Poseidia (21 page)

I
t resembled something out of a Greek myth. Huge white pillars held up a slanted roof made of a sparkling white marble. Steps made of the same marble led to decorated doorways, spanning the entirety of the front wall. Statues of people unknown to me stood on each step leading up to the doorway. They resembled the figures in the garden—I felt as if I should know who they were and I wanted to run my fingers over every detail.

We stood at the base of the steps looking up. I tugged on Lily’s hand to stop as t
he buzz of people had grown in intensity with every step closer.

“
Wow, that’s a bit overwhelming.” I paused, allowing the bustle to quiet, before taking the first step up. On each step, I had to stop and wait for the humming to integrate into my new physiology before moving on. “I don’t know how I’ll ever get used to this.”

“You will. Then you’ll forget
how you felt before.”

“Will the other levels of integration
be the same?”

“
Perhaps. Your senses will be heightened. Roman gained a unique set of gifts at each level he was able to integrate.”

The
pulsing of drums and chanting grew louder as we moved towards the door. Lily moved ahead of me and pushed open the heavy doors. Inside, the noises grew in intensity as we slowly walked into the foyer. In the center of the temple was a circular room with double doors—I knew inside this room would be the ceremony. Two women dressed in long, sheer white gowns stood outside.

“Who are they?” I whispered.

“Two of our priestesses.”

As we approached, t
hey turned in unison to a table behind them and held out two tall opalescent mugs to us. Lily took one and motioned for me to take the other.

“I can’t do
this,” I protested, taking the mug from the priestess.

“Why not?”
Lily asked.

“I’m almost naked.”

“You’ll learn over time to be less ashamed of your body, it’s beautiful. It
is
how we’re born,” Lily said.

“Yes, but… but…” I sighed. “It’s the culture I come from.”

“You’re no longer confined by the social structures you were raised with. Be free, you’re free here.”

“Free. Sure.”
Free and naked.
“What is this?” As I put the mug to my nose and sniffed, my face crinkled up in disgust.

“This is a traditional ceremonial drink. It will help to lower your defenses and enhance your perceptions, so you can experience
the Connective and everyone in it,” she explained as she drank it quickly. “Drink, it’ll help you relax,”

“Ok
ay. Maybe I do need that.” I downed it all at once, as she did, and almost gagged, “That’s the vilest stuff ever.” The liquid surged through my body, a dizzying heat growing as my blood spread the opiates, and I was seeing double within a minute. “What wasss tthhhattt?” Slurring my words, I put my hand out to catch myself from falling. One of the priestesses held me up.

“
As I said, it’s our ceremonial drink, a sacred formula. To enhance the experience,” she repeated.

The moment I
glanced up at her, my vision grew blurry, and she intermittently grew two heads.

One of t
he priestesses handed me off to Lily who helped me stand. “You’ll develop a better tolerance in time.”

The priestesses opened the two white doors
and a big cloud of white smoke wafted out, welcoming us. The energy of the place engulfed us, and drew us into the room.

As we entered, the haze of smoke and colors made
seeing difficult. My eyes adjusted and many people formed a huge spiral and moved in tempo with the drum’s beat.

A line of men and women
stood along the wall with various types of drums all keeping a steady, deep beat.

In between the drummers, men stood holding large
, thick sticks, decorated with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. They pounded them into the ground, causing it to throb, making me unsteady on my feet. Primal chanting blended with drums.

V
ibrations coursed throughout my body, altering what I saw. Barely able to stand, every cell in my body pulsated.

B
eside me, Lily also moved her body to the beat. At the start of the spiral, she placed my hand in one of a complete stranger. In that instant, all sound ceased.

With his hand, the strange
r gently gripped my arm, his hand firmly planted over the electroreceptors. The beating of the drums, sticks, and chants resumed, in a different and faster beat. A flood of images coursed through my mind and as his whole world and psyche opened up to me—I knew his name, his history, and his life in an instant. He went in and out of focus and grew two heads, as Lily had, and then I realized I’d been passed to the next person.

Like the first man, when I touched this woman,
she repeated the movement down the electroreceptors on my arm and I knew her. Then I was moved to another man.

