The Water Queens (Keeper of the Water) (36 page)

I shake my head. “Not me. I have someone
else
, another very strong woman who once helped me try to save the water, even though she didn’t know she was doing it. And if I know her, she should be arriving in Grananda soon, if she’s not here already.”

I tell Harriet who I’m talking about and though she’s skeptical at first, she trusts my ability to choose worthy Amazons (“You
did
choose me, after all,” Harriet says.) It’s not long before we hear the distant chopping sound of an approaching helicopter. I don’t know how Harriet’s exit from Generalife went down but I had quite the crowd see me heading in this direction. It probably won’t be long before these woods are crawling with police or soldiers or
whomever
the Spanish government dispatches to hunt down Queen Isabella’s murderers. Though I’d love to stay with Harriet until I knew she and the water were safe, we agree that going separate ways will ultimately draw less attention to us.

“Any idea where
you
gonna go, Mentor?” she asks.

I hadn’t had any clue before but now the answer seems so obvious, especially without the worry of Cassie or the Queen Clan. There’s no other place I could even consider raising Janey.

“I’m bringing my daughter home, where she belongs,” I say.

Harriet smiles and nods, turning back toward the city, hopefully to take me up on my suggestion. She’s not big on good-byes but she doesn’t let me go without saying one more thing.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
FIVE YEARS LATER

“She looks very much like her sister,” the old woman says with a frown.

“Yes, she does, Mrs. Anagnostou,” I say before turning to my daughter. “Come on, Janey, it’s time to get going.”

“Just one more dance, Mom?” she asks, not slowing down as the circle of people pass by. “Please?”

I nod my head. Waiting out another long song is worth it to see her smile.

“Her voice, she sounds much like her sister as well,” the old woman adds.

“Yes, she does, Mrs. Anagnostou,” I say.

Her eyebrows turn down suspiciously. “And you say her name also Janey? Like her sister. Two girls with same name?”

“I’ve explained this to you a hundred times, Mrs. Anagnostou,” I say.

She holds a large wooden spoon in her hand. I understand why John and some of the village’s other men might’ve been worried about being whacked with the spoon but I’m certain the old woman wouldn’t dare do that to me.

“Yes, you explain many times, but I am old woman and forget much,” she says, though we both know she’s still sharp as a tack. “So you tell me again: the two girls share same name?”

“Yes, Mrs. Anagnostou,” I say, just like every other time. “It’s a tradition where I come from. The same way almost every girl in this village is named Alexandra and every boy is Niko.”

“
My
name is Alexandra,” she says defensively.

“I know, that’s my point,” I say but this time she doesn’t seem to understand. Instead, she stares at Janey, who dances along with many of the other villagers. Most are old men but they’re very friendly and enjoy having a willing child to teach their peculiar dances. The old woman beside me is the only villager who knows
something
but she’s been gossiping for so many years that nobody pays attention to her ‘crazy’ theories.

The party remains in full swing around us, even though it’s only a few hours until the night sky will begin to lighten. The people of Andros again celebrate one of their patron saints; I don’t remember which one – there are so many of them – but sometimes I wonder if they look for any excuse to blast music all night, drink barrels of wine and dance until they nearly stumble off the side of the mountain. The first time I lived on this island, I never once attended one of these celebrations; now, I haven’t missed one in nearly five years. In fact, I
try
not to be the first one to leave but old Mrs. Anagnostou seems so intent in getting a confession out of me that she’s willing to stay out late enough so her chickens will be awake before she gets home.

Upon returning to Andros five years ago, I worked hard to integrate myself with the locals, a job that had once been John’s. We’d only been away from our house in the mountains for a few weeks but I felt like my life there was starting all over again. First had been dealing with the mess caused by our break-in aboard one of the island’s ferries, which was the part of returning home that made me most nervous. I no longer carried a bow, completely changed the style of clothes I wore (nothing plain, nothing all black) and cut my hair much shorter. It wasn’t much of a disguise but with the exception of a few random people being pulled out of the ferry line to be patted down, security procedures weren’t exactly rigid. Once I reached the island, the fishermen seemed to have kept their word by not saying anything about me. The two cops I’d assaulted were hanging out by the port but I received smiles from both of them; they didn’t recognize me not dripping wet.

