Ra­jhir bowed. “I will be as kind as the sub­ject al­lows.” He turned back to Nar­pok as Wag­nox ex­changed a glance with Pwal­dur and ner­vously re­gained his seat. “You were not in­jured phys­i­cally in the ac­ci­dent, Matara Nar­pok?”

  “I was kept safe in the ship’s one life­pod, which my mother jet­ti­soned just be­fore the crash.”

  Ra­jhir picked up his com­puter and stud­ied what was on the mon­i­tor. “Your pod landed near where the ship crashed, which was ap­prox­i­mately half a mile from an in­hab­ited vil­lage on Joshada.”

  “That’s my un­der­stand­ing. I have no mem­ory of any­thing be­yond find­ing the bod­ies of my dead fam­ily.” Grief ap­peared briefly on Nar­pok’s face to be chased away once more by that chill­ing blank­ness.

  Ra­jhir ad­dressed the coun­cil. “Ac­cord­ing to her physi­cian’s re­port, the shock left Matara Nar­pok cata­tonic. Her mind de­serted her. De­spite be­ing un­harmed phys­i­cally, she was in­ca­pable of walk­ing the short dis­tance to that town for help.” He looked sym­pa­thet­i­cally at the Kalquo­rian fe­male. “My apolo­gies once again, Matara Nar­pok. I have no fur­ther ques­tions for you.”

  He walked over to stand be­fore Jes­sica. She swal­lowed hard. My turn. Her stom­ach rolled over.

  “Matara Jes­sica, you have heard Matara Nar­pok’s tes­ti­mony re­gard­ing her in­abil­ity to care for her­self or oth­ers in the face of calamity. I be­lieve that puts you on a level play­ing field where self-preser­va­tion and the abil­ity to help oth­ers are con­cerned. Do you agree?”

  It would be so easy to say yes and let it go, Jes­sica thought. She wanted to, more than any­thing. Yet she still hadn’t won the de­bate. She knew in her heart the vote still be­longed to Nar­pok.

  Her clan’s strat­egy to ab­di­cate the throne was a good one, but Jes­sica knew get­ting it to work would be yet an­other up­hill bat­tle. If she could be brave, vic­tory might be theirs this very day. How­ever, it meant do­ing as Nar­pok had. Jes­sica had to face her own demons and ex­pose the ter­ror that re­fused to re­lease its claim on her.

  If I can’t do it for my­self, then I must do it for my clan and our un­born child. I have to re­live the night­mare.

  Jes­sica looked up at the princes. She saw the hope in their eyes. She would not let them down. She had sur­vived the ac­tual hor­ror; surely she could face the telling of it.

  Squar­ing her shoul­ders, she ad­dressed the wait­ing mem­bers of the coun­cil and all of Kalquor. “Nar­pok and I are not on the same level. Emo­tion­ally, I am far bet­ter pre­pared for life-threat­en­ing emer­gen­cies.”

  That prompted a cas­cade of shocked whis­pers in the room. Ra­jhir’s eyes flashed a warn­ing at her. She gave him a small shake of her head and the mer­est sug­ges­tion of a smile. Trust me.

  “You will, of course, have to ex­plain this con­fi­dence of yours,” he said.

  “I faced such a sit­u­a­tion when I was very young. I was only five years old when it hap­pened.” Her voice caught, and Jes­sica shud­dered. She shut her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve fought so hard to not re­mem­ber…”

  A sob es­caped her throat, and si­lence de­scended over the cham­ber. Ex­pectancy set­tled over her like a thick, smoth­er­ing blan­ket. Jes­sica could feel the eyes of the crowd in the gallery, on the coun­cil steps, on the dais watch­ing her strug­gle for con­trol. The weight of their stares was suf­fo­cat­ing.

  An arm slipped around her shoul­ders, and Jes­sica opened her eyes to see Govi look­ing down on her. Be­hind him, Jes­sica saw her clan lean for­ward in their seats, con­cern sharp­en­ing their ex­pres­sions.

  Govi whis­pered, “You don’t have to do this.”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes I do.” See­ing his lips tighten, she said, “Please Govi. It’s now or never.”

  The Imdiko psy­chol­o­gist shot an un­happy look at Ra­jhir, who leaned for­ward to whis­per, “Nar­pok hasn’t lost this yet. What­ever tes­ti­mony Jes­sica can man­age, we need.”

  Govi stared down at her, and his grip on her shoul­ders tight­ened. “All right. Pro­ceed.”

  He stepped away, re­join­ing Flen­cik near the dais. He nod­ded to Cla­jak’s clan and whis­pered with the gi­ant Imdiko briefly.

  At Flen­cik’s nod, Ra­jhir prompted Jes­sica. “Please tell us your story.”

