- •Stephenie Meyer The Host
- •I was surprised at his accusation, at his tone. This discussion was almost like… an argument. Something my host was familiar with but that I’d never experienced.
- •I did not open my eyes. I didn’t want to be distracted. My mind gave me the words I needed, and the tone that would convey what I couldn’t say without using many words.
- •I decided to open my eyes. I felt the need to double-check the Healer’s promises and make sure the rest of me worked.
- •It took me a moment before I could speak. Even then, my voice was just a breath. “What happened to them?”
- •I nodded in understanding. We’d had a name for it on my other worlds. On no world was it smiled upon. So I quit quizzing the Seeker and gave her what I could.
- •I tried.
- •I stared down at my hands and said nothing.
- •I thought her question through carefully. “I don’t think so. Not so I’ve noticed.”
- •I coughed twice and shook my head. I was sure it was over; my stomach was empty.
- •I took a deep breath and resisted the urge to shake her again. She was a full head shorter than I was. It was a fight I would win.
- •I faced the Seeker now, curious to judge the impact of my words. She was impassive, staring at the white nothingness of the bare wall across the room.
- •I jerked away from her, my face flushing.
- •I shrug, and my stomach flutters. “It’s beautiful here.”
- •I let the engine idle as I tried to think of options besides sleeping in the car, surrounded by the black emptiness of the desert night. Melanie waited patiently, knowing I would find none.
- •I was able to contain my anxiety as I walked hesitantly to the vacant door frame; we must be just as alone here as we had been all day and all yesterday.
- •I cringed, shoving the paper away from me, back into the dark cupboard.
- •I pulled the stiff door back and found the mother lode.
- •I’d turned my back on the east to get the sun off my face for a moment.
- •I laughed at her now. The sound was sucked away by the scorching wind.
- •I don’t know, I’ve never died before.
- •I tasted blood inside my cheek.
- •I shivered in the oven-hot air.
- •I looked for only one thing-where Jared was, so that I could put myself between him and his attackers.
- •I’m not ready to die right this second.
- •I was surprised that the strangely fluid babble did not respond in any way to our entrance. Perhaps they couldn’t see us yet, either.
- •I stood where he’d left me, trying to keep my eyes off Jamie’s face and failing.
- •In spite of myself, I smiled at his unwilling interest. “Far away. Another planet.”
- •Ian and the doctor both raised their hands above their heads.
- •I closed my eyes.
- •I folded my arms across my body.
- •It was quiet for a moment, just the sounds of our footsteps echoing, low and muffled, from the tunnel walls.
- •I thought about the word misfit for a moment. It might have been the truest description of me I’d ever heard. Where had I ever fit in?
- •I could feel my cheeks getting warm.
- •I was in about my fourth week as an informal teacher when life in the caves changed again.
- •I glanced at him wildly, searching for that same guilt on his face. I didn’t find it, only a defensive tightening around his vivid eyes as he stared at the newcomers.
- •I peeked through narrowed eyes as Jared whirled to assess the truth of Jeb’s claim.
- •I realized now that Jamie was just as sad as everyone else here.
- •I appraised his fierce expression-the fire in his brilliant eyes.
- •I noticed how he said when, not if. No matter what promises he’d made, he didn’t see me lasting in the long term.
- •I hated this room. In the darkness, with the odd shadows thrown by the weak glow, it seemed only more forbidding. There was a new smell-the room reeked of slow decay and stinging alcohol and bile.
- •I don’t know. This is all my fault!
- •It was a horrible day. The worst of my life on this planet, even including my first day in the caves and the last hot, dry day in the desert, hours from death.
- •It was over, and I knew it.
- •I didn’t answer. I was afraid of giving him something to use against Kyle.
- •I let him have the gun willingly. He laughed again at my expression.
- •I took a deep breath.
- •I shrugged. “a million or so.”
- •I closed my eyes, wishing my mouth had stayed closed. I felt dizzy. Was I just tired or was it my head wound?
- •I was so tired. I didn’t care that Kyle was three feet from me. I didn’t care that two of the men in the room would side with Kyle if he came around. I didn’t care about anything but sleep.
- •Ian started to stand beside me.
- •Ian stared at his brother for a moment, then sat on the ground beside me again.
- •Ian started to rise again.
- •Ian didn’t give him a chance to answer. He yanked the door out of his way-roughly but very quietly-and then slid into his room and put the door back in its place.
- •I didn’t know what I thought. About any of it.
- •I nodded. “Yes. More than strange. Impossible.”
- •I nodded at that, but he kept going, ignoring me.
- •It made a squishing sound and a thud-that was the first thing I noticed-and then the shock of the blow wore off, and I felt it, too.
- •I pulled myself up. “Perfect.” It was true. I hadn’t felt so healthy in a long time. The sharp shift from pain to ease made the sensation more powerful.
- •I laughed. “It’s amazing. If you stab yourself, I could show you… That’s a joke.”
- •I don’t think it’s the No Pain. Not for either of us.
- •I tuned them out. Once Ian and Kyle got started, they usually went on for a while. I consulted the map.
