-1CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
"How long does it usually take?" I asked. Leaf. Leaf. Leaf.
"Leaf," he said. A grin flooded my face.
"Yeah."
"It's getting easier," he said. We were sitting cross-legged in the middle of our living room, facing one another, holding hands. It was a position we'd found facilitated the thought speech; Eran had learned it once a long time ago as a pose that connected both hemispheres of the brain and encouraged flow between two people, and we'd been having good results. We'd first tried it two weeks ago, and every day his responses had been more and more accurate. The wall that had once blocked the space between our minds was like a thin curtain now. "How long does it take for what?"
"For gifts to come out."
"Usually a month or two after the eighteenth birthday," he said. "Up to two years for elusive ones. You're going to be slower, though."
"I know." I sighed. "I just… I can't help thinking that --- Waffles." The word had floated unbidden to my mind and I spoke it without thinking.
"Yes," he said. "Go on."
"I can't help thinking that one of my gifts is going to help me with Rochelle or something," I said. "Or you, maybe. Or… something." Pencil. Pencil. Pencil.
"Pen?"
"Close."
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds. "Pencil."
"Good job."
"I think one of your gifts is," he said. "I think all of them will. But that's only if you have to face her again, and I hope that doesn't become necessary."
Eggs.
"Eggs," I said. He nodded. I laughed. "Are you hungry or something?"
He shrugged. "I'm sitting facing the kitchen."
"Right."
This kind of blended conversation had peppered our lives the past few days. He seemed better able to understand when he wasn't so focused, and talking aloud appeared to take his mind off what wasn't working and leave only room for what was.
"It's funny," he said after a moment of silence, both in the air and in our thoughts. "I can still see you a little bit."
I knew what he meant. The color of my hair and eyes may have changed, but when I looked in the mirror, I could still see something of Marina underneath the guise of Mary. I could see him too, and seeing him was both easier and more difficult. His appearance had changed little; though his hair and wardrobe had been updated to something suited the modern American male (or foreign, rather; his Merlan accent set him apart) his face was very much the same. His eyes had bothered me the most as first, hollow and empty as they had been, but I could see sparks of life reviving in them again. He couldn't hear anything but me, but that seemed to be enough for now.
"Eyes," he said. I started and blinked.
"You heard that? I wasn't trying."
"Oh. Sorry."
"No, no," I said quickly. "No, I was thinking about eyes. I just wasn't thinking them at you. I wasn't blocking them, though."
Something flashed over his face at the same time something flashed over my mind. I took a calming breath.
Can you hear this now?
He tilted his head a little and squinted, as though concentrating.
"Relax," I said. My thumbs, of their own accords, began rubbing softly on his hands, and his fingers responded, as I thought, Can you hear me?
He strained again, then took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and in a moment, the thought came.
Say it again. His voice, in my head. It had been so long since I had heard it that my stomach jumped a little, half-startled and half-thrilled.
Can you hear me?
I was focused intently on his face. The seriousness of the moment was such that I was surprised to see the corner of his mouth twitch.
Something not so predictable, please.
I squeezed his hands.
You can hear me?
It's very faint. But yes.
His eyes flew open, and a grin washed over his face.
I can hear you!
Anything else?
No, was the response, but it was happy. No, just you. Nothing else. But it will come.
I squeezed his hands again, and, instead of a hug, since that would take my hands from his, my forehead dropped to his shoulder and nestled there. He was warm, and he smelled good, and he could hear me. His breath constricted, and I sat up.
"Sorry."
No, he thought. It seemed that, now that he had it back, he wanted to immerse himself in the thought speech. Do that again.
I hesitated, then obeyed and leaned forward against him.
Can you feel it? he asked, and his voice was louder and clearer in my mind than it had been before. I was quiet. Our breaths fell into the same rhythm, and then, there it was. Another layer of feelings beyond my own, these ones also quiet, also listening.
Marina, he thought. There was a note of disbelief in the idea, and I felt it as well as heard it in his voice.
I know, I said.
Our connection. Our bond. It hadn't been broken. I held still, feeling it, then sat up again. As soon as I did, the connection weakened until it had faded to nothing. I frowned and leaned close to him again. There it was. It was like a radio, being moved around, staticky here and there and then, as I got close to the source, it cleared up and I could tell where he was.
I'm not making it up? he asked, and squeezed my hands.
No, I thought. No, I can feel it.
It's only when you're close to me.
I know. Why?
I don't know, he thought, and his fingers brushed against mine as mine had done his a moment before. My skin tingled, and as it did, I felt his feelings, under my own, fill with fizzy bubbles and butterflies and then become smoothed over with calm. We were quiet. It was enough to suspend time for the moment and just feel. His hand roved across my back, touching it gently, the nails sending shooting trails of awareness where they grazed the fabric of my shirt. He traced gentle designs, and my breathing slowed and deepened.
I was profoundly aware of him. His body felt strange, warm and alive and a fusion of hard bone and soft muscle, with skin stretched taut but supple all over that frame. I could smell him, a scent that was uniquely his and had something to do with soap and his shirt and something else less tangible. I was aware of the way he breathed, mostly deep and slowly like myself with now and then a catch or a sigh, and I was aware of myself, too, aware of my breath and heartbeat and limbs, and all the nerves that rose into shivery prickles at Eran's touch. I could feel of my fingers with precise clarity. It was impossible to tell whether I was out of my body or intensely in it. It was a profound meditation on humanity, and I wanted to remain in it forever.