  “There was a—” she fal­tered. “I don’t know the word in Kalquo­rian.” In Eng­lish she said, “Tor­nado?”

  Ra­jhir glanced up at the trans­la­tion vid. “Ah, a braht,” he said. “Our weather con­trols have pre­vented such an oc­cur­rence in the last fifty years.”

  Jes­sica swal­lowed. A shud­der ran the length of her body. No mat­ter what it was called, it meant the same. Death. De­struc­tion. Im­pen­e­tra­ble dark­ness and pain. Im­mea­sur­able loss.

  Warmth en­veloped her white-knuck­led hand grip­ping the edge of the podium. Jes­sica blinked to see Ra­jhir’s hand cov­er­ing hers. She looked up into his kind pur­ple-blue eyes. “What hap­pened, Jes­sica?” he asked qui­etly.

  She took a deep breath. The room was silent, yet be­hind the hush she heard the re­mem­bered voice of the mon­ster, how it screamed like a jet en­gine and filled her ears un­til they popped from the pres­sure.

  “My par­ents had gone to a friend’s fu­neral, leav­ing my older sis­ter and me with a babysit­ter. A big storm blew up out of nowhere—”

  * * * *

  Five-year-old Jes­sica stood in the door­way be­tween the den and the screened-in back porch, watch­ing the storm. Sud­den af­ter­noon storms on sum­mer af­ter­noons were the rule in south Flor­ida, but this one was wilder than most. Roil­ing dark gray clouds blot­ted out the skies, and the wind whipped the ra­zor-sharp pal­met­tos with­out mercy. Rain drummed against the roof of the McIn­ness cot­tage so loud she had to cover her ears. Light­ning flashed to the ac­com­pa­ni­ment of deaf­en­ing cracks of thun­der.

  A chill breeze re­lieved what had been a broil­ing hot day. Jes­sica shiv­ered in her thin short-sleeved top and calf-length skirt. It seemed funny that this morn­ing’s sti­fling out­fit now left her shiv­er­ing.

  The sea salt scent of the beach, two blocks away, was car­ried by the gale. The lit­tle girl sniffed deeply. She loved the beach. She won­dered what it looked like in the storm.

  Be­hind her the six­teen-year-old babysit­ter Nicole said, “Jes­sica, come away from there. It’s dan­ger­ous to be near win­dows when there’s light­ning.”

  Jes­sica loved Nicole. Not as much as she loved Mommy, Daddy, and Lind­sey, but she loved her a bunch just the same. Still, the storm held too much fas­ci­na­tion to turn away from. “I’m not near the win­dows.” She wasn’t. Not re­ally.

  “Come into the den. We’re go­ing to play Old Maid.”

  Nicole knew all the good games, the ones Jes­sica had a chance of win­ning against her sis­ter Lind­sey, who was three years older.

  Lind­sey piped up. “Can we have pop­corn?”

  “Sure. We’d bet­ter make it now though, be­fore the storm knocks the power out.”

  “Do you think it will?” Her sis­ter’s voice rose in ex­cite­ment.

  “It could. This isn’t West Palm Beach with un­der­ground power con­duits, you know.” A mo­men­tary lull in the down­pour al­lowed Jes­sica to hear Nicole grum­ble, “Stupid elec­tric­ity. Talk about the Dark Ages.”

  “I’ll go find the flash­lights!”

  “Come in the kitchen with me, Jes­sica.” Nicole’s voice faded as she left the room.

  Jes­sica re­mained rooted to her spot, watch­ing the storm rage. In the dis­tance she heard what sounded like a jet en­gine slowly ap­proach­ing. She won­dered what it must be like to fly a plane in the mid­dle of such a storm. She bet the pi­lot was scared. She sure would be. It was bet­ter to be safe in her house.

  The sound grew louder, slowly over­com­ing the pound­ing of the rain. Jes­sica ven­tured out a lit­tle ways onto the porch. She wanted to see if she could spot the plane as it passed over­head. She wouldn’t get too close to the screened win­dows that let the rain whip into the room, build­ing pud­dles on the tiled floor. She promised her­self she’d go just near enough to spot the plane if it came close.

  The sheets of rain pour­ing down made it dif­fi­cult to see any de­tails of the dark­ened sky. Jes­sica could hear the jet en­gine com­ing closer, its roar grow­ing throat­ier and fill­ing her ears with pres­sure. She peered up into the shift­ing mass of gray over­head.

  Move­ment. Not like a fly­ing plane though. She squinted, as if it would help her see through the rain bet­ter. What was that com­ing to­wards the house?

  A flash of light­ning burst through the heav­ens, il­lu­mi­nat­ing ev­ery­thing for an in­stant. For a mo­ment all was misty-pale ex­cept the swirling mass of gray sweep­ing to­wards her. Jes­sica’s jaw dropped. She knew what it was, had seen it in her fa­vorite movie dozens of times. She wanted to yell to her sis­ter and Nicole, but she couldn’t re­mem­ber what it was called.