- •I tried to smile remorsefully. I could tell I sounded stiff, like the too-careful actors on the television.
- •I jumped, startled, and the little pill slipped from my fingers. It dropped to the metal floor with a faintly audible clink. I felt the blood drain from my face as though a plug had been pulled.
- •I looked back at the truck, too, a forced smile on my face. I couldn’t see who was driving. My eyes reflected the headlights, shot out faint beams of their own.
- •I shuddered.
- •I hadn’t decided if I wanted to talk to her. At least, that was what I’d told Jeb.
- •I slowed myself to a walk before I interrupted him. I didn’t want to scare him, to make him think there was an emergency.
- •I heard the double meaning in his words.
- •I considered this as we ran through the desert in the growing light of dawn-ran because, with the Seekers looking, we shouldn’t be out in the daylight.
- •It was a story I’d never told them before, for obvious reasons. It was one of my best. Lots of action. Jamie would have loved it. I sighed and began in a low voice.
- •I paused to shudder.
- •I paused to laugh quietly to myself.
- •I nodded, not convinced. “I won’t show you unless I believe that.”
- •I shook my head. “I think he sees where this is going. He must guess my plan.”
- •In answer to my earlier question to myself, no, the face was not less repugnant with a different awareness behind it. Because the awareness was not so very different, in the end.
- •Ironically enough, Ian was the one who took my side and helped hurry the raid along. He still didn’t see where this would lead.
- •I stroked her soft cheek, but there was no response, so I took her limp hand in mine again. I gazed at the blue sky through the holes in the high ceiling. My mind wandered.
- •It just wasn’t as shocking as it used to be.
- •I saw Jeb’s eyes brighten with his unquenchable curiosity.
- •I took a deep breath and walked slowly into Doc’s place. I announced my presence in a low, even voice. “Hello.”
- •I winced-I had a more recent memory.
- •I could hear Trudy talking to the Healer’s host, but I tuned out the words. Let the humans take care of their own for the moment.
- •I stared at him for a few seconds, and then my eyes grew wide. “Sunny’s gone? Already?”
- •Ian lurched to his feet.
- •I turn to look at her, and I don’t know the face, either. She’s pretty.
- •Ian was happy. This insight made my worry suddenly much lighter, easier to bear.
- •Ian squeezed my hand and leaned in to whisper through all the hair. His voice was so low that I was the only one who could hear. “I held you in my hand, Wanderer. And you were so beautiful.”
I could feel my cheeks getting warm.
“It’s a cool place,” Jamie went on. “Lots of clouds, with a bunch of different-colored layers. It’s the only planet where the souls can live outside of a host for very long. The hosts on the Origin planet are really pretty, too, with sort of wings and lots of tentacles and big silver eyes.”
Doc was leaning forward with his face in his hands. “Do they remember how the host-parasite relationship was formed? How did the colonization begin?”
Jamie looked at me, shrugging.
“We were always that way,” I answered slowly, still unwilling. “As far back as we were intelligent enough to know ourselves, at least. We were discovered by another species-the Vultures, we call them here, though more for their personalities than for their looks. They were… not kind. Then we discovered that we could bond with them just as we had with our original hosts. Once we controlled them, we made use of their technology. We took their planet first, and then followed them to the Dragon Planet and the Summer World-lovely places where the Vultures had also not been kind. We started colonizing; our hosts reproduced so much slower than we did, and their life spans were short. We began exploring farther into the universe…”
I trailed off, conscious of the many eyes on my face. Only Sharon continued to look away.
“You speak of it almost as if you were there,” Ian noted quietly. “How long ago did this happen?”
“After dinosaurs lived here but before you did. I was not there, but I remember some of what my mother’s mother’s mother remembered of it.”
“How old are you?” Ian asked, leaning toward me, his brilliant blue eyes penetrating.
“I don’t know in Earth years.”
“An estimate?” he pressed.
“Thousands of years, maybe.” I shrugged. “I lose track of the years spent in hibernation.”
Ian leaned back, stunned.
“Wow, that’s old,” Jamie breathed.
“But in a very real sense, I’m younger than you,” I murmured to him. “Not even a year old. I feel like a child all the time.”
Jamie’s lips pulled up slightly at the corners. He liked the idea of being more mature than I was.
“What’s the aging process for your kind?” Doc asked. “The natural life span?”
“We don’t have one,” I told him. “As long as we have a healthy host, we can live forever.”
A low murmur-angry? frightened? disgusted? I couldn’t tell-swirled around the edges of the cave. I saw that my answer had been unwise; I understood what these words would mean to them.
“Beautiful.” The low, furious word came from Sharon’s direction, but she hadn’t turned.
Jamie squeezed my hand, seeing again in my eyes the desire to bolt. This time I gently pulled my hand free.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I whispered, though my bread sat barely touched on the counter beside me. I hopped down and, hugging the wall, made my escape.
Jamie followed right behind me. He caught up to me in the big garden plaza and handed me the remains of my bread.
“It was real interesting, honest,” he told me. “I don’t think anyone’s too upset.”
“Jeb put Doc up to this, didn’t he?”
