Chapter One
Kaevin stopped in his tracks as the vision overwhelmed his senses. Again. How many times had he seen this same image? And what did it mean? Always, it was a girl with long brown hair, standing under a spray of water that tumbled over her head. He could only see her head, her face, her hair. Not the surroundings. Was she standing under a waterfall? And what did her eyes look like? Her lids were always closed, but he could tell she was beautiful. Her wet lashes were thick and long. The skin on her face was flawless, glistening with droplets of water.
As it happened every time, her eyes began to open. Perhaps this time he would see them. Were they green, like his? Surely they must be. She must be his soulmate. He strained to glimpse just a hint of her eye color. But as always, when her lids lifted, the vision disappeared.
“Glare it! Every time!”
“What happened?” His best friend, Jireo, stood staring with wide eyes, his knife trembling in his white-knuckled grip.
“It’s a vision.” Should he tell his friend? So far he’d kept the phantasm to himself, hoping to discover the meaning on his own. But it must have happened six—no, seven times now. And he was no closer to deciphering the reason for the hallucination or the identity of the girl.
“What kind of vision?” Jireo asked, still brandishing his knife, his eyes darting toward the trees whose scraggly arms reached out to them from both sides of the narrow path.
“Put that away. What are you going to do with it, anyway? We’re alone.”
“I don’t know. You stopped walking and stood still for at least twenty-five breaths as if you were dead or something. I yelled at you and hit you, but you didn’t even flinch. I didn’t know what was wrong. I thought perhaps there was a shaman near.” He slid the knife back into its sheath, still glancing behind his back while drying his palms on his pants.
“Twenty-five? Are you certain? Or are you simply exaggerating? I would have said it was about five.”
“No—I’m serious. I even checked to see if you were dead, but you maintained a slow pulse. Granted, I was breathing a little faster than normal, but that’s still a long time.”
This changed everything; he had to solve this riddle. A dream incapacitating him for that long could be dangerous. “It was a vision of a girl standing under a waterfall. I’ve had the same vision seven times now.”
“What color are her eyes? Do you recognize her?”
“Her eyes are always closed, and I have no idea who she is. But I think I need to find out. I think she might be my soulmate.”
Jireo choked to cover up his laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “Kaevin? You do remember you have only seventeen years? You can’t possibly have a soulmate until you have twenty-one years. And anyway, Nordamen claims there are no more soulmates—no new soulmates have been discovered for more than a generation.”
“It could still happen. Simply because it hasn’t happened in a long time doesn’t mean it’s impossible. Besides, I’m a clan leader... at least, I’ll be a clan leader in a few years. Perhaps I might find a soulmate earlier than it’s happened in the past.” Kaevin tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“She must be pretty, or you wouldn’t be wishing for her to be your soulmate. She’s probably a long-lost cousin or something of that sort—some family member you’re destined to find. I bet she’s going to be my soulmate.” He turned his back to Kaevin, wrapping his arms tightly around himself to mime hugging someone, moaning and making kissing noises as he groped up and down his back with his own hands.
Kaevin punched his friend in the shoulder playfully, but perhaps a little harder than he should have. Somehow, he didn’t like the idea of this girl being Jireo’s soulmate.
*****
Alora fought the urge to beat on the tile wall. He’d disappeared again. Who was this boy she kept seeing? Why did he only appear when she was in the shower? He seemed so real, and she could have sworn he looked as confused as she felt. As if he was trying to figure out who she was, as well. Was he a figment of her imagination? His eyes were so unusual. They were green. Not an ordinary green, but a deep, intense jade, the color of her aunt’s emerald ring. He was really cute, although he wore his wavy brown hair a little long for her taste. Yet she could only see his head—never his clothes or the background. Today he’d tied his hair back in a ponytail. Surely the fact he’d changed his hair was significant. Wouldn’t a figment of her imagination have his hair the same every time?
She peeked around the shower curtain at the clock on the bathroom counter. It was five a.m. on a Saturday, and she had chores to do, feeding the horses and letting the chickens out. But it was winter, so she had plenty of time to spare before the rising sun tolled the beginning of her responsibilities. Living on a ranch in the backcountry of Montana meant cold winters, lots of work, and little time for leisure. It was the only life she’d ever known, and she usually enjoyed it, despite the heavy work involved.