  “There’s some­thing com­ing!” she yelled, un­able to take her eyes off the amaz­ing sight. How ex­cit­ing this was! If only she could think of its name.

  Nicole called to her from the den. “Jes­sica, come in here now. I told you it’s dan­ger­ous.”

  Jes­sica watched the wall of swirling black sweep closer still, the sound so loud it hurt her ears. “It’s the Wiz­ard of Oz thing. Look!” she shouted.

  Nicole came out onto the porch. “What are you talk­ing about? What is that noise?” She had to yell to be heard.

  “You can see it when there’s light­ning.” Sud­denly the word Jes­sica had been search­ing for came. “It’s a twister, just like what took Dorothy to Oz.”

  She felt proud she had re­mem­bered be­fore Nicole iden­ti­fied it for her. At that mo­ment light­ning blazed again, show­ing the cy­clone in all its glory. The swirling mass loomed over them, its tail not more than two blocks away. Air sucked from Jes­sica’s lungs.

  Nicole screamed and snatched the lit­tle girl into her arms. “Oh dear God, save us!” Which was funny for her to say since Nicole didn’t be­lieve in God. She went to the Bud­dha meet­ings with her par­ents, like all of Mommy and Daddy’s friends. She was part of their spe­cial se­cret club that no­body could talk about.

  Crush­ing Jes­sica to her chest Nicole bolted into the den, grab­bing the gold and green knit­ted afghan from the sofa as she ran to­wards the hall. Lind­sey was just com­ing into the room with the flash­light in her hand. Jes­sica’s sis­ter stared to see the babysit­ter bar­rel­ing to­wards her, a now fright­ened Jes­sica bounc­ing in her grip.

  “Get in the bath­room and lay down in the tub!” Nicole screamed. Her eyes round, Lind­sey turned and ran down the hall to the bath­room the girls shared. The lights flick­ered and went off. The beam of Lind­sey’s bob­bing flash­light was their only guide.

  The roar of the jet en­gine was ev­ery­where now, the walls of the cot­tage creak­ing omi­nously. Jes­sica sobbed in fear as Nicole hit the bath­room a mo­ment be­hind her big sis­ter. The plane must be crash­ing on their house, Jes­sica thought. That was the only rea­son she could think Nicole was scream­ing in fear. The plane was go­ing to land right on top of them. Ter­ror eclipsed the hope the twister would take her to Oz.

  Nicole tossed Jes­sica into the tub next to her ter­ri­fied sis­ter. Lind­sey im­me­di­ately wrapped her arms around her, the flash­light il­lu­mi­nat­ing the sur­round­ing lime-green tiles.

  “Lie down! Stay un­der the afghan,” Nicole screamed over the din as she tossed the soft cover over them. Sob­bing, the girls obeyed. The hard sur­face be­neath Jes­sica was cold, and Nicole climb­ing in to crouch over them was wel­comed warmth.

  “Hold on!”

  Nicole’s scream was a whis­per in the shriek­ing air. The world quaked and shook all around Jes­sica, and the wind bel­lowed with a deaf­en­ing voice. The dull il­lu­mi­na­tion from the flash­light showed her Lind­sey’s face; her sis­ter’s mouth was stretched wide in an un­heard scream. Jes­sica’s strain­ing throat ached with her own ter­ri­fied cry, but she couldn’t hear her­self over the mael­strom.

  The bath­tub they cow­ered in bucked. The air sucked from Jes­sica’s lungs and her ears popped painfully. Nicole’s weight on top of her shifted, and she felt her babysit­ter scrab­ble des­per­ately against them for an in­stant be­fore lift­ing away. Then the afghan whipped off to dis­ap­pear into the swirling dark­ness.

  Jes­sica and Lind­sey clutched at each other as their thin bod­ies be­came weight­less and drifted up­ward. Jes­sica squeezed her eyes closed and fought to draw breath into her starved chest. There was no room for co­her­ent thought in the maw of the scream­ing, an­gry beast that ripped her world apart.

  Lind­sey was pulled away from her, but in her air-starved agony, Jes­sica barely no­ticed. A mon­ster – it could only be a mon­ster – bit into the left side of her chest, its fang pierc­ing all the way through to her back. The pain was dull in her oxy­gen-de­prived state.

  The air pres­sure sud­denly changed, and her de­pleted lungs heaved. Jes­sica had no time to en­joy the breath. Grav­ity yanked her down to crash face first into the bath­tub, land­ing partly on Lind­sey. Then the rest of the world caved in on them. Jes­sica de­scended into a darker realm bless­edly free of roar­ing winds.

