusal sent an unexpected pang of guilt through me. I’d never refused a Calling before. It felt like a selfish thing to do. Obviously, though, this was not the same. The souls would have never asked me to do something so suicidal.

He frowned at me, scrunching his caterpillar eyebrows together. “Why not?”

“How do you think Sharon would like that?” I asked him in an even voice. It was just one example, but perhaps the most forceful.

He nodded, still frowning, acknowledging my point.

“It’s for the greater good,” he grumbled.

I snorted. “The greater good? Wouldn’t that be shooting me?”

“Wanda, that’s shortsighted,” he said, arguing with me as if my answer had been a serious attempt at persuasion. “What we have here is a very unusual opportunity for learning. It would be wasteful to squander that.”

“I really don’t think anyone wants to learn from me. I don’t mind talking to you or Jamie ‑”

“Doesn’t matter what they want,” Jeb insisted. “It’s what’s good for them. Like chocolate versus broccoli. Ought to know more about the universe‑not to mention the new tenants of our planet.”

“How does it help them, Jeb? Do you think I know something that could destroy the souls? Turn the tide? Jeb, it’s over.”

“It’s not over while we’re still here,” he told me, grinning so I knew he was teasing me again. “I don’t expect you to turn traitor and give us some super‑weapon. I just think we should know more about the world we live in.”

I flinched at the word traitor. “I couldn’t give you a weapon if I wanted to, Jeb. We don’t have some great weakness, an Achilles’ heel. No archenemies out there in space who could come to your aid, no viruses that will wipe us out and leave you standing. Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He made a fist and tapped it playfully against my arm. “You might be surprised, though. I told you it gets boring in here. People might want your stories more than you think.”

I knew Jeb would not leave it alone. Was Jeb capable of conceding defeat? I doubted it.

At mealtimes I usually sat with Jeb and Jamie, if he was not in school or busy elsewhere. Ian always sat near, though not really with us. I could not fully accept the idea of his self‑appointed role as my bodyguard. It seemed too good to be true and thus, by human philosophy, clearly false.

A few days after I’d refused Jeb’s request to teach the humans “for their own good,” Doc came to sit by me during the evening meal.

Sharon remained where she was, in the corner farthest from my usual place. She was alone today, without her mother. She didn’t turn to watch Doc walking toward me. Her vivid hair was wound into a high bun, so I could see that her neck was stiff, and her shoulders were hunched, tense and unhappy. It made me want to leave at once, before Doc could say whatever he meant to say to me, so that I could not be considered in collusion with him.

But Jamie was with me, and he took my hand when he saw the familiar panicked look come into my eyes. He was developing an uncanny ability to sense when I was turning skittish. I sighed and stayed where I was. It should probably have bothered me more that I was such a slave to this child’s wishes.

“How are things?” Doc asked in a casual voice, sliding onto the counter next to me.

Ian, a few feet down from us, turned his body so it looked like he was part of the group.

I shrugged.

“We boiled soup today,” Jamie announced. “My eyes are still stinging.”

Doc held up a pair of bright red hands. “Soap.”

Jamie laughed. “You win.”

Doc gave a mocking bow from the waist, then turned to me. “Wanda, I had a question for you…” He let the words trail off.

I raised my eyebrows.

“Well, I was wondering… Of all the different planets you’re familiar with, which species is physically the closest to humankind?”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Just good old‑fashioned biological curiosity. I guess I’ve been thinking about your Healers… Where do they get the knowledge to cure, rather than just treat symptoms, as you said?” Doc was speaking louder than necessary, his mild voice carrying farther than usual. Several people looked up‑Trudy and Geoffrey, Lily, Walter…

I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, trying to take up less space. “Those are two different questions,” I murmured.

Doc smiled and gestured with one hand for me to proceed.

Jamie squeezed my hand.

I sighed. “The Bears on the Mists Planet, probably.”

“With the claw beasts?” Jamie whispered.

I nodded.

“How are they similar?” Doc prodded.

I rolled my eyes, feeling Jeb’s direction in this, but continued. “They’re close to mammals in many ways. Fur, warm‑blooded. Their blood isn’t exactly the same as yours, but it does essentially the same job. They have similar emotions, the same need for societal interaction and creative outlets ‑”

“Creative?” Doc leaned forward, fascinated‑or feigning fascination. “How so?”

I looked at Jamie. “You know. Why don’t you tell Doc?”

“I might get it wrong.”

“You won’t.”

He looked at Doc, who nodded.

