Drinking Life (Keeper of the Water Book 1) (16 page)

“Nia?” a voice asks. “Nia?”

I recognize Celeste’s voice.

“Earth to Zannia Ammo!”

The shrill voice ends my strange vision. My eyes snap open and Celeste and Cassie are right in front of me, the canoe just touching ground. Cassie sneers at me.

“Sleeping standing up?” Cassie asks. “
Very
weird.”

It felt like I closed my eyes for only a few seconds but it must’ve taken several minutes for them to get here. I stand in a momentary daze.

“Don’t just stand there,” Cassie commands. “Help pull up the canoe. My ankle is
killing
me.”

Cassie jumps onto land without a limp—her ankle must not feel
that
bad, especially since she scurries off toward camp. Normally I’d be upset that my alone time with John was coming to an end but the thought of my vision distracts me. I’ve never had them when awake and highly doubt I actually fell asleep on my feet.

I grab the other side of the canoe and Celeste and I drag it onto land, well clear of the river. I’d been so focused on my own thoughts that I just now see the look of concern also on her face.

“Is everything okay?” I ask her.

She frowns and continues to stare up at the nearby mountain. It’s dark but when I look in the same direction, I don’t see anything but trees and brush. Still, that unexplained tingling hasn’t gone away and I wonder if Celeste feels the same thing. Or maybe I’m just
really
tired and my imagination is running wild.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Celeste says suspiciously. “You don’t exactly look yourself. Anything you want to tell me?”

I’m tempted to bust out with everything from my dreams to the feeling I had in John’s backyard to the vision I just had now. But I’ve already given Celeste plenty of reasons to be annoyed today and I doubt she’ll appreciate my crazy ramblings.

“Just a long day in the sun,” I lie. “You?”

Celeste slowly shakes her head. “Of all the places your father could’ve chosen to camp, he had to choose
here
.”

“Why?” I ask, maybe a bit too excitedly. My heart jolts at her worry about this particular place. “Is there something here that you feel… I don’t know… weird about?”

For a moment, Celeste looks at me curiously and opens her mouth to say something. But then she turns away and starts toward camp.

“There’s a campground not far away,” she says. “I just hope there aren’t any drunk college students who wander into our camp.”

I listen for any other signs of life but hear nothing. Not that I could hear much beyond Cassie’s voice anyway. She must’ve built up plenty of energy during the day; apparently all her rowing did not tire out her voice. Dad and John have the tents set up already and it’s not long before Celeste has another campfire going. Dad pulls some hamburgers and hot dogs from a cooler (not exactly living off the land but delicious nonetheless) and we eat a fireside meal, piercing the hot dogs with sticks and cooking them over an open flame. Dad also brought stuff to make S’mores—no good camping trip is complete without them. But as I toast my marshmallow, my mind drifts back to the vision, back to the area of mountain where Celeste was staring, back to the pulling sensation I still feel in every fiber of my being…

“I think your marshmallow is cooked,” John says.

“Yeah, great job Rachel Ray,” Cassie says snidely.

My marshmallow is totally engulfed in flames; it looks like a little ball of fire. I try to blow it out but the marshmallow completely melts away and falls into the fire. But I don’t care, my appetite—even for S’mores—is gone. I’m surprised I was hungry in the first place watching Cassie cuddling up next to John on his log. I wonder if he looks so uncomfortable because Cassie won’t leave him alone or because Celeste watches them like a hawk.

“Well, I don’t know about you kids but I’m exhausted,” Dad says. “These old bones need more sleep than you do. Just make sure the fire is out before you go to bed.”

Dad disappears into the smaller tent. Cassie looks at me and widens her eyes, jerks her head to the side, gesturing for me to leave. I don’t know why she bothers since hell will freeze over before Celeste leaves them alone. John sees what she’s trying to tell me. When Cassie isn’t looking, his eyes widen as well but he shakes his head. Unfortunately, seeing the two of them sitting to closely puts me out of the mood to laugh, not to mention my other distractions.

“It’s going to be an early morning,” Celeste says. “We should all probably get some rest.”

“I’m not tired at all,” Cassie says.

“Probably since I did most of the rowing,” Celeste adds.

Cassie huffs but before she starts a fight with her mother, John yawns, probably louder than he needs.

“I am very tired, too,” John says. “It’s probably a good idea to get as much sleep as possible.”

He stands from his log and Cassie joins him, grabbing his hand.

“You’re right,” she agrees. “Let’s go.”

She tries to lead him toward the bigger empty tent even though Celeste watches her every move. Sometimes I think she does things like this simply to piss her mother off. It works.

“I don’t think so,” Celeste says. “Girls in this tent, guys over there.”

