quite specific—the Chosen Ones were abandoned as infants.
She didn’t believe in the legend, in any legend. Lord of the Rings was a great book, but it was only a book. The sensations which John had passed to her were figments of her imagination. Yet she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“A boat on its last trip before the Kara Sea froze found a newborn floating on an ice floe. The ice formed my shroud; the fishermen thought I was dead.”
“I don’t believe it!”
He misunderstood, of course. He didn’t realize that the story he was telling paralleled the legend she so longed to discount.
He stopped, and turned to face her. “Such circumstances aren’t unique to me.”
“No kidding.”
“There are other instances of an infant surviving a drowning in cold water, unharmed.”
“All right. That’s true.” She had heard of babies shutting down and living through such trauma. But that didn’t disprove the legend of the Chosen Ones. Quite the opposite. “What happened next?”
“The crew put me in the captain’s quarters. They intended to bury me when they got to land. But the ice melted. I woke and squalled. They fed me milk and fish they chewed for me. I lived.” John spoke in short bursts, as if the effort of so much speech exhausted him. “One of the fishermen lived in Rasputye. Olik brought me back to his wife.”
“So you did grow up here!”
“In the winters. In the summers . . . no.” He started walking again.
Now she understood why he knew the area so well. But did she believe he was one of the Chosen? Did she believe in the legend?
To do so would be ridiculous. And yet . . . surely what he had said and what she had felt bore testament to the myth?
“In the summers, did you work on the fishing vessel?” Her eyes grew round as she tried to imagine him as a little boy on a boat in the frigid Kara Sea.
“No. What was so important that you had to risk your life to take those pictures?” Subtle he was not. He wanted to change the subject, and he had.
A small, resilient bubble of excitement worked its way up through her residual fear, her anxiety of tracking John Powell, and the exertion of keeping up with him. “I’ve been watching for the Ural lynx, and it was my first sighting. Or rather, almost my first sighting.”
He grunted.
“I know!” She laughed a little. “There was a lynx on the road, and that was beyond cool. But nothing since. Nothing. Not for the whole team. So far, this year hasn’t been nearly as successful as anyone was hoping.”
Certainly not as successful as her father had hoped.
Her mouth drooped. If she let him, her father’s ran-cor would ruin this summer for her.
The path split and John swerved away, taking the narrower trail, down the hill, leaving her headed in the wrong direction.
Not for long. She jumped a fallen log, slipped on the pine needles, and sprawled across the trail in front of him.
He stopped. Sighed. Grabbed her arm, lifted her and set her on her feet.
He was right. He was a big man, strong and hearty.
And she’d followed him into the woods. They were alone. From her father, she’d learned John had a problem with his gift. Since she’d arrived here, she’d learned he had a reputation as a soldier who suffered PTSD, that he captured women to use them for sexual purposes.
True, to her he seemed normal, if normal included wearing skins and dreadlocks and having extremely pale blue eyes. But really, how many times had she heard the neighbors say to the press, I had no idea he was a serial killer. He seemed so ordinary!
Maybe she should rethink this.
Then he spoke the magic words. “You want to see the Ural lynx.”
She nodded.
“Then come on.” He let her go. He started off down the path again.
She stood in place. “What do you mean, come on ?”
“I mean—I know where Mama Cat has hidden her kittens.”
Chapter 14
J ohn didn’t know why he was bothering to lead Genesis to the big cats.
He didn’t know
She didn’t believe in the legend, in any legend. Lord of the Rings was a great book, but it was only a book. The sensations which John had passed to her were figments of her imagination. Yet she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“A boat on its last trip before the Kara Sea froze found a newborn floating on an ice floe. The ice formed my shroud; the fishermen thought I was dead.”
“I don’t believe it!”
He misunderstood, of course. He didn’t realize that the story he was telling paralleled the legend she so longed to discount.
He stopped, and turned to face her. “Such circumstances aren’t unique to me.”
“No kidding.”
“There are other instances of an infant surviving a drowning in cold water, unharmed.”
“All right. That’s true.” She had heard of babies shutting down and living through such trauma. But that didn’t disprove the legend of the Chosen Ones. Quite the opposite. “What happened next?”
“The crew put me in the captain’s quarters. They intended to bury me when they got to land. But the ice melted. I woke and squalled. They fed me milk and fish they chewed for me. I lived.” John spoke in short bursts, as if the effort of so much speech exhausted him. “One of the fishermen lived in Rasputye. Olik brought me back to his wife.”
“So you did grow up here!”
“In the winters. In the summers . . . no.” He started walking again.
Now she understood why he knew the area so well. But did she believe he was one of the Chosen? Did she believe in the legend?
To do so would be ridiculous. And yet . . . surely what he had said and what she had felt bore testament to the myth?
“In the summers, did you work on the fishing vessel?” Her eyes grew round as she tried to imagine him as a little boy on a boat in the frigid Kara Sea.
“No. What was so important that you had to risk your life to take those pictures?” Subtle he was not. He wanted to change the subject, and he had.
A small, resilient bubble of excitement worked its way up through her residual fear, her anxiety of tracking John Powell, and the exertion of keeping up with him. “I’ve been watching for the Ural lynx, and it was my first sighting. Or rather, almost my first sighting.”
He grunted.
“I know!” She laughed a little. “There was a lynx on the road, and that was beyond cool. But nothing since. Nothing. Not for the whole team. So far, this year hasn’t been nearly as successful as anyone was hoping.”
Certainly not as successful as her father had hoped.
Her mouth drooped. If she let him, her father’s ran-cor would ruin this summer for her.
The path split and John swerved away, taking the narrower trail, down the hill, leaving her headed in the wrong direction.
Not for long. She jumped a fallen log, slipped on the pine needles, and sprawled across the trail in front of him.
He stopped. Sighed. Grabbed her arm, lifted her and set her on her feet.
He was right. He was a big man, strong and hearty.
And she’d followed him into the woods. They were alone. From her father, she’d learned John had a problem with his gift. Since she’d arrived here, she’d learned he had a reputation as a soldier who suffered PTSD, that he captured women to use them for sexual purposes.
True, to her he seemed normal, if normal included wearing skins and dreadlocks and having extremely pale blue eyes. But really, how many times had she heard the neighbors say to the press, I had no idea he was a serial killer. He seemed so ordinary!
Maybe she should rethink this.
Then he spoke the magic words. “You want to see the Ural lynx.”
She nodded.
“Then come on.” He let her go. He started off down the path again.
She stood in place. “What do you mean, come on ?”
“I mean—I know where Mama Cat has hidden her kittens.”
Chapter 14
J ohn didn’t know why he was bothering to lead Genesis to the big cats.
He didn’t know
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