The Host (The Host, #1)

by Stephenie Meyer

This place was truly the highest and the lowest of all worlds—the most beautiful senses, the most exquisite emotions… the most malevolent desires, the darkest deeds. Perhaps it was meant to be so. Perhaps without the lows, the highs could not be reached. Were the souls the exception to that rule? Could they have the light without the darkness of this world?

Together, Melanie and I worried that we were going to go mad. We both hear a voice in our head, she pointed out. That’s never a good sign.

And, more than that, why should Jeb care if his words hurt me, or even if my back was aching and throbbing? His kindness toward me was frightening in its own way because it was incomprehensible.

“Just don’t test me. I haven’t shot anybody in a real long time, and I sort of miss the thrill of it.”

These were not the tears of a child, and that made them more profound—made it more sacred and painful that he would cry them in front of me. This was the grief of a man at the funeral for his entire family.

It seemed as though my body had been starving for this from the beginning, but I’d never understood before now what would feed the hunger. The mysterious bond of mother and child—so strong on this planet—was not a mystery to me any longer.

There was no bond greater than one that required your life for another’s.

he was my friend. Not that he wouldn’t kill me if things turned out that way, but he wouldn’t like doing it. With humans, what more could you ask of a friend?

“Strange world, isn’t it?” It was a few seconds before I could answer. “The strangest,” I finally agreed.

“They… they take samples,” I muttered. Ian grinned in understanding. “Alien abductions.”

One of his favorites was safe as houses. Teaching me to ride a bike, my mother worrying in the doorway: “Calm down, Linda, this street is safe as houses.” Convincing Jamie to sleep without his nightlight: “It’s safe as houses in here, son, not a monster for miles.”

Jared makes everything safe, everything happy. Even houses.

“Um,” Doc said in a mild voice, “medically speaking, I’m not sure that was the most helpful thing for his condition.” “But I feel better,” Jared answered, sullen.

“We’ve got a bloody queen mother alien living with us. She could blow into a million new buggers at any moment.”

“Gladdie?” Walt sobbed. “It hurts.” “Shhh. It won’t hurt much longer. Doc will make it stop.” “Gladdie?” “Yes?” “I love you, Gladdie. I’ve loved you my whole life long.” “I know, Walter. I—I love you, too. You know how I love you.”

“Walter was brave,” Jamie said. “He wasn’t afraid to die, he wasn’t afraid to live, and… he wasn’t afraid to believe. He made his own decisions, and he made good ones.” Jamie threw his handful.

“Walter was the best and brightest of what is human,”

“There was no hatred in your heart,” I whispered. “That you existed is proof that we were wrong. We had no right to take your world from you, Walter. I hope your fairytales are true. I hope you find your Gladdie.”

“But what if it were you?” Ian asked in little more than a whisper. “What if you were stuffed in a human body and let loose on this planet, only to find yourself lost among your own kind? What if you were such a good… person that you tried to save the life you’d taken, that you almost died trying to get her back to her family? What if you then found yourself surrounded by violent aliens who hated you and hurt you and tried to murder you, over and over again?” His voice faltered momentarily. “What if you just kept doing whatever you could to save and heal these people despite that? Wouldn’t you deserve a life, too? Wouldn’t you have earned that much?”

“It’s not the face, but the expressions on it. It’s not the voice, but what you say. It’s not how you look in that body, but the things you do with it. You are beautiful.”

“You did it.” His tone was full of wonder. “Wasn’t that the idea?” “Yes, but… I guess I didn’t really think we were going to make it out.” “You didn’t? Then why…? Why did you let me try?” He answered in a soft almost-whisper. “I figured it was better to die trying than to live without the kid.”

How sad. How frightening. To be filled with so much hate that you could not even rejoice in the healing of a child…. How did anyone ever come to that point?

What was it that made this human love so much more desirable to me than the love of my own kind? Was it because it was exclusive and capricious? The souls offered love and acceptance to all. Did I crave a greater challenge? This love was tricky; it had no hard-and-fast rules—it

Because these humans could hate with so much fury, was the other end of the spectrum that they could love with more heart and zeal and fire?

I didn’t know why I had yearned after it so desperately. All I knew was that, now that I had it, it was worth every ounce of risk and agony it had cost. It was better than I’d imagined. It was everything.

Can’t you see? This is the happy ending. It’s the way they all need the story to finish. I can give them hope. I can give them… not a future. Maybe not that. But as much as I can. Everything I can.

