Threads That Bind (Havoc Chronicles Series Book 1) (24 page)

I dropped my chin, feeling like a spoiled child who just threw a tantrum.

“Okay.”

I still didn’t like getting blindsided by new information all the time, but listening to Mallika I could at least understand the reasoning behind it.

Mallika smiled at me. “Good. The last thing we need right now is a distraction to take away from that preparation. Until we get confirmation from the Sarolt stone, we should keep this between you, me, and Kara. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said.

I stayed in the room after Mallika left, staring at my reflection. It had been long enough since my transformation last summer that I no longer wondered who the stranger in the mirror was, but as I looked at my reflection, I couldn’t help wondering what other changes might be in store.

I spent the next few weeks reflecting on everything I learned during my one brief Binder lesson. Mallika seemed to think it best to ignore the signs of my being a Binder, at least until there was proof. As nice as that sounded at the time, it was hard not to think about it. Was I really both a Binder and a Berserker? Did that mean I would age normally? Could I learn to cast snares and hazes, or could I only see them? What else was different about me that I took for granted as being normal Berserker powers?

As Christmas break approached, so did finals. For the first time in my life, I didn’t hear a single word from my dad about buckling down and studying. As far as he was concerned, I only stayed in school to keep up the appearance of normality. My real education revolved around self-defense and the swiftly approaching Winter Solstice.

To that end, I continued my after-school weapons training, and even added some early morning meditation sessions with Shing. Shing taught me how to control my berserking and it wasn’t long until I could move from normal, to pre-zerk, to full ‘zerk at will.

As for the varé, I was learning faster than I had dreamed possible. By the time Thanksgiving break was over, I had mastered all of the basic positions, blocks, and stances. Now we were working on combinations of attacks and planning three or four moves in advance.

Rhys and Dad were impressed with my progress. Dad said I was a natural and Rhys said it had taken him more than a year of practice to get to the point I was. I walked on air for the rest of the day.

The weather continued to get warmer. The temperatures went to record highs. The normally green vegetation was drying up as the lack of rain and excessive heat took their toll. Dead brown began to replace lush green as the dominant landscape color. The county had put in water restrictions, and for the first time ever water was being rationed.

The weather wasn’t the only thing running hot. The news was full of assaults, murders, attempted murders, and practically every other possible crime of passion. Osadyn’s influence was like a disease, slowly contaminating more people each day. I tried not to feel guilty when I watched the news reports, but every time I saw a story about another murder, I felt sick inside. No matter what the other Berserkers said, it was my fault this was happening.

I went through the motions of school, but my heart wasn’t in it. I stopped studying as the big day grew closer and my preparation escalated. I expected my grades to go down, but surprisingly they stayed pretty much the same. I had always been pretty good at taking tests, and one of the side effects of the pre-zerking is unusual mental clarity and recall.

I asked Rhys a few surreptitious questions and discovered that enhanced memory was another power unique to me. I also suspected it was the real reason behind my quick mastery of the varé.

By the time school ended for Christmas break, I was ready to be done. Preparations for the big fight had gone into overdrive. Aata and Shing were working on building some new type of weapons that would help keep me safe, while Dad and Rhys spent quite a bit of time out scouting the ideal location of our battle.

The first morning of Christmas break, I was supposed to go out with Eric and Aata to practice combat in wooded terrain. When Eric arrived in the Mercedes alone, I knew something was up.

“Where’s Aata?” I asked.

Eric shrugged. “He had some other things to take care of. I told him where we’d be, and he said he’d catch up with us later.” He slipped out of the car and opened my door with a formal bow. “Hop in, my lady.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his bizarre mixture of formal and slang. Which, judging from the big grin he gave me, was exactly what he was hoping for.

Eric pulled out of the driveway and gunned the car down the road. The acceleration threw me against the seat and took my breath away. I had forgotten just how fast this car could go.

When we got onto the highway, I quickly realized that I had never seen how fast the car could really go. Eric floored the gas and we practically flew across the pavement. Within seconds the speedometer blew past 100 mph and continued higher. When we reached 150 mph, I yelled at Eric to slow down, but he just laughed.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “A car wreck can’t hurt you.”

185 mph.

“But it might kill whoever we crash into!” I yelled as Eric swerved between two cars at a speed that made them seem like they were standing still.

197 mph.

With a sigh, he lifted his foot from the gas pedal and the car began to slowly decelerate to a normal freeway speed. Very slowly.

We drove south into Portland and then east into the Columbia River Gorge, one of my favorite places in the world. The river ran through a massive canyon with high, tree-lined walls on either side. Waterfalls decorated the landscape every few miles and the view was simply breathtaking - at least when the weather was normal.

Even this far away, the effects of Osadyn were painfully visible. The once green gorge was definitely more brown than usual, and the usually flowing waterfalls were mere trickles.

Eric took an exit, drove into a parking lot, and parked next to a Jeep with a jacked up suspension and massive tires.

“Time to switch,” he said, and hopped into the Jeep.

It didn’t take long to see why he had switched vehicles. The Mercedes could go fast, but it wouldn’t have made it past the first switchback as Eric pulled off the pavement and began driving on dirt roads.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure which was scarier, Eric flying down the freeway at almost 200 mph, or Eric driving up switchbacks practically on two wheels as we ascended the gorge walls. Instinctively, I reached over and grabbed his arm, but I immediately dropped it when I saw the smirk on his face.

