Chapter 3
Talia escaped from the root cellar with her heart pounding. She and Theo had wrestled Klaus in there for two reasons. It had a thick, sturdy door and no windows, which meant that he couldn't spring out at them unexpectedly, and there was no chance that any passing villager might spot him.
Not that many people came up the long track to the secluded homestead, but with her luck, there'd be a passing hunter or someone would suddenly decide to come visit.
"How is he?" Theo asked eagerly.
"Better, I think. He woke up, anyway, and we exchanged names. He said his name is Klaus."
"Klaus, like from the stories?"
"I don't know. It's actually only part of a longer, more complicated name."
"Do you think he came for the Longest Night?
" Theo asked, ignoring her qualification, and she bit back a sigh.
From what she'd read, the original colonists had adopted an amalgam of various holiday traditions celebrated around the winter solstice.
The details didn't seem to matter as much as the opportunity for friends and families to gather and give thanks.
Houses were decorated and presents were exchanged, and a number of mythical creatures were associated with the occasion, everything from Krampus to Santa Claus to Saint Nick.
"Can I go see him?"
"Why don't you wait until he's feeling a little better?" she suggested. Klaus had said he didn't mean her any harm, but he specifically said harm to her. She didn't think he would harm a child, but what if he saw another male as a threat, even one as young as Theo?
Theo's eagerness disappeared behind his usual scowl. "Why can't I see him?"
"We don't know if he's dangerous," she said gently, "and I promised to return his belt. While I'm obviously not going to give him his weapon, I don't know if there's something else there that might be dangerous." He seemed like the sort of male who might have weapons concealed in multiple places.
Maybe I should have inspected the rest of his body, she thought, and immediately blushed.
Theo was still scowling at her, his arms crossed. "Why are you all pink?"
"I guess it's warm in here." Since she'd only been burning the minimal amount of fuel in the wood stove that heated the kitchen, the room was far from warm, but to her relief, he didn't argue.
"When can I see him?"
"If I'm sure he's not a danger, you can see him tomorrow," she promised. "But only if he's healing properly."
The scowl still didn't disappear completely, but it finally subsided. "What's for supper?"
"Why don't you have a cup of that broth I made while I'm dealing with Klaus? And then I'll fry up some potatoes and onions."
“Again?” he asked with an exaggerated sigh, but there was no real heat in his words.
He knew as well as she did that their supplies were limited.
Of course, he blamed her for that, just as he blamed her for everything that had happened since his parents died.
But he was enough of a farmer's son to know that they had to make do when times were lean.
"I'll be back in a little bit," she promised as she took the belt and a jug of water and returned to the root cellar.
Thankfully, it had been built into the hill behind the house, and it was only a few steps down, rather than completely underground, so they hadn't had to try and get Klaus down a ladder.
They'd both been exhausted by the time they made it back to the house, but Theo had stayed by her the entire way and done his best to help.
Her sister had had the same kind of determination.
When she opened the door, Klaus's eyes were closed again.
They'd placed him on a wide shelf along the side wall, a shelf that had been designed to hold bushels of apples and other produce over the winter months.
Fortunately for Klaus, but unfortunately for them, they'd only had a few bushels to remove in order to make room for him.
How are we going to make it through the winter, she wondered again, then deliberately pushed the fear aside. One problem at a time. And right now, her biggest problem was the huge warrior sprawled across the shelf.
His eyes were still closed as she approached, and she hesitated, unsure whether or not to wake him.
But as soon as she came to his side, his eyes opened, his startlingly blue gaze fixed on her face.
The color was not a human blue, but more like the blue flame at the heart of a fire.
Her breath caught as their eyes met, and her chest tingled as if she could still feel that brief touch of his fingers.
"I brought your belt," she said quickly. "Is there something specific you wanted?"
He finally released her gaze and looked at the belt. He clearly noticed the missing weapon, but he didn't comment. He started to reach for the belt instead, then winced. He was clearly in pain, even though he did his best to hide it.
She quickly brought it closer and handed it to him.
He detached a small cylinder from his belt, then ran it over his still uncovered injury.
Bright green symbols suddenly appeared in the air over the other end of the cylinder, and she bit back a startled cry.
She was pretty sure it was technology of some kind, although far more advanced than anything she'd seen or even heard about.
The villagers would have called it witchcraft.
He said something in a thoughtful voice, then lowered the cylinder until it was actually touching one end of the wound, and pressed another button.
He kept his expression stoic, even though what he'd done was clearly painful.
He repeated the action twice more, once in the middle of the wound and once at the other end, then laid back with a not entirely suppressed sigh.
"I hope that's going to help," she muttered, pointing at the injury. "Yes?"
"Yes." His eyes were closing again, so she decided the best thing to do was to let him rest. She put the jug of water on the floor next to him, then returned to the kitchen.
Theo clearly had not expected her to return so quickly, because he was trotting Glimmerhorn back and forth in front of the stove.
His father had made the toy for him—a carved wooden animal with delicate horns based on a native animal that the locals called a reindeer.
The original colonists had chosen familiar names for much of the native flora and fauna, and the names had stuck, even though many of their descendants had no idea as to the origin of the terms..
Theo quickly pushed the toy away and scowled at her. She knew he didn't like playing with it in front of her, so she didn't comment, just walked over to the table and started slicing up potatoes.
When the food was ready, Theo came and joined her at the big kitchen table.
It was one of the few battles she'd won.
The first night she'd arrived, he'd refused to sit down at the table with her.
