Chapter 3: Orenda
Killian is as surprised as she is. He didn't think about what he was saying, and the recognition came with the words. He likes this woman who knows nothing about herself but appears spirited and determined, and who, despite her disorientation and constant blushing, is incomparably bewitching. However, it would have been preferable if he hadn't revealed this information.
As he straightens up, he adds, "You must have had a bag or something." He needs to distance himself from her for a while. He needs to calm down because she is completely disrupting his routine.
"She wouldn't be the first to appear out of nowhere on the lake," his brother observes.
"What do you mean?" She looks at Liam, her interest piqued. She obviously wants to hear anything that she can relate to and makes her feel less alone. Killian can't blame her; no one would feel any different in her situation.
"A small child was discovered in a boat twenty-four years ago. Nobody knows how the boat got to the middle of the lake after being frozen the day before, but it was there," Liam says, his voice softening into a fairytale-like tone.
Killian recalls that day vividly and has been thinking about it more recently than is healthy. That day and that little girl, without a doubt, changed his life.
"That girl didn't appear out of nowhere, either," he mumbles dryly. "She must have been left there by someone." He refuses to believe the ridiculous legend that the small girl was a fallen star born from the winter and, contrary to popular belief, was one of a kind in terms of beauty. However, it appeared almost magical that the lass was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen before.
"Brother, you can be quite pessimistic at times."
"No, brother," Killian jokes, "I'm just realistic about life."
He doesn't wait for an answer, and he doesn't want to hear the enigmatic little girl's story, as well as all the fantastic myths surrounding her. Instead, he walks out into the hall and takes his time picking up his boots and jacket. He overhears his brother telling her about January 1st, twenty-four years ago — most likely to reassure the woman, as he knows his brother. Panic nearly broke out in her again, which is not uncommon, but it doesn't help. Anyone in her situation would be perplexed; it must be terrifying for her to think that no one knows anything about her, not even herself - as if a complete stranger is staring back at her in the mirror. Killian can't begin to imagine what Swan is going through right now.
He tastes the name and repeats it several times before deciding he likes it. He hadn't meant for it to stick; he just needed to say something because he was so disappointed that he couldn't find anything in her coat and jeans, and when he looked at her, he realized that his disappointment was nothing compared to her misery. He wanted to help, to give her something more substantial than anonymity, some semblance of hope — which is not typical of him at all, but there's something about this woman that makes his protective instincts kick in. He had no idea he had such instincts, to be honest.
Killian steps outside into the yard. Snow is still falling heavily, and the wind hasn't died down. When he takes a deep breath, it's like his lungs fill with ice shards rather than air, but he enjoys it. At the very least, he can unwind a little, which he desperately needs right now, even if he isn't happy about it. Swan has an effect on him like no other, and he has no idea how that happened.
He was never the type of man who would lose his mind over a lovely smile, a pair of beautiful eyes, or even a stunning appearance. No, he is the type of man who is always calm and collected and can only be seduced by a woman if he wants to be. He is proud that, while he is unaffected by female practices, his head is not so easily turned - but now, when the situation and fairness would demand that he not notice a woman's allure, he is still rather enamored by her beauty. It's quite perplexing.
He was fortunate to have regained his sobriety by the time she was properly wrapped in towels, his mind not wandering into places it wasn't supposed to. He didn't have a single condemning thought when he later laid her on the couch. No, all he could think about at the time was that she had to be alright.
When she eventually regained consciousness after trying to wake her for quite some time, he felt a profound and fundamental relief he had never felt before. But the dread that had crept into her expression when she realized she had no idea who she was gripped his heart. He knew rum could help her (because there was something in that drink that made it more than just rum, and he knew this from previous experience), so he didn't hesitate. But he didn't realize it wasn't a smart idea to catch her attention.