“Well, see, they have these awesome hands.” Jamie was enthusiastic almost immediately. “Sort of double‑jointed‑they can curl both ways.” He flexed his own fingers, as if trying to bend them backward. “One side is soft, like my palm, but the other side is like razors! They cut the ice‑ice sculpting. They make cities that are all crystal castles that never melt! It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Wanda?” He turned to me for backup.

I nodded. “They see a different range of colors‑the ice is full of rainbows. Their cities are a point of pride for them. They’re always trying to make them more beautiful. I knew of one Bear who we called… well, something like Glitter Weaver, but it sounds better in that language, because of the way the ice seemed to know what he wanted and shaped itself into his dreams. I met him once and saw his creations. That’s one of my most beautiful memories.”

“They dream?” Ian asked quietly.

I smiled wryly. “Not as vividly as humans.”

“How do your Healers get their knowledge about the physiology of a new species? They came to this planet prepared. I watched it start‑watched the terminal patients walk out of the hospital whole…” A frown etched a V‑shaped crease into Doc’s narrow forehead. He hated the invaders, like everyone, but unlike the others, he also envied them.

I didn’t want to answer. Everyone was listening to us by this point, and this was no pretty fairytale about ice‑sculpting Bears. This was the story of their defeat.

Doc waited, frowning.

“They… they take samples,” I muttered.

Ian grinned in understanding. “Alien abductions.”

I ignored him.

Doc pursed his lips. “Makes sense.”

The silence in the room reminded me of my first time here.

“Where did your kind begin?” Doc asked. “Do you remember? I mean, as a species, do you know how you evolved?”

“The Origin,” I answered, nodding. “We still live there. It’s where I was… born.”

“That’s kind of special,” Jamie added. “It’s rare to meet someone from the Origin, isn’t it? Most souls try to stay there, right, Wanda?” He didn’t wait for my response. I was beginning to regret answering his questions so thoroughly each night. “So when someone moves on, it makes them almost… like a celebrity? Or like a member of a royal family.”

I could feel my cheeks getting warm.

“It’s a cool place,” Jamie went on. “Lots of clouds, with a bunch of different‑colored layers. It’s the only planet where the souls can live outside of a host for very long. The hosts on the Origin planet are really pretty, too, with sort of wings and lots of tentacles and big silver eyes.”

Doc was leaning forward with his face in his hands. “Do they remember how the host‑parasite relationship was formed? How did the colonization begin?”

Jamie looked at me, shrugging.

“We were always that way,” I answered slowly, still unwilling. “As far back as we were intelligent enough to know ourselves, at least. We were discovered by another species‑the Vultures, we call them here, though more for their personalities than for their looks. They were… not kind. Then we discovered that we could bond with them just as we had with our original hosts. Once we controlled them, we made use of their technology. We took their planet first, and then followed them to the Dragon Planet and the Summer World‑lovely places where the Vultures had also not been kind. We started colonizing; our hosts reproduced so much slower than we did, and their life spans were short. We began exploring farther into the universe…”

I trailed off, conscious of the many eyes on my face. Only Sharon continued to look away.

“You speak of it almost as if you were there,” Ian noted quietly. “How long ago did this happen?”

“After dinosaurs lived here but before you did. I was not there, but I remember some of what my mother’s mother’s mother remembered of it.”

“How old are you? ” Ian asked, leaning toward me, his brilliant blue eyes penetrating.

“I don’t know in Earth years.”

“An estimate?” he pressed.

“Thousands of years, maybe.” I shrugged. “I lose track of the years spent in hibernation.”

Ian leaned back, stunned.

“Wow, that’s old,” Jamie breathed.

“But in a very real sense, I’m younger than you,” I murmured to him. “Not even a year old. I feel like a child all the time.”

Jamie’s lips pulled up slightly at the corners. He liked the idea of being more mature than I was.

“What’s the aging process for your kind?” Doc asked. “The natural life span?”

“We don’t have one,” I told him. “As long as we have a healthy host, we can live forever.”

A low murmur‑angry? frightened? disgusted? I couldn’t tell‑swirled around the edges of the cave. I saw that my answer had been unwise; I understood what these words would mean to them.

“Beautiful.” The low, furious word came from Sharon’s direction, but she hadn’t turned.

Jamie squeezed my hand, seeing again in my eyes the desire to bolt. This time I gently pulled my hand free.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I whispered, though my bread sat barely touched on the counter beside me. I hopped down and, hugging the wall, made my escape.

Jamie followed right behind me. He caught up to me in the big garden plaza and handed me the remains of my bread.