One by one through the spiral of people, I passed from one to another. Over nine hundred souls introduced themselves to me, simply by a touch. I came to know
their histories and hopes, finally understanding what it meant to be a part of the Connective.

My head is going to explode.

At the end of the spiral, in the center of the circle, when I reached out to the next man, my hand slipped into Roman’s.

Time stopped.

My breath caught in my throat. As our hands met, he touched his fingertips down my arm, allowing me access to his inner world. In my head his voice said,
“I was a gladiator during the time of the Roman Empire. I fought in the arenas. I killed many men, some I considered friends, in the name of entertainment.”

Goosebumps rose up all over my body and in
stantly I saw it all. Roman stood in an arena, cheered on by an ancient people whose bones were now dust. A celebrity in his time, he became successful at brutally killing. Shamelessly, he’d slaughtered hundreds of men, whose blood he wore mixed with his own. Time after time, he was wounded and bleeding as death knocked at his soul.

Tormented by
pain from physical wounds and the knowledge of what he had done to survive, he retired; a rare accomplishment. He then married and went on to teach young men the ruthless secrets of staying alive in the ring.

His life fast-forwarded and I saw him making love to his wife, and the birth of his children. The love he had for them was more powerful than his guilt.
A strong sense of honor, emanating from the core of his being, defined him.

Roman’s deep
voice echoed in my head again.
“I fell overboard one day when I was out fishing with a friend. A storm ravaged our boat and it sunk. I died. The Mers saved me—I guess
.”

Then I saw the memory.
A fierce storm rolled in out of nowhere and took them by surprise. The intense choking fear he experienced, I felt too. I was with him as a tall wave knocked him overboard, and I lived his agony as he died.

M
y heart couldn’t take anymore—I thought it would burst into a million pieces, and I tried to pull away from him. Filled with a quiet desperation, a heavy grey cloud filled me as he grabbed my arm and held on, wanting to finish his story.

As I continued to stare into his eyes,
I learned how his life had been when he first transformed. Confusion on waking, panic, and anger at knowing your human life was now over and having to leave it behind—I knew these feelings all too well.

A
bsolute despair at not being able to go home to his wife and children consumed him. Primal, raw fear for them, and their welfare, terrorized him more than any arena opponent ever had. Who would protect them?

I
t had taken months before he attempted his first escape. To be down here, this far under the sea, with no sensory dampener was a painful hell. Tormented screaming shattered what remained of his humanity, and his sanity.

Roman
returned to search for his wife and children a year after his death, to find them living with another man. Betrayal ripped his soul apart as he’d watch from afar—his wife making love to a new husband and his children calling someone else their father. Roman watched, day and night, until the Mers found him.

H
e was almost dead from having been out of the sea too long.

T
he years hardened him, allowing his brewing anger to fester. Sometimes he crossed the line into madness, but he would regain his senses after forced hibernation.

The
gift of longevity became a curse as he watched his wife and children die. He lived through hundreds of years while his descendants passed. The agonizing pain at the losses burned as fresh and raw as the first time.

Now,
I understood why they didn’t fully integrate him. Stuck in his painful hell of being alive, he feared dying and reaching the other side without his wife and children there to embrace him. The belief he would burn, condemned to the lavas of Tartarus for the blood of so many men on his hands, made him grasp onto this life with a wretched hopelessness.

Taking
both of my hands into his, he showed me the years, how long and torturous they were. My breath came in short pants and I grew light-headed as I absorbed all the tangled emotions from him.

At the forefront, his
deep-seated conviction a life this long was a curse and punishment for his sins, ultimately becoming the unconscious pattern for his coarse behavior.

Fast-forwarding, h
e showed me the moment he met me, and how his heart ignited for the first time in centuries.

He
allowed me to see what he experienced as he watched the tiger shark attack me. How he’d charged from behind, and unable to deter the shark with a hit to the snout, was forced to wound him. Fleeting rage toward me, more than the animal, for having to harm the creature—it went against their beliefs and the role the Mers had vowed to uphold as protectors of the ocean. Yet, his fear for me, born of my ignorance of their ways, was overwhelming, and I couldn’t breathe. Savage wrath and raw strength frightened me.

