Chapter 17 Tula
TULA
As Tula followed Okidu through a maze of narrow corridors and exposed pipes, she noted absentmindedly that everything was painted in that industrial gray that seemed designed to suck hope from the soul.
Or maybe that was just her exhaustion talking.
Two and a half hours underwater, holding on to a scooter for dear life and breathing through a contraption, was not something she wanted to repeat anytime soon.
Or ever.
They were free, though. Nothing else mattered.
The sweet taste of freedom washed out the foul taste of seawater and the mouthpiece she had been breathing through.
It was a pity that she was too tired to jump for joy.
A figure walked toward them, and Tula's breath caught.
Esag.
Even in the dim fluorescent lighting, even after five thousand years, he was still devastatingly handsome.
That red hair that had driven all the girls wild, those features that belonged on a statue, the tall, lean frame that was a little more muscular now than what she remembered.
But something fundamental was missing. The mischief that had danced in his eyes, the charm that had made him irresistible, the easy confidence that had made everyone want to be near him, including her sister, all of that was nowhere to be seen.
What stood before her was a beautiful shell, hollowed out by millennia of guilt.
It was sad, really. Pathetic even. Part of her wanted to feel satisfaction at seeing him brought low, but she was too tired for that kind of emotional investment.
Maybe later, after she'd slept, when her brain could process anything beyond basic survival, she'd let herself feel the anger that had simmered for so long.
The rage at what he'd done to Gulan, how he'd broken her heart and destroyed their family in the process.
But not now.
"Tula." He sounded uncertain, and she couldn't remember him ever sounding like that.
It was true that the last time she'd heard him talking was five thousand years ago, and she shouldn't remember what he had sounded like, but she remembered it as vividly as if it had been last week.
He held out a bundle of folded clothes. "These probably won't fit, but they are dry and clean."
She looked at the bundle and then back at his face. "Are they yours?"
"They're not. I gave mine to Lady Areana. One of the crew members donated these."
She took them, noting how careful he was not to let their fingers touch. "Thank you." She switched to the old language. "And thank the crewman who was so kind as to part with his clothing so I could wear something dry."
Esag smiled. "I barely use it anymore," he replied in English. "Especially now that I live among Annani's people."
She turned to ask Okidu about where she could change, but the Odu had disappeared while she'd been talking to Esag.
"The shower is this way." Esag turned and started walking, clearly expecting her to follow. "Submarine showers are not what you are used to. You get wet, turn off the water, soap up, then rinse quickly. Total water time is ninety seconds. We have limited fresh water reserves."
"It's fine." Anything would be better than standing there in a sodden wetsuit that chafed in places she didn't want to think about. "I just want to get clean and dry."
He led her through a narrow corridor, having to turn sideways at one point to squeeze past some equipment. The shower room was barely larger than a closet, with two stalls separated by a thin partition. She could hear water running in one of them.
Someone had beaten her there, which wasn't a big surprise since she'd been the last in the airlock.
"There are only two showers for the entire submarine," Esag said apologetically. "Everyone will need to be quick. There's soap and shampoo in dispensers on the wall, and towels on the rack outside."
"Got it."
He shifted awkwardly, clearly unsure whether to leave or stay. "I'll wait outside."
She almost told him not to bother, but the truth was that she had no idea how to navigate this metal maze. She'd need someone to show her where to go next. "Thanks."
The shower stall was coffin-sized, barely enough room to raise her arms, but there was a narrow shelf across from it for her towel and dry clothing.
She peeled off the wetsuit with difficulty, the neoprene clinging to her skin, and tried not to think about how many people had worn it before her.
Or maybe it had been worn just by one diver?
The clan was supposed to be wealthy, so chances were that they had bought each Guardian his or her own wetsuit.
Next went the clothes she'd worn underneath the suit, including her underwear, and she wondered if the crewman had also donated a pair of his undies, and if he had, whether she was going to wear them.
Whatever. She could go without.
The water, when she turned it on, was lukewarm at best, not much warmer than the ocean water she'd just swum through, but it was fresh, or as fresh as it got in a submarine.