The way she looked at him, how she reddened, washed away all of his (hardly recovered) sobriety, and scorched through his veins. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before; no woman could ever look at him in such a way that every meaningful thought vanished from his mind into thin air. This completely astounded him. That's why he was a little more stern than necessary, but the remark about her underwear was about something else. He simply wished to keep the lass from sinking as deeply into despair as she had moments before. What made him want to prevent it from happening? He had no idea why he was doing it, but he couldn't help himself.
He's always found that saying something completely unexpected, even shocking, is the most effective way to jolt someone out of a trance. At that moment, he couldn't think of a better one, and he can't say he's proud of his solution - making fun of a woman who is on the verge of falling apart is pretty foolish. He has no idea how he would have felt if she hadn't picked up on the joke; it's no coincidence that he prefers to be quiet at other times and isn't in a hurry to console, listen, or reassure anyone. He wasn't born to give grand speeches, and he'd never been forced to speak when he didn't have anything to say until now.
With his hand in his pocket, he walks down to the lake. He didn't notice the cold while rushing for the woman and returning with her, but now he regrets not changing out of his sweatpants. The material nearly freezes to his legs, which is an unpleasant sensation. He arrives at the lake and plans to mark the leak so that no one falls into it while skating or sledding, as well as look for the Swan's bag.
The hints he left behind in the snow are still partially detachable, but he must keep a close eye on them if he wants to detect them. Killian recalls it snowing like that 24 years ago. That's why the mysterious little girl stayed with them for the night; transporting her to the hospital would have been impossible, and his mother didn't want to risk the trip because she appeared to be fine. It's amazing how little one's fate is determined by the circumstances. He would not be who he is today if the snow had not been so heavy and the little girl had not stayed with them for the night.
He'd always wondered what had happened to the little girl, but his brother could only learn (because Killian hadn't been able to stop the questioning years later) that she'd ended up in a number of foster homes. She was eventually adopted by a family. Killian was unable to locate her because data on the adoptive parents couldn't be obtained.
But he'd like to meet her and thank her, as well as ask her if she remembers the amazing night she stayed with them. When he crept out of his room to see the little girl who was so lovely she couldn't possibly be real.
He sat in one of the armchairs, legs up, chin resting on his knees, and just stared at her in the dim light of the left-on salt lamp. He had no desire for her because he was only thirteen and she was too young for him. Nothing but his genuine curiosity about her drove him.
The girl opened her eyes and looked at him as if she had been awake the whole time. Killian isn't sure how long they stared at each other without saying anything, but it was dawn by the time he returned to his room. He was full of sounds by then, his fingers tingling to touch the piano keys.
From that day forward, he wasn't just a talented little boy who played the piano quite skillfully (practically to make his mother happy), but something more, and although he never attributed the credit to himself, he knows that as soon as he set out to music school with his first composition, his teachers quietly whispered: genius.
Killian never thought of himself in that way; the music coming alive within him was a gift, a miracle that chose him to express himself for some inexplicable and incomprehensible reason. He never took his talent for granted; he studied music history and theory extensively, and while he was never particularly talented in any instrument other than the piano, he tried them all. He composed music with humility, patience, and dedication, grateful to be a part of something bigger than himself. He was content with his life, loved being surrounded by music, and didn't want anything else. No, all he wanted was to surrender to the melodies within him, and he didn't care whether people thought he was an eccentric genius or simply insane. Music was all that mattered; music defined him.
But when he awoke the morning after the accident that took his hand, he found only silence. There was no melody, no stray sound, only immeasurable emptiness, and agonizing quietness - and this has plagued him ever since, as his left wrist reminds him every day.
Killian comes to a complete stop. He is so preoccupied with the gaping emptiness that is his soul that he is unaware that he has arrived at the point where the ice has broken beneath Swan. He shakes his head to clear his mind before returning his attention to the lake.
"Impossible," mumbles he.
There is no sign of a leak, not even a break, just fresh snow. He's right where the lake broke, as evidenced by the fact that there's less snow here. He fell a few feet away and knelt right here as he drew the woman out of the water.