I relived the night in the cave through his eyes.
Fear, and then the spark of love that ignited in his cold, dead heart. Sexual energy, absorbed from the couple making love coursed through his body, and made restraining himself a challenge. So different from the culture he’d come from, he had to wrestle inside of himself to banish tendencies toward hedonistic impulses.

Later
, his heart would surge when he saw me, healing after centuries of being alone.

W
hen he saw David on top of me, choking the life out of me, he wanted to kill him—he could’ve snapped his neck easily. But he hadn’t wanted me to see him in such a savage and brutal light, so again he restrained his impulses. I experienced his hatred for David, and for what David had done, and how he wanted to spare me the trial of what he’d gone through—living with the torturous guilt of having killed.

Roman
revealed his joy at seeing me, teasing me, and touching me. Then his feelings of rejection, hurt at my judgments, and his inability to explain. How he’d wanted to run, and escape heartbreak all over again.

For the people in
the Connective, explaining was a foreign concept. Everyone already knew what was required. He’d grown used to not having to find the words, and it was difficult to relearn.

Staring into each other’s eyes, I received all this information instantly. A lifetime
composed of painful centuries, transmitted to me in the blink of an eye. Overwhelmed, my head throbbed as if threatening to split in two with the surplus of memories.

As I pulled back, I wondered if he
’d had the same experience with my memories. Grabbing his arm, I tried to do as Lily said, and project my thoughts to him.

Vividly, I thought about the days on the cruise ship with David, the ones leading up to my death.
I bared to him all the ugliness, haunting my dreams night after night. The ones of the fight we’d had. The moments leading up to David pushing me off the balcony and turning to walk away.

Letting him see the last few minutes of my human life and my first minutes upon awakening here, as raw as they still were, was a huge
step in trusting him. I allowed him to feel the emotions I experienced when realized I lost my baby and then awe when I found out my baby was still alive.

I showed
him my perception of the first time I’d met him and every encounter since then. Cautiously, I let him feel what I felt for him, and how it had grown over time.

Lily
returned and led me to the outer ring of people waiting to take my hand. Disappointed, I watched as Roman disappeared into the smoke and haze.

Chapter 2
1

B
y the time I made it back to my quarters, my head swirled, and my nerves were
fried. Sick to my stomach, I crashed into my bed without undressing, praying for sleep to stop the nausea.

Sleep didn’t come
. I laid there, my head spinning, flooded with information, and unable to stop it all from becoming a tangled mess in my mind. Even my skin hurt to the touch.
Worst hangover ever.

N
eeding sleep, I wanted to crawl into a deep, black hole, and curl up into a fetal position away from all the stimulation.

I hadn’t seen Roman again all night. He disappeared as if he hadn’t been there to b
egin with. Maybe I imagined it.

Helpless to stop the echo, m
y mind replayed everyone’s memories, making my brain hurt—I wanted rest.

T
o differentiate my memories from all of theirs, I would need time in a dark and quiet room to do nothing but process.

Please make it all stop.

Desperate for relief, I got out of bed and walked to the Healing Center in search of Lucas. He gave me the same sleep aide I used my first night here and I returned to my bed.

It was
near dawn before I finally drifted off to sleep. My dreams were no longer my own, filled with images of lives I hadn’t lived, and places I haven’t been. Exhaustion still plagued me when I woke up around sunset.

I lay there, not moving, when a
piercingly loud tap on my door startled me.
Go away.

There was a pause and then a louder tap.
Oh, all right
. I trudged over to the door and opened it, ready to yell at whoever had intruded upon my respite.

Roman leaned against the opposite wall, looking sexy in a white linen shirt, brown leather pants, and brown suede boots that
laced up to his knees.
So he does have shirts, interesting
. My heart swelled at the sight—simply looking at him made me feel better.

“Roman, I wasn’t expecting you,” I s
tammered.

“I can see that.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but I feel terrible today, I’m not good company.”

“You’re sick?” he asked, walking toward me.

“My brain is fried from last night. I’m not able to sleep and I feel horribly hung-over,” I mumbled, nervously trying to smooth my bed hair. As I stepped back from the door, I stumbled.