But right now, she wanted another stab at seeing that boy. The image was always so fuzzy. If only he wouldn’t disappear when she opened her eyes. She couldn’t summon his visage at will. He didn’t come every time she closed her eyes in the shower; it seemed to happen when she was relaxing and letting the water beat down on her head and shoulders. Maybe, if she were soaking in the tub, she might see his image again.
She pushed the curtain back, put in the stopper, and turned the faucet on full blast. As an afterthought, she added bubble bath, filling the tub with fragrant suds. Soon the bath was full, with aromatic bubbles foaming on top. She eased into the soothing water, closing her eyes at the blissful caress of the heat on her tight muscles. And she waited. Anticipating. Would he come? She tried to stay alert, but the relaxing warmth seeped into her skin, lulling her to sleep.
She
awoke with a start to a tub of cold water. Disappointment formed a knot in her stomach—he’d never appeared. She released some water down the drain and added hot water, swirling it around until the temperature was comfortable again. She had five more minutes before she had to abandon her bath to start her workday. She lay back down, sinking below the water with her eyes closed, swishing the fresh water over her skin to remove the bubble bath film, her face floating above the surface to breathe.
He appeared. She held her breath, clamping her eyes shut tight, trying to hold the image as long as possible. Though the apparition was still slightly blurry, she could see all of him, head to toe. She took advantage of her increased perception, thoroughly studying his image. She almost clapped her hands when her mental measurement estimated his height at over six feet. At five feet ten, she was taller than most boys her age. But she scolded herself for examining him as if he were a potential boyfriend. He wasn’t even real. His clothes were made of supple-looking brown leather. The attire was odd—held together with ties and toggles rather than buttons or zippers. The fit was close enough that his well-formed muscles were evident. She noted his long hair was tied back, as it had been earlier. She could only see the front of him as he stood frozen, stock-still, with his mouth agape, his jewel-green eyes wide and... moving. His eyes were moving, up and down, as if he were scanning her body as she had done. And it occurred to her if she could see all of him, he might be able to see all of her.
She gasped, opening her eyes to dispense with the specter. But his image remained, now sharp and clear. And he seemed to be standing in her bathroom. She cowered under the water, attempting to hide under the few remaining bubbles. His eyes dropped down to her navel, and as they widened, he whispered, “Wendelle?”
She screamed at the top of her lungs, lunging for her towel on the floor. Hastily covering herself and preparing to leap from the tub, she looked up, only to discover the vision was gone—if indeed it had been a vision.
Huddled in her robe and slippers, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Alora waited in front of the fire, curled in a tight ball, her eyes glued to her bedroom door. Her hands were buried in the fur of a large Golden Retriever who lay contentedly across her feet, occasionally lifting his head to lick her leg.
“There’s still no one there,” said Uncle Charles as he emerged from checking her bedroom and bathroom one more time. “And there’re no footprints, either. And I checked all the doors and windows. No one’s come into the house; everything’s still locked up tight. There’s fresh snow on the ground and no shoe-prints, either.”
He slipped into an adjacent rocking chair near the fire. “And Bozeman would know if anyone was in the house. Wouldn’t you, Boze?” He leaned over to give the dog an affectionate pat on the head. “It must have been your imagination.”
“He said something. He said ‘Wendelle?’ like he thought that was my name.” Alora tucked her chin down and let her hair fall across her face as she described the encounter. “He looked at my belly button jewel when he said it. I saw him look right at it. Did I imagine it? Am I going crazy?” Her cheeks burned at the memory of his inspection, and she blinked at her threatening tears.
“He said ‘Wendelle?’ Have you heard anyone else say that name?” The tremor in his voice drew her attention. His face was white and his hands were gripping the arms of the motionless rocking chair.
“No. Should I know that name? Is it my real name or something?”
“It was your mother’s name.” The words came out in a hoarse whisper.
“Wendelle? My mother’s name was Wendelle? I thought her name was Jenny.”
He turned his head away, and she studied his profile, noticing for the first time how old and tired he appeared. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I wish your Aunt Lena were here to help me with this.” He stood up and walked to the stove, lighting the gas burner. “I’m going to need some coffee. This may take a while.”
*****