“It was real interesting, honest,” he told me. “I don’t think anyone’s too upset.”

“Jeb put Doc up to this, didn’t he?”

“You tell good stories. Once everyone knows that, they’ll want to hear them. Just like me and Jeb.”

“What if I don’t want to tell them?”

Jamie frowned. “Well, I guess then… you shouldn’t. But it seems like you don’t mind telling me stories.”

“That’s different. You like me.” I could have said, You don’t want to kill me, but the implications would have upset him.

“Once people get to know you, they’ll all like you. Ian and Doc do.”

“Ian and Doc do not like me, Jamie. They’re just morbidly curious.”

“Do so.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. We were to our room by now. I shoved the screen aside and threw myself onto the mattress. Jamie sat down less forcefully beside me and looped his arms around his knees.

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded. “Jeb means well.”

I groaned again.

“It won’t be so bad.”

“Doc’s going to do this every time I go in the kitchen, isn’t he?”

Jamie nodded sheepishly. “Or Ian. Or Jeb.”

“Or you.”

“We all want to know.”

I sighed and rolled onto my stomach. “Does Jeb have to get his way every single time?”

Jamie thought for a moment, then nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”

I took a big bite of bread. When I was done chewing, I said, “I think I’ll eat in here from now on.”

“Ian’s going to ask you questions tomorrow when you’re weeding the spinach. Jeb’s not making him‑he wants to.”

“Well, that’s wonderful.”

“You’re pretty good with sarcasm. I thought the parasites‑I mean the souls‑didn’t like negative humor. Just the happy stuff.”

“They’d learn pretty quick in here, kid.”

Jamie laughed and then took my hand. “You don’t hate it here, do you? You’re not miserable, are you?”

His big chocolate‑colored eyes were troubled.

I pressed his hand to my face. “I’m fine,” I told him, and at that moment, it was entirely the truth.

CHAPTER 26. Returned

Without ever actually agreeing to do it, I became the teacher Jeb wanted.

My “class” was informal. I answered questions every night after dinner. I found that as long as I was willing to do this, Ian and Doc and Jeb would leave me alone during the day so that I could concentrate on my chores. We always convened in the kitchen; I liked to help with the baking while I spoke. It gave me an excuse to pause before answering a difficult question, and somewhere to look when I didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. In my head, it seemed fitting; my words were sometimes upsetting, but my actions were always for their good.

I didn’t want to admit that Jamie was right. Obviously, people didn’t like me. They couldn’t; I wasn’t one of them. Jamie liked me, but that was just some strange chemical reaction that was far from rational. Jeb liked me, but Jeb was crazy. The rest of them didn’t have either excuse.

No, they didn’t like me. But things changed when I started talking.

The first time I noticed it was the morning after I answered Doc’s questions at dinner; I was in the black bathing room, washing clothes with Trudy, Lily, and Jamie.

“Could you hand me the soap, please, Wanda?” Trudy asked from my left.

An electric current ran through my body at the sound of my name spoken by a female voice. Numbly, I passed her the soap and then rinsed the sting off my hand.

“Thank you,” she added.

“You’re welcome,” I murmured. My voice cracked on the last syllable.

I passed Lily in the hall a day later on my way to find Jamie before dinner.

“Wanda,” she said, nodding.

“Lily,” I answered, my throat dry.

Soon it wasn’t just Doc and Ian who asked questions at night. It surprised me who the most vocal were: exhausted Walter, his face a worrisome shade of gray, was endlessly interested in the Bats of the Singing World. Heath, usually silent, letting Trudy and Geoffrey talk for him, was outspoken during these evenings. He had some fascination with Fire World, and though it was one of my least favorite stories to tell, he peppered me with questions until he’d heard every detail I knew. Lily was concerned with the mechanics of things‑she wanted to know about the ships that carried us from planet to planet, their pilots, their fuel. It was to Lily that I explained the cryotanks‑something they had all seen but few understood the purpose of. Shy Wes, usually sitting close to Lily, asked not about other planets but about this one. How did it work? No money, no recompense for work‑why did our souls’ society not fall apart? I tried to explain that it was not so different from life in the caves. Did we not all work without money and share in the products of our labor equally?

“Yes,” he interrupted me, shaking his head. “But it’s different here‑Jeb has a gun for the slackers.”

Everyone looked at Jeb, who winked, and then they all laughed.

Jeb was in attendance about every other night. He didn’t participate; he just sat thoughtfully in the back of the room, occasionally grinning.

