27. Yaaf
YAAF
Y aaf sat on the small couch in his room and stared at the television without actually seeing what was on the screen aside from the timer in the corner.
It was time.
Bowen had said that he would come to escort them to the gathering at eleven-thirty, and that time had passed seven minutes ago.
They were finally getting out of the underground and were going to see the sky.
The invitation from the goddess had come as a surprise. A very nice surprise.
He was finally going to meet Areana and the other former harem ladies, but most importantly, he was going to see Sullha again.
Only two days had passed since they had met, and they had talked each night on the phone for hours, but that wasn't enough.
There was an ache in his chest that only eased when she was near him.
Was that what love felt like?
He wanted to ask Dimitri, but the goddess hadn't invited the scientists for some reason. It might have been an oversight, or perhaps she didn't think they were a good fit for whatever she had planned, but it wasn't as if he could tell her what to do.
He was just thankful to be invited to the penthouse apartment at the top of this building.
The elevator pinged on their level, and a moment later, Bowen's footsteps sounded on the concrete floor.
The collective recognized the rhythm of his stride.
"Gentlemen," the Guardian said as he stopped in front of the row of open cell doors. "The ladies are upstairs and awaiting your company."
"About time," Yaaf murmured as he clicked the screen off. "You said eleven-thirty."
Bowen arched a brow. "This is not a military operation. It's a social gathering. Timelines are flexible."
"Good to know." Yaaf waited for the other seven to join them.
It was strange to see himself and the others in nice civilian clothes, and even stranger that each of them was dressed differently.
Most of the time they wore clothing similar to the Guardians, either black fatigues with no insignia or training attire.
Today they had made an effort to look like eight individuals.
The mothers should be less spooked.
"There is a guest upstairs you've met before," Bowen said. "He goes by Eluheed now, but you would have known him as Elias. Navuh's shaman."
They remembered him. The one who'd come with Navuh and brushed against their hive mind.
Yaaf held the memories up with the others. They were old memories, frazzled, before the cohesion had settled. A feeling of a presence that had entered their shared space, keeping his nearly impenetrable walls up so they couldn't read him.
Their shared mind had been chaotic back then, a muddy river, and they had reached for the shaman, hungry for anything from the outside, but he'd panicked and fled.
"Is that going to be a problem?" Bowen asked.
"No," Yaaf said. "It will be interesting."
Bowen shook his head. "I'm not sure what you mean by interesting. Just remember that this is a friendly gathering, and the idea is to put your mothers' fears to rest. You need to convince them that you are eight perfectly normal dudes who sometimes meet up telepathically to discuss things."
Yaaf tilted his head. "It's much more than that, and you know it."
"I do," Bowen said. "And I'm not suggesting that you tell your mothers lies. But they don't need to learn the entire truth all at once either. Let them get used to the idea by making it seem less intimidating at first."
That was good advice, and the collective thought of ways to present themselves in that manner and at the same time not to resort to lies. By the time the elevator stopped at the penthouse level, they had a tentative plan.
The doors opened into a vestibule that was designed to impress, and the collective noted the aesthetics and craftsmanship without being moved by it.
A round table of pale stone, an extravagant arrangement of flowers, an intricate mosaic floor.
It was beautiful. It was also modest compared to the entry hall of Navuh's mansion, where they had been housed after their liberation, before the collapsed basement had forced everyone to move to the hotel.
There they'd occupied the second finest suite on the top floor with views of the harbor and the resort.
The penthouse doors stood open, and sound spilled through them: layered voices, a child's laughter, the clink of dishes, and under all of it Yaaf heard Sullha's voice, and his chest tightened.
They entered as they had practiced, loosely, and spread out enough to look like eight separate men instead of a collective. They moved out of step instead of with their normal synchronized movements. Apparently the synchronicity unsettled people.
The goddess crossed the room to greet them.
Her beauty was impossible to look at but also impossible to look away from.
