Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
SAWYER
Sawyer killed the engine, then climbed out of the cruiser. Ciaran and Marten did the same. He expected old Mr Brown to amble out of his front door and greet them, but after a moment, it was pretty clear he wasn’t going to.
“I’ll go in,” Ciaran said, leaving Sawyer and Marten outside.
Sawyer watched Marten as he took in his surroundings. The mountain was shrouded in low clouds, and everything was wet and damp, making the forest appear greener than usual. The wood on Mr Brown’s dilapidated house, which was no more than an old hut, was dark and damp, covered in moss and rot.
“He lives here?” Marten asked quietly.
“It’ll make sense when you see him,” Sawyer murmured.
Ciaran appeared from the side of the house. “He’s not here. He’s not out the back.”
Sawyer was immediately alarmed. What did Ciaran mean he wasn’t here?
“His car’s here,” he said, pointing out the obvious, because the car was very much in the leaning carport.
“Should we look for him? Does he go into the trees?” Sawyer looked at the tree line that ran behind the old shack.
He did not fancy stepping foot in there.
Well, he would. If he had to. But...
But the mountains were creepy and the forests even more so. There was no noise, no bird calls, no insects chirring. It was utterly silent, and that was so freaking eerie. It was wrong. It felt unnatural.
Except the wind. The wind seemed to whisper through the trees. Or maybe it was the trees that whispered...
“No,” Ciaran said. “He has family further up the mountain. He visits them sometimes. We should have let him know we planned to visit.” Ciaran gave Marten an apologetic shrug. “Sorry you made the trip for nothing.”
Marten did that smile-and-head-bow thing.
It was like a nod, but just one slow, more pronounced nod.
It reminded Sawyer very much of the Vulcans on Star Trek.
Actually, the three Norwegian visitors reminded Sawyer of the Vulcan High Counsel.
The way they held themselves, composed at all times.
The way they moved fluidly, gracefully. The way they smiled peacefully while their eyes caught everything.
Sawyer wasn’t entirely sure what to make of them. He tried to like them—they had come a long way to help them, after all—but they were... different.
Ciaran had explained their consortium was older, and if Sawyer knew anything, it was that cephamorph’s concept of older, or anything time-related, was different to Sawyer’s. Hell, Sawyer wasn’t even truly aware of how old Ciaran actually was.
He didn’t even think Ciaran knew.
And seeing the Norwegians as elders of their species did help Sawyer understand them better. It explained so much.
“Oh,” Marten said with a pleasant smile. “It hasn’t been for nothing. I think I…” He looked around at the trees, then at the house before he looked at Ciaran. “I have learned a great deal.”