And, for a while, at least, it seemed like we might. Nothing disturbed us, not even ourselves. We did nothing more than sit there together and breathe. We were close, but didn't try to get closer, or to move apart. We simply were. I hadn't understood it back in Merlana when Eran had talked sometimes about "just being" as an element of the shephard's practice, but now I did, and the discovery swept me up to a higher level of understanding. The world looked different from here.
Thank you, he thought.
For what?
Not giving up. He squeezed my arm a little. I had.
I know, I thought. His feelings were warm, and so were mine. I shifted so I was sitting next to him, and we leaned against the couch. I was tired, and more relaxed than I had been in months, maybe years. My head found its way back to his shoulder pretty quickly, and I soon sank into a contented drowsiness that was something near sleep but not quite there. I was awakened some time later --- it could have been mere moments or an hour --- by a weird tapping noise. I lifted my head; Eran was already looking at the source of the racket, gray eyes reflecting the white rectangle of the window.
A seagull with a yellow crest on its head was tapping at the glass. It flapped its wings wildly, not accustomed to hovering without a breeze. I ran to the window and opened it, and the creature swooped inside and landed on my outstretched hand.
Princess.
The bird was one of Ryne's. They were his messengers. My mind grew sharp in a moment; I inclined my head. What is it? I asked. What's the matter?
Do not be alarmed, it said in a calm, deep, raspy voice. I bear a message from His Majesty Ryne of Merlana. You must prepare to leave this place tomorrow morning. You will be retrieved in the early hours.
Why? What's happened?
It would be unwise to speak frankly here, Highness, the bird said, a hint of a question in its voice.
I understand, I said. The bird's head twitched in a sharp nod.
All will be explained when you have returned to Merlana. Arrangements have already been made with your employer and landlord. You must have all personal belongings you wish to take back with you by tonight. Will there be a reply message?
No, I thought. What could there be to say? I glanced at Eran.
"Did you hear all of that?" I asked.
"Some of it. We're leaving."
"Yeah. Any reply?"
"No," he said. I nodded.
No message. We'll be ready to depart by midnight.
Excellent. The bird bobbed its head in a sort of aviate bow, and flew from my hand and back out the window in a great rush of wings.
The mood in the room had shifted completely. We were both fully awake. I let out a deep breath.
"Well," I said. "That was sudden." The sound of my voice was oddly loud in the quiet room.
"As it should be," said Eran. When I gave him a quizzical look, he added, "If they're going to get you out of here safely, it's best not to give Rochelle time to catch up, isn't it?"
"What do you think's happened?"
I don't know. Still, we'd better get packed.
And so we did. I had never seen him quite so cheerful. He hummed and sang soft and bouncy folk songs and snippets of things he'd heard on the radio, and, after some time, had packed a grand total of three books and a postcard of Portland Harbor. I was amused to discover that I was no more attached to anything here than he was. I took some books that I thought would be good additions to the library at the Palace Merlana, a few souvenirs we'd picked up here and there, and a barely-opened bag of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Nothing else seemed worth bringing along.
We're not happy to leave or anything, are we? I asked wryly as we looked at our bag apiece by the door.
I spent what was left of the day cleaning and leaving the house in order. Any unopened food I took downstairs to the newlyweds, explaining that Aaron and I had been called away for a family emergency and would they mind taking these off our hands so they wouldn't go to waste? They accepted, were very grateful, and I narrowly escaped a long drawn-out conversation by the phone ringing and Carl entering the room informing Mandy that her mother was on the phone. I escaped back up the stairs, glad that we didn't have any other friends to say goodbye to. I wrote a note and bundled the books I was leaving behind to be delivered to Ruth, the note for her and the books for her shop. I would miss her, at least, but it was powerfully outweighed by my delight at returning to Merlana.
If, indeed, we were going back there. I could only hope.
We slept a little on the couch that night, cuddled up against one another. It was peaceful, but hard to get any real rest. Both our stomachs were churning in anticipation. We were like two kids at Christmas, only this, I thought, was much, much better.
"What's Christmas?" he asked drowsily. I smiled in the same sleepy, half-there way.
"It's a holiday," I murmured. "Around winter. Christian celebration. You put up a pine tree and decorate it and have parties and Santa --- this big guy in a red suit --- gives the kids presents."
"Mm," he said. "I've heard of it. We have something kind of like it in the twelfth month. Celebrates the end of the old year."
"I can't wait to see it."
We fell silent again, and the next time we were roused, it was by knocking on the door in sharp staccato patterns. Eran stirred and sat up, then stood.
"That's them," he said. I sat up too and rubbed my eyes. We locked eyes, and then he smiled a little, and I nodded and let out a deep breath.
"Okay," I said. I straightened and faced the door that led to… what? Home, I hoped. "Let's go."
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Allyp: Lol! Repressed heroes... I love it... And... SHOES? Hahaha... You know, that's even more hilarious considering the symbolic connotations thereof, lol.
Bingo7: Lol, they SHOULD have a party. Perhaps that'll have to be arranged. The gifts go back to her 18th birthday --- when the monarchy of Merlana comes of age, magical gifts start to develop (ex: Ryne's flight and ability to paint things that then happen).
InChrist-Billios: Haha, thanks. I rather liked the "Wig out" bit myself. :D And yeah, I think you're on the right track with being bonded and all that. There's more to it, but I shall shut up before I give everything away, lol.
KRM-EditorInChief: Oh, do I understand! You are rather on the right track, though I shan't say anything more here...
raeroochella: Glad you made it all the way through, congrats! ;) I like the idea of Christmas presents... Christmas did get mentioned in this chapter so it's got definite possibilities. Glad you find it uncliched; one of my goals in life is to avoid predone corniness. If that phrase made ANY sense whatsoever, lol.