He was right about the entertainment factor; oddly, for we all had legs, the situation reminded me of the See Weeds. There had been a special title for entertainers there, like Comforter or Healer or Seeker. I was one of the Storytellers, so the transition to a teacher here on Earth had not been such a change, profession‑wise, at least. It was much the same in the kitchen after dark, with the smell of smoke and baking bread filling the room. Everyone was stuck here, as good as planted. My stories were something new, something to think about besides the usual‑the same endlessly repeated sweaty chores, the same thirty‑five faces, the same memories of other faces that brought the same grief with them, the same fear and the same despair that had long been familiar companions. And so the kitchen was always full for my casual lessons. Only Sharon and Maggie were conspicuously and consistently absent.

I was in about my fourth week as an informal teacher when life in the caves changed again.

The kitchen was crowded, as was usual. Jeb and Doc were the only ones missing besides the normal two. On the counter next to me was a metal tray of dark, doughy rolls, swollen to twice the size they’d started at. They were ready for the oven, as soon as the current tray was done. Trudy checked every few minutes to make sure nothing was burning.

Often, I tried to get Jamie to talk for me when he knew the story well. I liked to watch the enthusiasm light up his face, and the way he used his hands to draw pictures in the air. Tonight, Heidi wanted to know more about the Dolphins, so I asked Jamie to answer her questions as well as he could.

The humans always spoke with sadness when they asked about our newest acquisition. They saw the Dolphins as mirrors of themselves in the first years of the occupation. Heidi’s dark eyes, disconcerting underneath her fringe of white‑blond hair, were tight with sympathy as she asked her questions.

“They look more like huge dragonflies than fish, right, Wanda?” Jamie almost always asked for corroboration, though he never waited for my answer. “They’re all leathery, though, with three, four, or five sets of wings, depending on how old they are, right? So they kind of fly through the water‑it’s lighter than water here, less dense. They have five, seven, or nine legs, depending on which gender they are, right, Wanda? They have three different genders. They have really long hands with tough, strong fingers that can build all kinds of things. They make cities under the water out of hard plants that grow there, kind of like trees but not really. They aren’t as far along as we are, right, Wanda? Because they’ve never made a spaceship or, like, telephones for communication. Humans were more advanced.”

Trudy pulled out the tray of baked rolls, and I bent to shove the next tray of risen dough into the hot, smoking hole. It took a little jostling and balancing to get it in just right.

As I sweated in front of the fire, I heard some kind of commotion outside the kitchen, echoing down the hall from somewhere else in the caves. It was hard, with all the random sound reverberations and strange acoustics, to judge distances here.

“Hey!” Jamie shouted behind me, and I turned just in time to see the back of his head as he sprinted out the door.

I straightened out of my crouch and took a step after him, my instinct to follow.

“Wait,” Ian said. “He’ll be back. Tell us more about the Dolphins.”

Ian was sitting on the counter beside the oven‑a hot seat that I wouldn’t have chosen‑which made him close enough to reach out and touch my wrist. My arm flinched away from the unexpected contact, but I stayed where I was.

“What’s going on out there?” I asked. I could still hear some kind of jabbering‑I thought I could hear Jamie’s excited voice in the mix.

Ian shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe Jeb…” He shrugged again, as if he wasn’t interested enough to bother with figuring it out. Nonchalant, but there was a tension in his eyes I didn’t understand.

I was sure I would find out soon enough, so I shrugged, too, and started explaining the incredibly complex familial relationships of the Dolphins while I helped Trudy stack the warm bread in plastic containers.

“Six of the nine… grandparents, so to speak, traditionally stay with the larvae through their first stage of development while the three parents work with their six grandparents on a new wing of the family dwelling for the young to inhabit when they are mobile,” I was explaining, my eyes on the rolls in my hands rather than my audience, as usual, when I heard the gasp from the back of the room. I continued with my next sentence automatically as I scanned the crowd to see who I’d upset. “The remaining three grandparents are customarily involved…”

No one was upset with me. Every head was turned in the same direction I was looking. My eyes skipped across the backs of their heads to the dark exit.

The first thing I saw was Jamie’s slight figure, clinging to someone’s arm. Someone so dirty, head to toe, that he almost blended right in with the cave wall. Someone too tall to be Jeb, and anyway, there was Jeb just behind Jamie’s shoulder. Even from this distance, I could see that Jeb’s eyes were narrowed and his nose wrinkled, as if he were anxious‑a rare emotion for Jeb. Just as I could see that Jamie’s face was bright with sheer joy.