Roman
caught me, and lifted me up into his arms. “Are you all right?”

“I really don’t feel well at all…”

He carried me over to my bed, and laid me down. “You’re burning up.”

I whispered
, “Why are you here?”

“Lily sent me to brief you on
a situation. But I’m more concerned about you being sick. I’ll need to get Lucas.”

“Wait,” I
whimpered, grabbing his hand as he turned to go. “Don’t leave me.”

“
Fine. I’ll take you to the Healing Center.” Effortlessly, he picked me up again and carried me out of my quarters.

As he walked, I took my hand, and touched his face, feeling the texture of the stubble of
his beard.

“You confuse me,” he admitted.

“I know—I’m sorry. Big changes. Need time to adjust.”

“
I understand.”

Then I must have passed out, because the next time I opened my eyes, I was in a bed Lily and Lucas were standing at the foot
looking concerned.

Lucas did a full body scan
, then said, “You are dehydrated, dear, we will need to hydrate you. When was the last time you went for a swim in the ocean?”

“I don’t remember exactly. It’s all a blur
with the new connections.” I looked over at Roman, remembering the fight after our last swim.

“It needs to be more often. Try to
get in the water every day,” Lucas admonished. He then hooked-up an IV drip, and gave me an injection of something, before he and Lily left me alone with Roman.

“You’ll feel better when you get some fluids in you. How did this happen?” Roman asked.

“It was hot in the temple and I remember sweating a lot. I was still out of it when I went back to my quarters. It’s all fuzzy, and everything is jumbled up together,” I shrugged.

“You have to be more careful,” he
scolded.

“Yeah
, yeah, don’t lecture me, Mr. Disappearing Act. You said something about a situation?” I perked up, hoping to have some good news about David and the knife. If they’d retrieved it, then I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

“
It can wait till you feel better.”

“
Tell me, I’m feeling better already.” To illustrate, I sat up in the bed.

“I can tell you’re lying.”

“Just tell me.”

“I’ve tried multiple times to dream-walk David without success. It’s the timing. So, I went back and tried to follow him, but he saw me.”

“Well, yeah, it’s not as if someone of your stature can hide.” I laughed. The idea of Roman trying to be covert was hysterical.

“I guess I don’t blend into the background all that well,” he
acknowledged as he sat next to the bed.

“No, not at all. I can go
… I’ll do it. I know my way around David’s world better than you.” I glanced at him to gauge his reaction.

“I don’t
think that’s a good idea,” he considered, shaking his head.

“
And I don’t care what you think… I’m going to do it. This is my fault—I put us all in danger.”
I need to fix this, make it right, and find the knife. Dammit, I should have killed David when I had the chance.

“We’ll talk about this later, after I meet with the security team. They’ll do something about David,” he
muttered, crossing his arms.

“What can they do? I should go and talk to him, and try to pay him off.
What if we give him some jewels in exchange for the knife? There are enough of them down here to make him happy.”

“It’s too dangerous for you.”
Roman took my hand and kissed it.

Appreciating the sentiment,
I squeezed his hand in reply. There were a few minutes of silence and we gazed at each other, sharing feelings through touch, and my new level of perception.

“Don’t try to protect me. I can take care of myself
; I’ve been doing it for years,” I huffed.

“
Not a very good job of it. Besides, I take pride in protecting you.”

“Come on, this isn’t the Dark A
ges,” I debated.

“It may not be the Dark A
ges anymore, but it still makes me feel good.”

“I have years of experience taking care of everything by myself. It’s not easy for me to
accept help. I can’t sit idly by and let you clean up my mess.” Defiantly, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I admire your deep sense of responsibility, but you no longer have to do everything alone. We’re your family
and I’m not David.” He walked over to the wall and leaned against it.

“I know you’re not David
. Thank God you aren’t. But it doesn’t matter—I want to make up for the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve been… rather difficult.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself.”

“It’s not about proving myself,” I insisted.

“Isn’t it?”

“Maybe proving I’m not some helpless female who makes a mess that everyone has to clean up after,” I said.

“David created the mess, not you
—it’s not your fault.”