I was not going to play into his plans.

At the top of the path was a beautiful meadow overlooking the Columbia River. The view was breathtaking. I had lived in this area my whole life, but I had never been any place like this before.

Eric grabbed my hand and pulled me into the middle of the meadow where there was a large blanket and picnic basket waiting for us.

“Hmmm. I wonder how this got here,” he said, feigning curiosity. He opened the basket which was full of food and drinks. “It seems a shame to let this go to waste,” he said and began setting up a meal.

“Aren’t we supposed to be practicing combat in wooded terrain?” I asked.

Eric raised his eyebrows and gave me his best wounded expression. “Of course we are,” he said. He gestured to the trees on the edge of the meadow. “And so we will, don’t worry. I just thought you might want a bit of sustenance before we begin.”

I should have known he would try something like this. I would be willing to bet anything that Aata either had no idea where we were or that Eric somehow bribed or blackmailed him into not coming with us.

“If you’re not hungry, we can certainly practice first and then eat later,” Eric said, his eyes wide and innocent – well, as innocent as Eric can be. “Whatever you prefer.”

Despite myself I couldn’t help smiling. I knew I shouldn’t. This was frivolous and we should be practicing, not having a picnic. But the reality was it felt kind of good to take a bit of a break. I just wished it could have been Rhys I was here with instead of Eric.

“Fine,” I said, “but after we finish eating we need to practice, okay?”

“Absolutely,” said Eric with an overly sincere expression. “As soon as we finish eating, we will get right to it.” His lips twitched and I could tell he was trying not to smile. He was up to something, but I was conflicted on whether or not I wanted to stop him.

He reached into the picnic basket and pulled out several bundles of food. “I didn’t know what you would be in the mood for, so I brought a few contingency dishes. Are you in the mood for fancy or more of a traditional picnic?”

I admit I was curious about what the fancy option entailed, but it was strictly academic. My taste buds were more or less back to normal, but I still didn’t have much of an appetite for exotic spices and flavorings.

“Traditional,” I said.

He nodded as if he had been expecting that answer. He reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a pair of sandwiches piled high with vegetables, a container full of sliced watermelon, two slices of apple pie, and two bottles of ice cold root beer. It all looked delicious. He couldn’t have picked out a better meal if he had read my mind – or asked my mom. Which was almost certainly what he had done.

We sat in silence for a while, eating and enjoying the cool breeze. I even went crazy and kicked off my shoes and socks, enjoying the sensation of wind on my toes – and hoping my feet didn’t stink too badly. We were far enough away from Osadyn that the temperature was a good fifteen degrees cooler than in Woodbridge, and the gentle breeze was nothing short of pure bliss.

I waited for Eric to start up a conversation, but for the first time since I’d met him he seemed content to simply sit and enjoy the moment.

Which, of course, made me intensely curious. Was what Kara had said true? Did Eric see me as his last chance at having a long-term relationship? Was he doing this simply because I was the only female Berserker, or would he have been interested in me even if I were normal? Did I even want him to be interested?

The problem was that I hardly knew Eric. Yes, I had seen the façade he put on for everyone to see, but the more I watched him the more I thought the real Eric might be someone different, deeper - and hopefully less abrasive.

It was time to do a bit of investigating.

“Okay, Eric,” I said, “tell me about you. I’ve known you for several months now, but I still know next to nothing about you.” Okay, so it wasn’t very subtle, but with Eric I doubted the subtle approach would have worked, anyway.

Eric rolled onto his back. “Story time, huh?” He took a deep breath. “The truth is that I don’t like to talk much about me, or the old me anyway.” He turned his head to look at me. “But for a girl as pretty as you, I am willing to make an exception.”

I groaned. “Is the story going to include the number of times you’ve used that line?”

With an indignant sniff, Eric rolled back over. “If this is how I can expect to be treated...” he said.

I picked some grass and threw it at him. The wind was blowing the wrong way and most of it blew back onto me. Eric laughed and sat up.

“You really want to know?” he asked. “It’s not a very fun story. Kind of a mood killer. That’s why I usually try to pretend my past never happened.”

I shrugged. “I thought those who ignored the past were doomed to repeat it?”

“No, no,” said Eric. “Those who don’t
learn
from the past are doomed to repeat it. I’ve learned from it, now I’m trying to forget
how
I learned all those valuable lessons. See, it’s really more of a repressed memory thing.”

“Oh, I see. Well, I’m still interested, so if you’re up for it I would love to hear it.”

Eric flashed me a grin. “If you insist. But if you find yourself hopelessly depressed afterwards, don’t blame me. I tried to warn you.”

“I promise not to blame you.”

“Okay. You’ve been warned. I was born in rural Indiana right before the Great Depression. My father was a farmer who had come to the United States from Ireland with his family when he was just a few years old. He had grown up poor and worked extremely hard to pull himself out of poverty. He managed to provide for his wife and - once I came along - four sons. When the stock market crashed he didn’t initially think it would affect him. But when the banks collapsed, his loans were called in, and the price he could sell his produce for plummeted. Within a matter of a few months he lost everything, including the farm he had spent his life building.