Ninety seconds. That's all she was supposed to use.
She wet herself quickly, turned off the water, and reached for the soap, but her hand found the shampoo dispenser first, and temptation won. Her hair reeked of seawater and fear-sweat, and the thought of going even another hour with that smell clinging to her was unbearable.
She squeezed out a small amount and worked it through her hair as fast as she could.
The shampoo was clearly the cheapest industrial grade available, and the lather was pathetic, but it was something.
Guilt gnawed at her as she worked. Others were waiting.
They all needed showers. She was being selfish, frivolously wasting precious water and time.
The water in the other stall shut off, and she heard movement. Whoever was in there was getting out. Beulah, she thought, recognizing the toes visible below the curtain of her stall.
Should she say something? Acknowledge they were both here, both processing their new and strange reality?
She had no energy for conversation or the emotional labor of connecting with another person. She just wanted to be clean, to be dry, and to be horizontal on something that wasn't moving.
She turned the water back on, rinsing as quickly as she could. The soap and shampoo swirled away, taking the worst of the salt with them. Not enough time to feel truly clean, but she felt better.
The clothes Esag had given her were too big, but not terribly so.
The crewman who had donated them wasn't a large guy.
She rolled the pants at the ankles and made a knot in the t-shirt that otherwise hung to her mid-thigh.
Both items were dry and soft and smelled like industrial detergent instead of the ocean. She'd take it.
The crewman hadn't supplied underwear, but even if he had, she wouldn't have worn it.
Tula gathered her wet things, unsure what to do with them. She could return the wetsuit, but she needed the clothing she'd worn underneath. She had nothing else to wear except what was on her body right now.
When she emerged from the shower room, Esag was gone, and Tony stood in his place, without his wetsuit, and with his wet clothing clasped in his hand.
The only thing he had left on his body was a pair of boxer shorts.
Modesty had never been his thing.
"Tula." He pulled her into his arms before she could react, crushing her against his chest. "Thank God. I didn't see you get in. I was so worried."
"I'm fine." She let him hold her because pushing him away would require energy she didn't have, and because, despite knowing she needed to end this, and despite the emotional distance she'd already created, his familiar warmth was comforting.
"If you are waiting for the shower, you should get in. Others are waiting."
"Right." He pulled back and studied her face. "You look exhausted."
"I am exhausted."
"After I shower, we can—"
"I'm going to sleep." She softened the rejection with a hand on his arm. "We'll talk later. When my brain's working again."
Tony nodded and ducked into the shower room. The moment the door closed, Esag reappeared, as if he'd been waiting just out of sight.
He looked at her with admiration as if she had changed into an evening gown and styled her hair, which was absurd. She hadn't even combed it after the shower because she didn't have a comb, and it was a tangled mess.
Esag shook himself as if to break the spell and held out a plastic bag. "For your wet things."
"Oh. Thanks." She handed him the wetsuit and put her clothing inside the bag.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Or do you just want to sleep?" He sounded friendly, like someone who was there to help, and not like the guy who had destroyed her family. "I can show you where the bunks are, or I can take you to the mess hall first."
Her stomach chose that moment to growl, loud enough that they both heard it. She pressed a hand to her belly, remembering suddenly that she wasn't just feeding herself anymore.
"I should eat," she said. "I have..." She paused, unsure why she was about to tell Esag about her baby. "I'm pregnant. I need to eat."
"I know," he said.
She wondered whether he'd been told or if he had seen her rounded belly in the dreams they had shared for some strange reason.
Except, she wasn't sure she'd actually interacted with him or if they had just been strange dreams.
"The mess hall's this way." He pointed.
She'd imagined a tiny room, something a little larger than the showers, but when they reached the mess hall, she was surprised to see that it was fairly large for a submarine, with several tables bolted to the floor and bench seating on either side of them.
"Sit," Esag said. "The crew doesn't have a cook, but there are plenty of frozen meals, MREs, that sort of thing." He motioned to the small kitchen area.
She sat, her body sagging. The bench was hard, uncomfortable, but it wasn't moving, and it didn't require her to do anything.