I
glanced over at Roman. Quietly, I had to absorb the last statement he’d made. Perhaps he was right, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to delve into the deeper meaning.

“Maybe it’s not my fault he is the way he is, but it’s my fault I allowed him to use me. Look how far I let
the abuse go.”

“I say a
gain, it’s not your fault.” He sat back down in the chair.

“
Easy to say. Not so easy to digest,” I mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. It didn’t feel good to bring up feelings I wasn’t completely over.

“
It’s never easy,” he sighed as he leaned in and put his elbows on the side of the bed, running his fingers over the electroreceptors on the back of my hand.

With his
voice almost inside my head, I pushed it away with my thoughts. “I enjoy speaking the old-fashioned way,” I whispered, not wanting to reveal more.

“Me too.”

“It’s going to take some getting used to… this Connective concept. I don’t want to share everything—I prefer some mystery. No one wants to know everything about someone else. Of course, it does make you realize everyone else is the same as you on the inside. We all have the same insecurities and desires. In that way, it’s comforting,” I mused with my eyes down, looking at my hand in his. Then I looked up into Roman’s eyes.

“You don’t have to share everything if you don’t want to,” he said.

“How is it you shared your memories with me? I thought you couldn’t transmit.”

“I have my secrets.”

“I bet that comes in handy.”

“It does. No one else knows. I expect your discretion.”

Oh, so I get to keep a secret of Roman’s.
“Of course,” I agreed. “Roman…” I hesitated, finding my words. “I get you.”

He paused, soaking
it in. “I get you, too.”

I looked at him, his scars, now knowing the pain behind them.
With a simple touch, I could know the entire story behind each injury. Details would come through as though I’d lived it myself. I could speed it up, or slow it down to focus on certain events or feelings.

G
ingerly, I touched the ragged mark running down the left side of his face.

“
Don’t get too lost. They’re not happy memories.” His eyes emanated a deep sadness.

“
I’m masochistic.” I traced the scar, feeling its rough texture.

“Learn to not go too far into anyone. You can lose yourself
—it isn’t worth it.”

“
How do I do that?”

“You stop when you feel yourself diving down into someone’s psyche. Put on the brakes
, so to speak.” Roman lovingly kissed my palm, removing it from his scar, and replaced it gently back into my lap.

“
I’ll have to practice that.”

“Do. It’ll save you from a lot of needlessly lost
energy.”

“
Lily said you’d gone to Atlia.”

Roman
leaned back in the chair and stretched out his arms over his head. “I have to be there for a few months. I rotate between cities, training them.”

“You weren’t
… running from me?” My heart sped up afraid of his answer.

“I’ve faced mu
ch scarier creatures than you.”

I smiled as relief washed over me. “I’m sorry for snapping at you
, for being so defensive, and taking out my stress on you. Will you come back to Poseidia once you’re done training?”

He nodded,
“I’m here now.”

I sighed. “I missed you.”

“Did you now?”

“I did.”

After a long and thoughtful pause he said, “She isn’t beautiful.”

“What? Who?”

“You showed me your memories, remember? She, the one with the red hair, she isn’t beautiful—she is a fake kind of woman. That’s not true beauty.”

“David thought so.”

“David has no honor,” the sincerity showed in his face. “And I assure you—you had no reason to be jealous. Men who idealize those kind of trampy, shallow women, well, are no one to waste your time with.”

“I’m not jealous
… anymore.”

“Good.
”

Silently,
I lay there, thinking he was much more perceptive than I realized. I still had a hard time wrapping my tiny brain around how long he has lived, and everything he’d been through—I’d be bitter too. “You’re from the Roman Empire?”

“It doesn’t matter n
ow. That was a lifetime ago.” Roman reclaimed my hand and kissed it. Long dark eyelashes tickled my palm as he rubbed it across his face. The texture and roughness of his scar lit up my electroreceptors as he turned my palm over and rubbed the back of my hand over his stubble.

“It does matter
… it matters to me.”

“You
only want to know my age. Do you have a problem with older men?”

“Not at all. I was
simply curious, and I wanted to know…” my thoughts trailed off not wanting to say what I was thinking.

“If I’m going to die soon.
Am I that old?”