John takes his hand from hers and heads toward Dad’s tent. I feel bad for him. Dad snores so loudly that we can already hear him. Celeste steers Cassie into the tent, though she whines the entire time about going in first. I’m sure Celeste doesn’t want her daughter anywhere near the zipper for fear of a late night escape.

Standing in front of his tent, John turns toward me before going inside. Our eyes meet and we share a long look. The light from the fire dances in his eyes. For a moment, I forget everything else that has been on my mind.

“Goodnight, Nia,” he finally says before disappearing into the tent.

Our tent is tight, especially since Cassie ends up turning sideways while sleeping and forces Celeste and me farther over. Neither of us wakes her since we enjoy the silence of her sleeping—well, the
relative
silence. She snores almost as loud as my father, which shouldn’t come as a surprise considering her propensity for making any kind of noise. I just hope John can hear the awful sound she makes…

Soon after Cassie falls asleep, Celeste goes outside to put out the fire. When she comes back in, she lies nearest the tent’s zipper, leaving me stuck in the middle. I wish I had slept outside under the stars. My body feels exhausted but my mind refuses to slow enough to let me drift off to sleep. Despite the visions I had earlier and the weird feeling I get from this place, John is still as the forefront of my mind, the moment we nearly kissed, the look we shared before entering our tents. It’s even harder for me to sleep knowing that he’s only a few feet away. I wonder if he’s having trouble sleeping, too…

- - - - - - - - - - - -

My dreams are clearer tonight than they’ve been yet.

It is night and I’m floating down a river in a canoe yet again. But the canoe is not alone, nor am I. My rickety canoe is completely surrounded by others in similar bad shape, each of which holds several women. They’re looking toward my canoe and also out at the surrounding world in a classic defensive position. They aren’t protecting
me,
though. Sitting in the canoe with me is the old woman, the leader of the tribe. I don’t exactly know
why
we’re all protecting her but I feel very strongly about needing to keep her safe. This feeling is something clearer to me now than ever before.

I sit in the middle and row but keep my eyes peeled the entire time, looking for any sign of danger in the dark world. I can’t see what this version of me looks like but I feel totally exhausted. I row the old canoe on sheer will alone, but I’m not the only one. The other women in the canoes look just as fatigued. I no sooner think this when the old woman stands. I want to tell her to sit down, to be careful, but she is very steady on her feet. Nothing is frail about her, especially her voice as she addresses the others.

“It has been a long journey, one that still has many moons ahead,” the old woman says, her voice strong and clear across the water. “We should stop and rest here for a few days to regain our strength.”

“Yes, keeper,” I say, a sentiment echoed by many others around us.

Many others
except
for the woman sitting at the front of our canoe, holding a burning torch to light the way. When she turns around, I try to get a good look at her face but the light burns too brightly for me to see beyond it.

“My keeper, there are many people who now live in this area,” the woman argues. Her voice is oddly familiar, like the old woman’s, though I can’t quite place it. “This place has not been the New World for quite some time. I think we should keep moving if we’re to relocate as far south as you wish.”

“Some people
do
live near here,” I say. “But this area is still vacant of much civilization. It should be a good resting place.”

The old woman—apparently called the keeper—nods her head.

“This is where we will stop,” the keeper says.

The woman in the front of the canoe turns back around and mutters something to herself, clearly disagreeing with the keeper and me. She waves the torch to the other canoes and signals them to head toward land. The others head for shore and I steer the canoe to follow them, entering a small inlet just off the river. In the distant recesses of my mind, I know there’s something familiar about this place but I’m more concerned with what happens in this dream than where it takes place…

Our canoe remains in the middle of the pack and once it touches shore, I—and I
alone
—jump out and drag it onto land. The other woman makes no effort to put down her torch and help me. Even though I’m tired, moving the heavy wooden boat is no problem. The strength coursing through my muscles is incredible—otherworldly—and I see that the women around me as just as strong. Some lift the canoes straight over their heads with the greatest of ease.

The old woman hops out of the canoe. She’s very light on her feet despite her advanced age. For a split second, the cloak wrapped around her shoulders shifts long enough for me to see a flash of bright blue, a light so bright it could shine the way much better than the torches we use. She wears a small vial of blue water on a string around her neck but quickly tucks it back out of sight.

The other women quickly surround the keeper once she touches the ground. They’re all clearly exhausted but appear intensely alert at the nearby dark forest. Some of the women I remember from my other dreams but others I don’t. A few of them I feel like I recognize from
somewhere
but not especially my visions. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Still, I feel a strong connection to everyone, especially the two women I saw while hunting on the plains in my first dream.

I remember the old keeper mentioning a ‘pilot’ in my last dream but don’t see anyone who fits that bill. Somehow I know that my visions have been scattered across time and this particular one may have happened
before
others. I don’t know
how
I know this or why my dreams—or visions or memories or whatever these are—are becoming more lucid over time.

