Page 9 of Her Golden Heart

Kneeling at her side I gently part her lips and tip the water into her mouth. It pools and bubbles then she swallows and coughs. This is good. She is alive. I let her body work with the water I had given it before repeating the process.

While she is taking down the second drink I carefully unwrap the leather. Laying in the folds are three dim strands of epis. Its soft glow mostly gone but there is still some power left in this, the lifeblood of Tajss.

It is known that epis helps the humans survive the heat. We’ve been working to harvest more but it is difficult to do and we do not have the machinery that once would have made bulk harvesting possible. And there is always danger when harvesting epis. The zemlja often return through their old tunnels. As if that wasn’t enough to worry about the tunnels are also used by other creatures, all predators, as shelter.

I tear a small piece of the plant off then roll it between two of my fingers until it is a tight, small ball. Her breathing is shallow and her skin remains a bright shade of red that almost matches the sands she’s lying on. Frowning I look up at the suns bearing down from on high. She needs shelter. That will be my next task.

Reaching for her face I pause. I am about to touch her in a way that could be considered intimate and it gives me pause, but that is silly. She is in danger and no constructs of the human society will stand between me and taking care of her. Overcoming my hesitation I touch her lower jaw. Her skin is so incredibly soft that once more I pause, not out of fear, but surprise.

Her skin is as soft as anything I have ever felt and touching her face, which is so wise and beautiful, causes my heart to speed up. Stupid because now is not the time for such distractions. I gently squeeze until her lips part then I tuck the ball of epis between her cheek and gum. It will absorb into her body from there. I give her one more sip of water and then return to the guster which have wandered a short ways off.

I pull out the stakes I had packed for this purpose first. They are each a long length of stone, about the same as one of my arms. Long enough to push through the loose sand to more solid ground. I set those close to Margaret then tie the guster down to keep them from wandering further away.

Once that is handled I unpack the tent. It has several parts and getting it all laid out and ready to put up takes longer than I’d like. I also stop and give Margaret water at regular intervals, carefully pouring some across her face too. She seems to be cooling. The bright red tone of her skin has faded some to a softer red at least and her skin feels less fiery. I take this as a good sign.

When I have the tent set up at last, I get the sleeping blankets inside then gently lift her and carry her inside in a crouch. The tent is at least a little cooler than being in the direct sunlight. I lay her on the blankets and then sit at her side, wondering what else I can do to help her.

I touch her cheeks and forehead to see how her temperature is but she remains too hot. I wish we had more water, but here on the main continent water is as scarce as it is plentiful in the southern jungle.

I am, of course, cool. My body’s nature is designed for Tajss and this heat. Which gives me an idea. Bold, but it would work. I hope that she will be understanding of my intentions when she awakes, but again I will not let any human considerations of propriety keep me from doing what I must to protect her.

Decision made I shift around and undo my pants.

6

MARGARET

I’m having the strangest dream. I know it’s a dream because Hank is walking at my side. We’re on some kind of a path. It’s all kind of vague. The edges of my vision are a blur but we’ve been walking together for a while and it feels as if I’m reliving our life together.

Moments become clear. Important moments and little ones that to anyone else might have meant nothing, but to me they were as precious as diamonds. The fights we had, which were plenty, are blurry passages as we walk but he points to each moment and says something, though I can’t hear the words.

It doesn’t matter because I know Hank. I know what he would say at each thing and though I can’t hear him, I do know his voice. His thoughts. He was a good man. A man I loved. Ours wasn’t a magical love, it was one built by time and work from mutual respect and care.

As we approach what I know is the end my heart begins to palpitate. I don’t want to go through this again. I’m scared and I cannot deny it. Until the ship crashed it was the darkest, worst experience of my entire life. I was faced with the unknown. Who was I without him? How was I supposed to do all the things we did together alone? Caring for the kids, grandkids, handling all the little aspects of life that either he had done or we had done together.

I was alone. It didn’t matter that the kids and grandkids, only two of them and tiny as they were at that time, gathered close. Even though I was surrounded by others I felt as if there was nothing but emptiness. The days in the wake of his passing were black blurs of going through motions without really being engaged.

“Marg,” Hank says, stopping at my side. “You did great. I’m sorry, but you’re fine and you’re going to be fine.”

Tears run down my face as he speaks for the first time that I actually hear him. He has both my hands in his, squeezing them tight. There is a pressure against my back. It’s not an unpleasant pressure. Cool, somehow soothing, just something I become aware of.

“Hank,” I sob. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know dear,” he says. “And I appreciate it, but you know I never wanted you to be alone. Why would I do that to you? I’ve moved on in the universe. You must too. Open your heart Marg…”

His voice echoes and stretches as the world does the same. My arms are getting longer and longer as I try to hold onto his hands but he’s moving away and as he does it’s all fading. The world shimmers and something is pulling on me. The coolness on my back increases and suddenly it’s all I’m aware of.

Everything is black. I’m sure my eyes are open but I can’t see. Panic surges but I focus on breathing and push that down. I blink several times, hoping to see clearly. There is some light, but it’s very dim. Okay, I’m not blind. Good.

Then I hear a soft rumbling sound. Is that… no… could it be…. snoring?

Hank snored. I must still be in the dream. Who would be snoring. Wait. Am I? Where are my clothes?

And is that… it is. There’s an arm over my waist. An arm. Then… it must be….

Mohlad stirs, mumbles something, then spoons against me tighter. In that instant, I’m very, very aware that he and I are both very, well, uhm, naked.

7

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