Still raw from her own grief and the shock of everything that had transpired, she hadn't insisted, and let him carry his plate into the main room, telling herself that he would change his mind.
She'd let him get away with it for almost two weeks, reluctant to add to his resentment of her.
Martha had finally told her, kindly but firmly, that she was making a mistake.
"He's a child, Talia, and he's testing his boundaries. You have to set rules for him and enforce the rules."
"But he already hates me. I don't want to make it any worse."
"He doesn't hate you, honey. He hates the fact that his mom and dad aren't around anymore, and you're not going to change that by giving in to his tantrums. He needs to know he can count on you to do what's best for him, even if he doesn't like it."
That night, instead of handing him his plate, she placed it on the table. He scowled at her and reached for it, but she intercepted him. "No," she said firmly. "Whether you like it or not, we're a family, and families sit down and eat together. If you want to eat, you'll join me at the table."
"Maybe I don't want to eat."
"That's your decision," she said, doing her best to keep her voice calm.
"But if you do want to eat, you'll sit at the table.
" He stomped off into the other room, and she almost caved, but Martha's words were still ringing through her head.
She remained where she was, calmly eating her dinner, or at least pretending to.
After what felt like the longest five minutes of her life, he returned and sat down.
"This is stupid," he said, even as he picked up his fork.
"I'm sorry you think so. Your mom and I always sat down to eat together." Her voice shook as she spoke, and he actually looked at her for a change.
"We always ate together, too," he said quietly, and the grief on his face made her chest ache. The next day, he was back to scowling and treating her like the enemy. But he never argued about sitting down to eat with her again.
"Where do you think he came from?" he asked after devouring the first half of his plate. "In the story Mama told me, Klaus came from the North Pole." There was an almost hopeful note in his voice, as if he were looking for some reason that the story might be true.
"I don't think he came from this planet at all," she said gently.
"So you don't think he's magic?"
"I don't think so. Although I think he has some technology that can seem like magic."
"What do you mean, technology?"
"I mean machines that can do things that we can't do."
His eyes widened as she told him about the medical scanner. "That sounds like magic."
"It is to us because we don't know how it works. It's like… a loaf of bread. You can eat a loaf of bread even if you don't know how it was made. But if you're a baker, you know how to make bread, so there's nothing mysterious about it."
"I reckon," he said reluctantly. "But just because he comes from space, doesn't mean he didn't come from the North Pole. Maybe the North Pole is in space." He looked so hopeful she didn't have the heart to argue.
"Maybe it is."
After dinner, he went to wash up and get ready for bed. Just as she did every night, she went to tell him goodnight, but instead of his usual surly acknowledgement, he gave her an oddly defiant look.
"Do you know the North Pole story?"
"I do. I used to tell it to your mother. Would you like me to tell it to you?" She'd offered to tell him a bedtime story before, but he'd always rejected the offer. She did her best to keep her face composed, even as she held her breath.
"I suppose," he said finally, his eagerness to hear the story overcoming his determination to keep her at a distance.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and told him the story, just as she had told Sarah so many times before. She thought he might fall asleep, but his eyes were still open when she finished.
"You don't tell it as good as Mama," he said when she finished, "but it was all right, I guess."
"Thank you." She did her best to hide her smile.
"How come you told Mama stories? What about your mama?"
"She was very busy." The old pain washed over her, muted by the years, but still present.
"Our father… entertained a lot, and she always went with him, all dressed up in beautiful clothes and sparkling jewelry.” Jewelry that turned out to be fake, the originals sold to pay her father's gambling debts.
Just as their house had been sold after their death, along with everything other than their clothes.
The auctioneer had told her that their clothes weren't worth enough to sell, which was probably true, since her mother's love for pretty things hadn't extended to dressing her daughters, but she knew he was also being kind.
He'd let them keep a few books and some of Sarah's toys, even though she knew he'd been told to sell everything.
He was also the one who suggested she find work at a local tavern.
“It's nothing fancy, mind, but the owner's a good man. He'll expect you to work hard, but he won't try and whore you out." He'd been right, and she'd be forever grateful for his kindness.
“They left you and Mama?” Theo asked, his voice outraged.
“It was all right. I took care of your mama.” Except it hadn’t been all right. She’d been younger than Theo when their parents decided they didn’t need to pay a servant to remain with them during the evenings. She’d been terrified, but determined not to show it for Sarah’s sake.
Perhaps Theo heard something in her voice because he gave her a thoughtful look.
“And now you’re taking care of me.”
“Exactly. It’s what families do.”
“I reckon.” He pulled the quilt Sarah had made him up to his chin and closed his eyes. “Night, Aunt Talia.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
She dared to run a quick hand over his head before she rose to leave the room, and even though he didn’t respond, at least he didn’t immediately pull away. Baby steps, she reminded herself.
Downstairs, she tidied the kitchen and set a batch of dough to rise, then hesitated, looking at the door to the root cellar.
Should she check on her alien again? Or would it be better to let him rest?
He was clearly capable of healing himself, but it was still difficult to abandon her sense of responsibility.
She finally compromised by opening the door quietly and peering inside.
The oil lamp was still burning, casting a golden glow over the room.
Klaus’s eyes were closed, and he didn't stir at the sound of the door opening.
Despite his stillness, she could see the steady rise and fall of his chest so she decided there was no cause for alarm.
Oddly disappointed, she backed quietly out of the room.
Picking up a basket of clothes to be mended, she carried them over to the fire in the main room.
But although she picked up a needle and thread, her mind remained on the more pressing problem— what was she going to do about the alien in her root cellar?