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Scene #62
“Push Tilly!” “Please Tenara save my baby! You have to!”
Tenara ignored the tears of the young woman as she pushed
aside her own anguish and focused on the task at hand; saving Tilly
Carlisle's life. “Morgan if you love your wife you will stop
sniveling over in the corner and make yourself useful.”
“Tilly?” She waited a heartbeat and repeated her name until she
had the desperate young woman's attention. “You need to focus.
Keep your eyes on me.” Time seemed to stop as she waited
until she knew her dearest friend was doing exactly as she was
told. “That's it. Now breathe with me.” Once Tilly's
breathing wasn't erratic she spoke again. “That's it, you're doing
great. Morgan, get behind Tilly and help her push. We have to
deliver this baby now.” Tenara Connors ran as if a hound of
hell were nipping at her heels. She welcomed the burn in her chest
while her lungs fought for air. It wasn't until she arrived at her
secret pond that she allowed her knees to buckle as her legs
quivered from the unheeded exertion. She began to wash her
hands. Yet no matter how hard she scrubbed she couldn't
remove the blood. She could still see it and hear Tilly's screams.
Awful blood curdling screams. Then the silence.
Deafening as it clamored around her drowning out all except her own
heartbeat. And with each beat it mocked the futility in her
attempt to save Tilly and her son. Desperation seized her and
she began tear at her blood stained dress until it lay on the
ground and she herself was immersed in the water.
Hidden behind the small waterfall, sobs wracked her body and waves
of grief assaulted her. The pain was now a tight ball in the pit
of her stomach, as the scene played over and over again in her
mind. Tilly and her baby were gone. “Tenara?”
The golden voice she both wished to come and hoped that wouldn't.
She first heard the voice within her mind when she had
decided to run away from home. At six, when no one would listen to
her, it had seemed a good idea until night came and she grew
deathly afraid of the long shadows and eerie noises. In her
stubbornness she found a hollowed out tree and climbed inside. It
was in the mist of her imaginative fears the golden voice had
reached out to her, comforted her and kept the shadows at bay. And
in some mysterious way warmed her from the inside out. Through the
years Keegan became her confident and friend, the voice of reason
and joy. “Go away,” She didn't deserve the comfort he would
offer. “Tell me what's wrong.” How could she?
“You know I can help.” She, the seer of the people had
failed…again. Her people, who had survived for thousands of years,
were in the beginning phase of extinction. She had seen it many
times but had in her own perverse folly ignored the visions and
fought a futile battle. The loss of Tilly and her small son
rested on her. Her mind went back to her father's texts and
journals she pored over in the last two months after having the
first vision. Almost twelve thousand years ago Atlantis had been
lost; a year a female oracle married the prince of the people and
saw the destruction of their beloved city. From that moment on
each prophet born had been male, until twenty-eight years ago when
she was born…a burning light of hope to her people. Another
wave of pain sliced through her as the loss of Tilly and her child
cut deeper. “Stop shutting me out…let me help you damn it.”
“I don't need you and right now I don't want you…just go
Keegan.” “Tenara?” At the sound of her father's distant
voice she waded through the water and pulled on her discarded
bloodied dress and shoved the wet strands of hair behind her ears.
It wasn't until he called her name a third time and was much closer
that she knew she could face whatever questions he threw at her.
“Over here father,” She moved through the thick foliage.
“I was worried.” “You above anyone knew I was in no danger.”
“Physically, yes. Every other way no…you should be glad I
came rather than Eli.” “Is he very angry?” Even as she asked
she knew the answer. “He's furious angel.” His large hand
stroked her raven black hair offering her comfort. “Why? Why put
yourself in such a position? How many times must I tell you? You
are not a healer.” “Because Georgette threw up her hands and
said it was in the hands of the gods. Then she began chanting in
the mist of Tilly's whimpers of agony.” “Poppy should know—”
“Poppy may be ancient but never doubt what he knows angel.”
Poppy was her grandfather and over seven thousand years old and to
say he was ancient was an understatement. His ideals and
traditions were archaic. “Both of you, for years have
ignored me, I will ‘not' ignore what I feel any longer. I am
connected to them,” Her arm stretching towards their small village,
“I experience their joy, their pain, their triumphs, their death as
if it were my own. I had no choice but to help Tilly.”
“Impossible.” “Why? Because you say so?” She lifted her
gaze until their eyes locked. “Aren't we the definition of the
impossible? The improbable? Does not the life's energy from
generations past and future course throughout my body? Are we not
all connected by an intricately woven ribbon spanning time?”
“Father, I know you and poppy say I'm the prophetess of our people
and I know I'm supposed to remain detached and unaffected, that to
know the future is to stare into the abyss and remain objective.
You know what I have seen but you do not understand what I feel.”
“Daughter—” “No…you have seen what I have, probably
before I did. Extinction. Today when I lost Tilly and her baby—”
“It seemed as if all Atlantians died.” His thumb brushed
aside tears she no longer fought to conceal.
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