“Here we go,” Ian muttered beside me, his voice barely audible above the crackle of the flames.

The dirty man Jamie was still clinging to took a step forward. One of his hands rose slowly, like an involuntary reflex, and curled into a fist.

From the dirty figure came Jared’s voice‑flat, perfectly devoid of any inflection. “What is the meaning of this, Jeb?”

My throat closed. I tried to swallow and found the way blocked. I tried to breathe and was not successful. My heart drummed unevenly.

Jared! Melanie’s exultant voice was loud, a silent shriek of elation. She burst into radiant life inside my head. Jared is home!

“Wanda is teaching us all about the universe,” Jamie babbled eagerly, somehow not catching on to Jared’s fury‑he was too excited to pay attention, maybe.

“Wanda?” Jared repeated in a low voice that was almost a snarl.

There were more dirty figures in the hall behind him. I only noticed them when they echoed his snarl with an outraged muttering.

A blond head rose from the frozen audience. Paige lurched to her feet. “Andy!” she cried, and stumbled through the figures seated around her. One of the dirty men stepped around Jared and caught her as she nearly fell over Wes. “Oh, Andy!” she sobbed, the tone of her voice reminding me of Melanie’s.

Paige’s outburst changed the atmosphere momentarily. The silent crowd began to murmur, most of them rising to their feet. The sound was one of welcome now, as the majority went to greet the returned travelers. I tried to read the strange expressions on their faces as they forced grins onto their lips and peeked furtively back at me. I realized after a long, slow second‑time seemed to be congealing around me, freezing me into place‑that the expression I wondered at was guilt.

“It’s going to be okay, Wanda,” Ian murmured under his breath.

I glanced at him wildly, searching for that same guilt on his face. I didn’t find it, only a defensive tightening around his vivid eyes as he stared at the newcomers.

“What the hell, people?” a new voice boomed.

Kyle‑easily identifiable by his size despite the grime‑was shoving his way around Jared and heading toward… me.

“You’re letting it tell you its lies? Have you all gone crazy? Or did it lead the Seekers here? Are you all parasites now?”

Many heads fell forward, ashamed. Only a few kept their chins stiffly in the air, their shoulders squared: Lily, Trudy, Heath, Wes… and frail Walter, of all people.

“Easy, Kyle,” Walter said in his feeble voice.

Kyle ignored him. He walked with deliberate steps toward me, his eyes, the same vibrant cobalt as his brother’s, glowing with rage. I couldn’t keep my eyes on him, though‑they kept returning to Jared’s dark shape, trying to read his camouflaged face.

Melanie’s love flowed through me like a lake bursting through a dam, distracting me even more from the enraged barbarian closing the distance quickly.

Ian slid into my view, moving to place himself in front of me. I strained my neck to the side to keep my view of Jared clear.

“Things changed while you were gone, brother.”

Kyle halted, face slack with disbelief. “Did the Seekers come, then, Ian?”

“She’s not a danger to us.”

Kyle ground his teeth together, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for something in his pocket.

This captured my attention at last. I cringed, expecting a weapon. The words stumbled off my tongue in a choked whisper. “Don’t get in his way, Ian.”

Ian didn’t respond to my plea. I was surprised at the amount of anxiety this caused me, at how much I didn’t want him hurt. It wasn’t the instinctive protection, the bone‑deep need to protect, that I felt for Jamie or even Jared. I just knew that Ian should not be harmed trying to protect me.

Kyle’s hand came back up, and a light shone out of it. He pointed it at Ian’s face, held it there for a moment. Ian didn’t flinch from the light.

“So, what, then?” Kyle demanded, putting the flashlight back in his pocket. “You’re not a parasite. How did it get to you?”

“Calm down, and we’ll tell you all about it.”

“No.”

The contradiction did not come from Kyle but from behind him. I watched Jared walk slowly toward us through the silent spectators. As he got closer, Jamie still clinging to his hand with a bewildered expression, I could read his face better under the mask of dirt. Even Melanie, all but delirious with happiness at his safe return, could not misunderstand the expression of loathing there.

Jeb had wasted his efforts on the wrong people. It didn’t matter that Trudy or Lily was speaking to me, that Ian would put himself between his brother and me, that Sharon and Maggie made no hostile move toward me. The only one who had to be convinced had now, finally, decided.

“I don’t think anyone needs to calm down,” Jared said through his teeth. “Jeb,” he continued, not looking to see if the old man had followed him forward, “give me the gun.”