No wonder the success rate for resistant hosts was so low here on Earth. Once we learned to love our human host, what hope did we souls have? We could not exist at the expense of one we loved. Not a soul. A soul could not live that way.

My arms felt strong. They could pull me up a mountainside, they could carry a heavy load, they could plow a field. But they were also soft. They could hold a child, they could comfort a friend, they could love… but that was not for me.

I wanted to run, to have an open field that I could race across just to see how fast I could go. I wanted to do this barefoot, so I could feel the earth beneath my feet. I wanted to feel the wind fly through my hair. I wanted it to rain, so that I could smell it in the air as I ran.

Laughter was like a fresh breeze—it cleaned its way through the body, making everything feel good.

The shortest, the most important, the most heartbreaking of lives. The life that would forever define me. The life that had finally tied me to one star, to one planet, to one small family of strangers.

A little more time… would that be so wrong? No, Mel whispered. Just take a little more time. You never know how much time you’ll have, I whispered back. But I did. I knew exactly how much time I had. I couldn’t take any more time. My time was up.

But I’d like to be buried by Walt and Wes. Can you do that for me? I won’t take up much space.”

“No, Wanda,” Doc objected, too, with a shocked expression. “Please, Doc,” I whispered, wincing against the protest in my head, which was getting louder. “I don’t think Wes or Walt will mind.”

Ian would help Lily—he was exactly what she needed now. Who would help Ian when…?

They called me Lives in the Stars there. I already had a bit of a reputation.”

For a while they called me Rides the Beast. I didn’t like it. I made them go back to my other name.”

“Yes, let’s finish this, Wanderer, Lives in the Stars, Rides the Beast. Stealing a few unguarded crates won’t present much of a challenge for you, will it?”

It was beautiful. The soul whose name I’d never known billowed like a silver wave in my hand… a lovely feathered ribbon.

The Seeker’s host body was named Lacey; a dainty, soft, feminine name. Lacey. As inappropriate as the size, in my opinion. Like naming a pit bull Fluffy.

I knew I could trust Ian with the shiny cryotank more than anyone else. He was the only one I would let hold it when I needed my arms. He was the only one who could see, in the shape of that small container, a life to be protected. He could think of that shape as a friend, something that could be loved. He was the best ally of all. I was so grateful for Ian, and so grateful for the obliviousness that saved him, for the moment, from pain.

I smiled halfheartedly at my friends: Trudy, Geoffrey, Heath, and Heidi. My true friends were dwindling. No Walter, no Wes. I didn’t know where Lily was. This made me sad. Maybe I didn’t want to live on this sad planet with so much death. Maybe nothingness was better.

“You deserve a life, too, Wanda. You deserve to stay.” “But I love her, Ian.” He closed his eyes, and his pale lips went dead white. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Doesn’t that matter?” “Of course it matters. So much.

“Is it so unbearable to have me love you? Is that it? I can keep my mouth shut, Wanda. I won’t say it again. You can be with Jared, if that’s what you want. Just stay.” “No, Ian!” I took his face between my hands—his skin felt hard, strained tight over the bones. “No. I—I love you, too. Me, the little silver worm in the back of her head. But my body doesn’t love you. It can’t love you. I can never love you in this body, Ian. It pulls me in two. It’s unbearable.”

With Ian it was different, so very different, because Melanie didn’t love him the way I did. So when he touched me, it was deeper and slower than the wildfire, like the flow of molten rock far beneath the surface of the earth. Too deep to feel the heat of it, but it moved inexorably, changing the very foundations of the world with its advance.

“Eight full lives,” I whispered against his jaw, my voice breaking. “Eight full lives and I never found anyone I would stay on a planet for, anyone I would follow when they left. I never found a partner. Why now? Why you? You’re not of my species. How can you be my partner?” “It’s a strange universe,” he murmured. “It’s not fair,”

“I love you,” I whispered. “Don’t say that like you’re saying goodbye.”

“I, the soul called Wanderer, love you, human Ian. And that will never change, no matter what I might become.” I worded it carefully, so that there would be no lie in my voice. “If I were a Dolphin or a Bear or a Flower, it wouldn’t matter. I would always love you, always remember you. You will be my only partner.”

I truly love you, Ian.” It was the only way I could tell him goodbye. The only way he would accept. I knew he would remember later and understand. “With my whole soul, I love you.” “I truly love you, too, my Wanderer.”

This was my planet, and they wouldn’t make me leave. I would stay in the dirt, in the dark grotto with my friends. A human grave for the human I had become.