  She awoke min­utes later to the sound of pat­ter­ing rain. Pain burst through her chest in sick­en­ing waves. Large fin­gers poked her back and legs, pin­ning her down. She loosed a wail, and the agony wors­ened. Nau­sea churned in her belly, and she made her­self go quiet, though tears dripped down her nose.

  Jes­sica dared to open her eyes and was sur­prised she could see. The sur­round­ing light was gray, show­ing her the chipped sur­face of the bath­tub cradling her.

  She slowly twisted her head around to see what kind of mon­ster poked her with its sharp claws. She blinked to see no ter­ri­ble scaly crea­ture crouched over her, lick­ing its dag­ger teeth in an­tic­i­pa­tion of eat­ing her up.

  Across the edges of the tub, wooden beams tented over­head. They sup­ported pieces of sheetrock that shielded Jes­sica from the worst of the now softly fall­ing rain. Splin­tered bits of wood stabbed down­ward through the struc­ture, harm­lessly pok­ing Jes­sica.

  A whim­per got her at­ten­tion, and she turned her head to the other side. Lind­sey lay next to her, her body a crum­pled heap of spindly arms and legs. Her eyes were closed in a mask of blood. Jes­sica shifted and cried out as fresh pain ex­ploded in her chest and back.

  She looked down and nearly fainted to see a thick length of wood emerg­ing from her chest. Blood framed the splin­tered shaft, spread­ing across the child’s yel­low blouse in a near-per­fect cir­cle. She grasped the stake with both hands. Gib­ber­ing with panic, she pulled.

  It was a mis­take. The pain was in­cred­i­ble, and Jes­sica barely had time to turn away from Lind­sey to avoid vom­it­ing on her.

  Her stom­ach heaved for what felt like hours, and pain bloomed anew each time her guts clenched. Her over­wrought body fi­nally, mer­ci­fully suc­cumbed to un­con­scious­ness.

  When Jes­sica woke again, the smell of sick sur­rounded her. How­ever, the pain in her chest and back had mirac­u­lously ebbed to a dull ache. Fresh wet warmth made the front of her shirt stick to her skin. She care­fully raised her­self into a crouch and looked at the vomit cov­er­ing the ruby stain of spread­ing blood. Be­tween the hole and mess, the blouse was ru­ined, she thought.

  Jes­sica looked at Lind­sey. Blood was all over her sis­ter’s face, run­ning into her chest­nut hair to bunch it into thick clumps. Her eyes re­mained closed. Lind­sey had to wake up. She had to take care of Jes­sica. That’s what big sis­ters did.

  Jes­sica grabbed Lind­sey’s shoul­der to shake her gen­tly. “Lind­sey, wake up. I’m hurt, Lind­sey. Help me.”

  Her sis­ter didn’t re­spond. Jes­sica knew Lind­sey was bleed­ing too much and some­thing was re­ally wrong to make her sleep so deeply, but Lind­sey was the old­est. She was the one Mommy, Daddy, and Nicole al­ways told, “Keep an eye on your lit­tle sis­ter, Lind­sey. You’re the big sis­ter, so you’ve got to look out for her.”

  It didn’t look like Lind­sey could look out for any­one. Some­one else would have to help Jes­sica.

  “Nicole?” Jes­sica drew her­self up to a sit­ting po­si­tion, scrap­ing free of the jagged shards of wood and care­ful to not use her left arm. De­spite shock dulling the worst of the agony, ev­ery move­ment of her left arm sent a fresh bolt through her chest. Even yelling made the pain worse. Yet she had to let the babysit­ter know where they were. “Nicole, we’re hurt! Help us!”

  There was no an­swer. Jes­sica craned her neck up­ward, will­ing the teenager to ap­pear over­head where the bright­en­ing sky showed the storm was pass­ing. She only saw clouds scud­ding be­yond the splin­tered con­fines of the de­stroyed bath­room.

  Jes­sica al­most had room to stand. She climbed to her feet, push­ing aside a thick beam with dif­fi­culty. Only us­ing one arm made things hard. Fi­nally it shifted, and she rose on trem­bling legs. Her head hung down, and she gasped from the ex­er­tion.

  When she caught her breath again, she raised her face to the gray sky. The sur­face of the world out­side was just above her head. “Help! Nicole, where are you? Nicole!”

  When her babysit­ter still didn’t an­swer, Jes­sica be­gan to cry in earnest. Was no one go­ing to save her and Lind­sey? Where was Nicole? Where were Mommy and Daddy? Had the plane crashed into them too?

  “Don’t be silly. The plane couldn’t crash here and at the church,” she hic­cupped, im­i­tat­ing the tone Lind­sey used when she was ex­as­per­ated with Jes­sica. Jes­sica hated it when Lind­sey acted su­pe­rior, but hear­ing any­thing of her big sis­ter, even com­ing from her own mouth, helped her feel bet­ter right now.