Once all of the women reach land, some of us carry the canoes far into the woods and hide them among the brush while others work on covering our tracks. The entire time, the keeper remains protectively encircled, though she asks a few of the women to step aside so she can see the surrounding land.

“We will go in this direction,” the keeper says pointing farther inland.

“Yes, keeper,” a chorus of women say in unison, me included. I remain near the old keeper as our tribe head away from the river and into the forest. We walk for only a few minutes when I notice one particular woman not among us.

“I will catch up soon, keeper,” I tell the old woman.

The keeper nods, requiring no further explanation about where I’m going. It’s clear that she has great trust in me though I can sense that she feels the same about every other woman around her. I, however, don’t get that same feeling, especially from a few of the women near the back of the group. It’s the first time I’ve seen some of them but the way they sneer at me lets me know that they were the ones hidden in the shadows during my previous dreams. But I can tell that their leader is not amongst them.

I head back toward the river. I can sense the suspicion I feel but don’t know why I’d felt this way. The forest is dark but I do not fear for my own safety. Apparently I had even more confidence in the ability to protect myself back then than I do now. I see a flicker of orange near the river and find the woman with the torch kneeling by the water, her back turned to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask upon sneaking up on her.

Her body tenses for a moment and her head perks up but she does not turn toward me. She doesn’t stop fiddling with something on the ground.

“I’m checking to make sure our tracks are properly covered up,” she says icily. “
You
might be comfortable with this place but
I’m
not. This might’ve been your home once but it was never mine. As far as I’m concerned, this country is full of savages, as it’s
always
been.”

I can feel my blood boiling but I’m also conflicted. I struggle to keep my cool and take several deep breaths.

“I never lived
here
in
this
place,” I respond. “Besides, I no longer think of the differences between our countries. We are
both
daughters of this Earth, regardless of what lands we once came from.”

“You are a bigger fool than I thought,” the other woman mutters.

I can feel myself distressed by her response, angry and sad, yet also concerned. It’s getting harder for me to distinguish between the feelings
I’m
having and the feelings my
dream-self
is having.

“Dragging the canoes ashore dislodged all of the rocks along the shoreline and cleared them out of the way,” she says. “Don’t you think that’s suspicious? That anyone following us might notice that?”

I look upriver but see nothing except the moonlight shining millions of twinkling diamonds on the water’s surface. Though the tribe remains cautious during our journey, there’s been no reason to believe anyone’s been following us. I mention that to the other woman but she just snorts.

“I know you haven’t been part of the tribe for nearly as long as me, but we’ve only been able to survive so long by being careful,” she says. “You may want to remember that when your laziness leads to sloppiness.”

I’m frustrated but have no time to respond. The other quickly stands and turns, the torch in hand coming dangerously close to my face, causing me to back away. My first thought is that she’s attacking me but that’s not the case. She blows by me, the bright light from the fire momentarily blinding me, her face hidden in the shadows as she marches off toward the others. I don’t go after her. We clearly have an intense dislike for one another but I at least sense that the woman also feels a strong loyalty to the old keeper.

Rocks now litter the ground along the shoreline and I see no evidence of the dozen canoes dragged ashore. I’m about to turn back toward the group when I notice that some of the rocks aren’t just scattered about haphazardly. I don’t know if my eyes are just playing tricks on me but some of the rocks seem to be arranged in the shape of a cross. I recall the moment with the buffalo and realize that none of us totally forgets our previous lives.

I turn back toward the group and run through the forest, the dark world a blur around me. To the casual observer, there would be no trace of our tracks. But I feel an inexplicable pull guiding me toward them and it’s only minutes before I catch up with the group. The keeper is within the circle of protection but moves as spryly as her much younger protectors.

The affection I feel for this old woman is unlike anything I’ve ever felt, even for my mother. But I ignore the thought of my real life and continue to focus on the dream. We reach a small creek within the forest and the keeper holds up a hand to stop the group. She steps into the shallow creek and bends over, cupping her hands and scooping up some of the water. She drinks from it and lets the rest of the water run over her.

“It is fresh,” the old woman proclaims. “This will be our resting place. Everyone have a long drink.”

We do as she says. The water is cool and delicious and provides a blast of energy to my tired body. I can see that it has a similar effect on the rest of the women. Once we’re done drinking, we circle around the keeper, taking our usual positions. The flame from my enemy’s torch burns brightly on the other side of the circle but I ignore her.

The old woman remains in the creek and kneels in the water. She pushes her cloak aside and the bright blue light shines against the water’s surface. She removes the small vial of blue liquid from around her neck, carefully pulling out the stopper. As she pours out the tiny amount of liquid, she whispers an incantation that I can’t hear. It only takes seconds before part of the creek glows just as brightly…