"What the devil?" He growls and takes a cautious step. Then another, and another, but he doesn't hear a thing. The ice is not cracking and appears to be strong and stable. But how did the water freeze so quickly? The fact that it's January 1st isn't a good enough reason, but no other explanation comes to mind.
He sighs and shakes his head, turning his gaze away from the ice, and the air suddenly gets trapped in his lungs. He narrows his eyes as he looks at the tree on the other side, then his eyes widen as he looks back at the ice.
The boat was right here 24 years ago. He knows this because, despite the cold, he came out here and laid down in it after the little girl was taken away. Then there was the next day and the day after that. He just lay there, listening to the melody that was resonating deep within his soul. He believed everything that was said about the girl at the time, including her escape from the world of fairies. He also thought he had received the music directly from her, that melodies had come to life in him as a result of the girl's gift. In fact, he still believes that now - he doesn't know how she gave him the music, but he's certain that it would never have been born within him if it hadn't been for her.
"Are you playing bloody tricks on me?" He directs his rage at the water. "First you give me a girl who gifts me with music, and now that the music is gone you give me one who drives me insane in the most inexplicable and impossible way?"
Yes, he's completely insane. He's having a conversation with a lake. He's raging mad.
He takes another look around, but even if Swan had a bag, the lake has swallowed it along with her memories. Killian is furious at himself for the joy he feels at that. He should be desperate to find that damn bag so he can take her home, give her back to her family, relatives, or friends, and forget about her. But he can't bring himself to feel that way.
He shakes his head resignedly and begins to walk back. He mentally prepares himself to hear Swan's voice again, to see her, her smile, her magnificent pair of emotion-filled eyes, the unpredictability of her features. He needs to fortify himself; he can't let the woman affect him again.
He wouldn't mind if they met under different circumstances; in fact, he'd do anything to get closer to her and then lose himself in passion for one night. But he can't ignore the fact that they didn't meet under other circumstances. It also doesn't help that she has no idea who she is.
By the time he gets home, he's in a bad mood, and his headache has returned with a vengeance. At the very least, that is what will hold his attention, and perhaps he won't fall under the spell of her smile again.
As he walks down the corridor, his brother is just pulling on his coat. Killian comes to a halt and frowns. To avoid the temptation that Swan represents for him, he plans to withdraw into his room and not return until absolutely necessary.
"Are you going somewhere?"
"Mr. Geppetto had called earlier that his child had a fever. He wants me to examine him just in case."
"The snow makes travel difficult. Are you certain it's a good idea?"
His brother smiles cheerfully at him, which makes Killian uncomfortable.
"When it comes to their child, never say no to a parent. Unless they're asking for extra care for something that won't benefit the child."
Making new excuses for his brother to stay is pointless, Killian thinks. So much for his brilliant plan to flee until Swan's situation is resolved.
"Where is she?" He asks, somewhat hesitantly.
"She's taking a bath."
He has to stop his mind from picturing her soaking in a bathtub. Killian's eyes darken, but his brother simply turns away to pick up his hat, so thankfully he doesn't notice.
"I called Robyn," Liam says, and Killian is trying hard to focus on his brother's words, "She's not coming home today, she's sleeping at one of her friends because of the snow. She offered the girl her room, which I had already prepared with clean sheets when I told her what had happened. She should sleep after she finishes her bath."
"She still has no memory of anything?"
"Just a few flashes, but nothing serious. Perhaps she just needs to rest." Liam unlocks the door and walks out, then abruptly turns around. "And Killian, please be polite to her."
He growls, "I'm always polite."
In response, his brother raises one of his brows before closing the front door behind him. Killian groans and turns around. His gaze is drawn inadvertently to the closed bathroom door. Fantastic. Swan and him alone, what could possibly go wrong?
orenda
(n.) a mystical force present in all people that empowers them to affect the world, or to effect change in their own lives.