“You tell good stories. Once everyone knows that, they’ll want to hear them. Just like me and Jeb.”
“What if I don’t want to tell them?”
Jamie frowned. “Well, I guess then… you shouldn’t. But it seems like you don’t mind telling me stories.”
“That’s different. You like me.” I could have said, You don’t want to kill me, but the implications would have upset him.
“Once people get to know you, they’ll all like you. Ian and Doc do.”
“Ian and Doc do not like me, Jamie. They’re just morbidly curious.”
“Do so.”
“Ugh,” I groaned. We were to our room by now. I shoved the screen aside and threw myself onto the mattress. Jamie sat down less forcefully beside me and looped his arms around his knees.
“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded. “Jeb means well.”
I groaned again.
“It won’t be so bad.”
“Doc’s going to do this every time I go in the kitchen, isn’t he?”
Jamie nodded sheepishly. “Or Ian. Or Jeb.”
“Or you.”
“We all want to know.”
I sighed and rolled onto my stomach. “Does Jeb have to get his way every single time?”
Jamie thought for a moment, then nodded. “Pretty much, yeah.”
I took a big bite of bread. When I was done chewing, I said, “I think I’ll eat in here from now on.”
“Ian’s going to ask you questions tomorrow when you’re weeding the spinach. Jeb’s not making him-he wants to.”
“Well, that’s wonderful.”
“You’re pretty good with sarcasm. I thought the parasites-I mean the souls-didn’t like negative humor. Just the happy stuff.”
“They’d learn pretty quick in here, kid.”
Jamie laughed and then took my hand. “You don’t hate it here, do you? You’re not miserable, are you?”
His big chocolate-colored eyes were troubled.
I pressed his hand to my face. “I’m fine,” I told him, and at that moment, it was entirely the truth.
CHAPTER 26.Returned
Without ever actually agreeing to do it, I became the teacher Jeb wanted.
My “class” was informal. I answered questions every night after dinner. I found that as long as I was willing to do this, Ian and Doc and Jeb would leave me alone during the day so that I could concentrate on my chores. We always convened in the kitchen; I liked to help with the baking while I spoke. It gave me an excuse to pause before answering a difficult question, and somewhere to look when I didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. In my head, it seemed fitting; my words were sometimes upsetting, but my actions were always for their good.
I didn’t want to admit that Jamie was right. Obviously, people didn’t like me. They couldn’t; I wasn’t one of them. Jamie liked me, but that was just some strange chemical reaction that was far from rational. Jeb liked me, but Jeb was crazy. The rest of them didn’t have either excuse.
No, they didn’t like me. But things changed when I started talking.
The first time I noticed it was the morning after I answered Doc’s questions at dinner; I was in the black bathing room, washing clothes with Trudy, Lily, and Jamie.
“Could you hand me the soap, please, Wanda?” Trudy asked from my left.
An electric current ran through my body at the sound of my name spoken by a female voice. Numbly, I passed her the soap and then rinsed the sting off my hand.
“Thank you,” she added.
“You’re welcome,” I murmured. My voice cracked on the last syllable.
I passed Lily in the hall a day later on my way to find Jamie before dinner.
“Wanda,” she said, nodding.
“Lily,” I answered, my throat dry.
Soon it wasn’t just Doc and Ian who asked questions at night. It surprised me who the most vocal were: exhausted Walter, his face a worrisome shade of gray, was endlessly interested in the Bats of the Singing World. Heath, usually silent, letting Trudy and Geoffrey talk for him, was outspoken during these evenings. He had some fascination with Fire World, and though it was one of my least favorite stories to tell, he peppered me with questions until he’d heard every detail I knew. Lily was concerned with the mechanics of things-she wanted to know about the ships that carried us from planet to planet, their pilots, their fuel. It was to Lily that I explained the cryotanks-something they had all seen but few understood the purpose of. Shy Wes, usually sitting close to Lily, asked not about other planets but about this one. How did it work? No money, no recompense for work-why did our souls’ society not fall apart? I tried to explain that it was not so different from life in the caves. Did we not all work without money and share in the products of our labor equally?
“Yes,” he interrupted me, shaking his head. “But it’s different here-Jeb has a gun for the slackers.”
Everyone looked at Jeb, who winked, and then they all laughed.
Jeb was in attendance about every other night. He didn’t participate; he just sat thoughtfully in the back of the room, occasionally grinning.
He was right about the entertainment factor; oddly, for we all had legs, the situation reminded me of the See Weeds. There had been a special title for entertainers there, like Comforter or Healer or Seeker. I was one of the Storytellers, so the transition to a teacher here on Earth had not been such a change, profession-wise, at least. It was much the same in the kitchen after dark, with the smell of smoke and baking bread filling the room. Everyone was stuck here, as good as planted. My stories were something new, something to think about besides the usual-the same endlessly repeated sweaty chores, the same thirty-five faces, the same memories of other faces that brought the same grief with them, the same fear and the same despair that had long been familiar companions. And so the kitchen was always full for my casual lessons. Only Sharon and Maggie were conspicuously and consistently absent.