Stepping into our house for the first time since leaving had been strange. Everywhere I looked reminded me of John. Tears flowed freely that day but not just from me. Baby Janey also cried, but not the wailing sort of cry to tell me she was hungry or tired or needed a diaper change. I’ll never forget looking into her eyes, watching them leak tears,
sad
tears of a person much older than a few months. Only when old Mrs. Anagnostou trekked up our steep driveway and began asking questions did I finally stop crying; I haven’t shed a tear since.

The best way to circulate my story among the village had been telling Mrs. Anagnostou exactly what I wanted everyone else to know. I wove a tale about how we left Andros because I was pregnant and needed better medical care but that after I had the new baby, John took Janey and left me. The story was full of holes and the old woman immediately started pointing out those flaws but I excused myself and began tending to the gardens, which needed a lot of work after being away for several weeks. Luckily, the rest of the villagers weren’t as inquisitive as the old woman and once I began to hand out large baskets of fruits and vegetables, they opened up their arms to me.

The next five years passed not unlike the first five spent on Andros. I tried to raise Janey as I had the first time but she wasn’t quite so friendly this time; I guess her daddy was the more out-going one, though I’ve really tried to be more neighborly. She’s slower to open up to people she doesn’t know (which isn’t always a bad thing) but once she does – like now, as she dances with the villagers – I look at her and see her father in the way she smiles.

Once the song ends, the old men bow to Janey, who giggles and rushes over to me. She jumps up into my arms and hugs me tightly around the neck. She’s a lot more affectionate with me than she’d been the last time she was this age. A lot of the love and hugs she used to give John as a daddy’s girl now come in my direction. While I cherish every embrace, it makes me feel guilty thinking of him every time. I give her an extra little squeeze from her father before putting her down.

“Goodnight, Mrs. A,” Janey says to the old woman.

Hand in hand, Janey and I heard toward the mountain road that winds up to our house.

“You still owe me for the eggs!” Mrs. Anagnostou calls out.

“I’ll be by in the morning, I promise,” I call back.

The night air is warm and doesn’t get any cooler as we walk up the mountain. Even for the middle of summer, the temperatures are hotter than usual. Janey lets go of my hand long enough to wipe sweat off her forehead.

“I’m thirsty,” she says. “I want some cold water.”

I think about a small spring nearby that could give us water colder than anything Janey’s ever drank. But I shake my head at that idea.

“We’ll be home in a few minutes,” I tell her.

“Can we run?” she asks. “I promise I’ll be careful. And it’s too dark for anyone to see us.”

She wants to run and jump and use her strength whenever she can. Somehow, her powers are greater than the first time she was this age; I’m not sure I could keep up with her. I’ve explained to her countless times that she shouldn’t run as fast as she can when others are watching. She always nods in understanding but I’m not sure she has such a firm grasp yet on how different she is from everyone else.

I shake my head.

“I can’t see so well in the dark,” I say, a half-truth. “I don’t want to fall off the side of the mountain. Besides, it’s a beautiful night; let’s enjoy it.”

“Okay, Mommy,” she says, squeezing my hand.

I’ve also discovered Janey to be less argumentative than before. John was such a pushover with her that Janey used to be more accustomed to getting her way, or at least arguing to
try
to get her way. Most times her obedience makes her easy to control; still, a part of me misses the spunk she used to show. In moments of silence like these, I begin to think about John and feel my sinuses start to tingle. But Janey still loves to talk as much as ever – a quality she
did
still have from her dad – and she doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“When we get home, can I watch some of the Games on TV?” she asks.

“Do you know what time it is?” I ask. “The sun’s going to be up in a few hours and you’ve been dancing all night. Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Not really,” she says, though she can’t stifle a yawn at the moment. “I just want to see what happened today. I think there was lots of running races today.”

My instinct is to be a mother, to tell her no and insist that she get the proper sleep she needs. But thinking about the way John used to give in to her makes my heart – and thus my rules – turn a little softer.

