ORDER OF SEVEN by Beth Teliho Page A

English. Hahn helped me translate. He knows a lot about ancient tribes from all around the world. We ended up figuring out it’s a derivative of an Incan language from Peru. It means, ‘She walks shining under the moon’.”
    I peer at the script and can make out the first two words. The blood drains from my face. “What did they say in your vision?”
    His green eyes lock with mine. “Dakahn manyan—”
    “—mah pih tah nili hasi,” I finish.
    His eyes widen.
    Without even thinking about the consequences, I leap up and run to him. As I get closer the air pressure eases and the pull mounts, then releases with a smash as our bodies meet. My hands go to his chest, touching the letters with disbelief, tears stinging my eyes.
    “How did you know that?” he demands, squeezing my shoulders.
    “This is me. This is my name.” I can’t even feel the floor under my feet. My fingers sweep over the letters to make sure they’re real. “You couldn’t have known. Has Nodin seen this?”
    “No. I don’t think he has.” He pauses. “What do you mean it’s your name?”
    I wipe my damp eyes with the back of my hand. “I have one memory from before we were adopted. It’s stuck with me in a reoccurring dream. I’m in some sort of tribal ceremony with masked people and drummers. One man in particular is the speaker. He stands and says these words to me and everyone goes nuts, cheering and reaching to touch me. I know it’s a title or name he’s given me. My name.”
    He pulls me tight against him. “This is unbelievable.”
    I tremble and lay my head against him. The formerly throttling vibrations are now wrapped around us like a warm blanket. Since we’ve come in contact, I’m arcing with him. To say it’s an odd sensation is an understatement.
    Random thoughts intrude mine. Snapshots, sometimes seeing myself from his perspective. Knowing his feelings is the strangest part. It’s like a suggestion from somewhere I can’t pinpoint. His entire mind is vulnerable, blurring with my own reality, like two video reels meshing.
    It dawns on me I’m pressed against his bare chest and I’ve only known him three hours. I’m not entirely comfortable, yet it doesn’t feel as awkward as it should. I feel close to him, though I’m intimidated. Not just by the energy, but by him. I’ve only been with sloppy-handed boys. This is different. Baron is a man.
    In my mind, I watch the vision he told me about. I’m standing under a full moon, breeze blowing my hair. It’s you. You’re finally here, he thinks. I sense his affection for me. I peer into the darkest recesses of his mind and know I can trust him.
    The formerly impenetrable wall I’ve spent years building around myself begins to weaken. Oh. Shit.
    “The energy, it’s less painful.” His voice vibrates against my cheek. “Do you notice that?”
    “I do,” I say. “It’s going through us now, rather than at us.”
    “You okay now?” he says. His hands fall from my shoulders to my hips.
    My stomach clenches at his touch. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I start to go back to the chair when he takes my hand and pulls me with him to the couch.
    I’m still processing the magnitude of what we just discovered, my mind whirling like the spin cycle of a wash machine. Baron releases my hand to retrieve his shirt and put it back on, and when he does the energy thrashes again. We relax against the cushions, my hand folded back in his, when something dawns on me.
    “Hey, you said the language is Incan?”
    “That’s right.” His free hand subconsciously touches the tattoo, now concealed again by his shirt.
    “Nodin and I always assumed it was Afrikaans or some other African language—no wonder we couldn’t get anywhere with it. What else do you know about the people who speak it?”
    “Unfortunately, I don’t remember a lot. It’s been a few years.” He looks thoughtful, searching his memory. “I know they lived in the mountains of Peru a long time ago. They were