"Welcome." She offered her hand to Yaaf first. "Today is a celebration for everyone who has escaped the island."
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that four people were missing from the celebration, but the collective rushed to warn him against it.
It's her party , Bardov said. We can't tell her who to invite .
"We are honored to be here, my lady." Yaaf bowed over her hands.
"I am thrilled to host you." She moved down the line of them, greeting them by their given names, not their numbers, and the collective noted that she had learned all eight names and matched them to the correct faces.
"Let me introduce everyone." Areana turned, and with a graceful sweep of her hand gathered the room's attention. "These are the ladies of the former harem. My sisters in everything but blood."
The harem ladies rose from wherever they had been seated, but they shouldn't have bothered. They were as easy to spot as rare flowers among weeds.
The rumors had been correct, at least in that regard. They might not have shared Navuh's bed, and they were not the daughters of gods, but they were most likely the most beautiful women in the world.
They all had polite, welcoming smiles on their faces, but underneath those masks was fear.
To these women, the enhanced soldiers represented the horrors of the rebellion, the reason they had cowered in Navuh's basement while half the resort burned above and around them.
It didn't matter that the Eight hadn't been anywhere near the mansion during that time. The ladies didn't know that.
They are afraid of us , Number Five observed. We need to put them at ease. Any suggestions on how?
We need to be boring and polite and make no sudden movements, Yaaf thought, and the collective accepted his suggestion because the others had nothing better to offer.
"This is Tula and her mate, Esag." Areana started with the one who showed no fear at all.
Tula came forward with her hand extended and her pregnant belly leading the way like a prow. She shook Yaaf's hand firmly and then went down the entire line and shook seven more, and by the fourth handshake, the other ladies had stepped forward.
When Tula and her mate finished the handshaking, she planted her hands on her hips and looked up at them with open admiration.
"So, you are the ones who snatched your mothers and sisters from the enclosure without anyone any the wiser.
It's the best story I've heard lately, and I want all the details. "
"There will be a fee," Yaaf said. "We heard about your heroic escape, and we are eager to hear the details of that."
His answer seemed to satisfy her. "That is one hell of a story. Probably better than yours."
"We can put it to a vote," Yaaf suggested.
Tula laughed, and it rippled through the harem ladies, their careful, polite smiles turning into real ones.
Areana moved down the room, presenting the rest of the ladies by name: Sarah, Raviki, Beulah, Liliat and Rolenna, and each of them managed a greeting, some warm, some still wary, and the Eight bowed to each one and kept their movements slow and as individual as they could manage.
Tony introduced himself in English but didn't offer his hand because he was carrying a plate of food in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.
Tula translated his words into the old tongue with the ease of long practice, probably unaware they understood him perfectly.
"This is Tony, and he says that he would shake your hands, but he is load-bearing.
He welcomes you to freedom and the good life.
" She rolled her eyes. "He thinks he is funnier than he is. "
"I understood every word," Tony said, in English, to no one in particular. "The eye roll needs no translation."
"We speak English," Yaaf said. "We learned it first in class and then perfected it by watching a thousand hours of movies. That was the Brotherhood's method to teach us how to blend in with the outside world."
"Oh, good," Tony said. "Everyone else is talking in the island language. I caught some of it, and I understand some of what is being said, but I can't string even one coherent sentence together."
Every conversation in the room was running in the old tongue, though.
This is why the scientists were not invited , Ravsoh sent.
Yes, Yaaf agreed. That must be the reason .
It hadn't been an oversight, or a judgment of Dimitri and Petrov and their ladies.
The goddess had decided on the guest list around the language so the island escapees could be comfortable speaking in their own tongue.
One male with a patient friend to translate was manageable, but the two Russian scientists and their partners would have needed a full-time interpreter or would have sat isolated in a corner.
It was the kind of consideration that was invisible unless someone looked for the design in it, and the collective filed it next to the eight names the goddess had learned and matched to the correct faces.
"And this is Tamira," Areana said, "and her mate, Eluheed."