“Okay,” I say.

“Really?” she asks, clearly surprised.

I hope I’m not opening up a can of worms but I nod anyway.

“Just for a little bit and that means no reading tonight,” I say, mentioning another of her great loves that has carried over to her second time as a young child. Her favorite book is still
Pride and Prejudice
though she always asks what happened to the front cover (which I tore off so she wouldn’t see the note she once wrote to me). “And you better not complain about getting up early to help in the garden. You heard Mrs. Anagnostou’s warning; she wants her basket of veggies so if we’re late getting it to her,
you’re
the one who’s going to deal with her wooden spoon.”

Janey giggles and shakes her head. Besides, I know she won’t complain about helping me in the morning. She’s been a big help to me ever since she learned to walk and this year she’s proven more useful than ever. I always preferred to be the hunter/gatherer type but Janey’s got a green thumb her father would be proud of.

We reach a sharp turn in the road around a particularly steep stone face of a wall. We stay to the side of the road as much as possible but there’s little room off the asphalt. A car suddenly zips around the corner – only a few feet from hitting us – and though I react right away, Janey is even quicker. She jumps straight up and yanks me off my feet. Before I even realize what the hell is happening, the car speeds beneath us, not even slowing to make sure we’re okay as we land on our feet with the greatest of ease. It’s no wonder more of these drunken villagers don’t drive over mountain ledges.

“They drive crazier than you,” Janey says.

I shouldn’t be so shocked by her physical abilities but I can’t think of anything to say for several seconds. Then, it hits me what
she
said.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat. I try not to become too excited. “I’m not a bad driver, at least not anymore.”

Once I returned home with Janey as a baby, John was no longer around to do all the driving so I had plenty of practice, plenty of motivation to get better and keep my baby safe. Now I cruise these mountain roads with no problem, which makes Janey’s words all the more interesting.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I thought I heard that somewhere.”

When she looks up toward the night sky, I don’t know if she’s more interested in looking at the bright stars or avoiding my gaze. I sense her tension but don’t push her with questions. By the time we reach our steep driveway, she’s ready to talk.

“Is it weird that I remember working in the gardens before?” she asks.

“Well, you
have
been helping since you could walk,” I say. “And you weren’t even six months old yet.”

“No, I mean
before
that, when I was older
before
I turned young again,” she says.

I nod, trying to stay calm though my pulse races. After I was given enough water to turn into a toddler, it took until my eighteenth birthday to recall
any
of my past. Janey was so young when Mary fed her special water that I doubted whether she’d
ever
remember her past life with John and me. I’ve told her some about the past though I felt no need to include the gory details about the battle with the queens. I vowed to John that Janey would know her father’s heroics in saving her but I’m still waiting until she’s a bit older to get into
those
specifics.

“So what is it you remember?” I wonder, trying to sound nonchalant.

“There was a man I used to help outside,” she says. “It was my father, wasn’t it?”

I nod, unable to talk for fear of losing my composure.

“He used to give me lots of hugs, didn’t he?”

“He did,” I say. “What else do you remember?”

“Mrs. Anagnostou,” she says. I’d meant about her father but I don’t interrupt her. “She was younger than she is now but still really old – maybe not as mean. I remember some boys teasing me at the beach but you stopped them.”

This time I shake my head. “I
would’ve
stopped them but you beat me to it.”

“And I remember the water spring near the top of our mountain, the way it turned much brighter when I touched it,” she says. “That’s why you never want me to go up there now, right?”

“Yes it is,” I say honestly.

“But most of all I remember the man from the garden,” she says simply. “I remember that he loved me a lot. Why are you crying, Mommy? Is it because you miss him?”

I smile through the tears. “It’s because I’m not the
only
one who misses him anymore.”

I wrap my arm around Janey as we head up the driveway. She wants to know what happened to John and even mentions having flashes of memory about a fire. Janey is very mature for a girl her age but I still don’t want to burden her with the sordid tale just yet. I make sure she knows how much John loved her and promise to tell her the entire story one day. I expect her to push for more details but she doesn’t say another word.