The Ice

Two years later:

Zander Hervieux dreamed of ice.

He dreamed of a shifting sea, teeming with ice floes. The waves rose up and tried to capsize him as he swam; he had to keep his head above water, or else he knew he would sink below the surface and ice would clot above him, sealing away the sky, the air, life. Part of him wanted to sink below, to give up, to fade into the numbness of absolute zero, zed. But there was a voice calling him, calling him by his true name. It was—

Zander woke up with a jolt. He was in a cramped seat, beside a tiny window. Change was in the air.

"We are now beginning our descent into Tokyo…"

Right. He had left Geneva twenty hours ago. He was on an airplane. Soon he would be in Tokyo. The ocean, the ice, the call.

His long legs were cramped and his skin was all gooseflesh. He rubbed his face and took out his smallest sketchbook to take notes on the dream he'd just had. Zander couldn't suppress a smile as he took down the details: of course, even his subconscious mind had a flair for the drama.

Hadn't he had this sort of dream before? Zander frowned. There was an uncomfortable—familiarity. Yes, perhaps since New Year's…

The clouds in the window parted, and Zander's thoughts were derailed by the sight of Tokyo, gleaming softly in the morning dim.

Already, Geneva felt like a dream…

He bit the inside of his cheek. Wake up. He would not slip into a suffocating daydream: he'd promised himself. Ever since early January—New Year's Eve, in fact—Zander was subject to a most vexing fugue state that fogged his head. His dreams would linger, and brighten, until daylight itself seemed to flicker and lie on the walls of an impossible palace, wrought of living cedar trees. The dreams were so engrossing—

"Focus, Zander," he said to himself. "We're not indulging those daydreams anymore."

Tokyo. Tokyo was real, and getting closer all the time. Zander watched the city as the plane descended. A new semester awaited him there. A new beginning. And… a friend.

MA.

He must be able to call her MA if that was her preference, but in his heart, he thought of her as Ami. Ami Mizuno— a name like rainfall.

Mon amie, Ami— Ami, my friend— and it still struck him, how quickly they had become friends. They had started out talking about art, and it turned into a talk about… everything. Only two years, and Zander trusted Ami as much as anyone else he'd ever known.

Though perhaps that spoke to his inability to make deep connections without royally screwing it up, somehow…

But back to Ami. Of course she was a wonderful friend. But—Zander rather wished he could call her mon Ami, my Ami.

But… if she wanted, he would call her nothing but MA. He respected boundaries. And he would much rather have MA as a friend for a good long while, than have her in his arms for a time, only to break her with the terrible luck that dogged his every relationship. Well, some of it was luck. Some of it was Zander's marvelous talent for self-sabotage.

Ami Mizuno. MA. He was going to meet her in person soon.

When Zander could not hide behind "Zed," would Ami Mizuno still like what she saw?

Zander realized he was wringing and un-wringing his hands.

Breathe. He knew Ami— MA— Ami from her emails. She was wise and kind and brilliant and insightful. And besides, she was only one aspect of his new upcoming life in Japan. Keep a little perspective, Zed.

And yet…

The plane landed and taxied for a while. Zander took up his two carryons— a backpack and the case for his mandolin— and left the plane. As he set foot on Japanese soil, he smiled to himself. Here it all began. Dive into the ocean. Welcome to the new life.

"... and so," Ami concluded, "now that Zed has moved into his dorm, we'll get coffee tomorrow and finally, officially meet each other."

"Do you know his real name?" Makoto asked. They were walking up the hill towards Hikawa Shrine.

"Yes, he told me in February."

Makoto narrowed her eyes. "When in February?"

"Oh-h? The… the fourteenth."

"As in Valentine's Day?"

"Oh, how did you know?" Ami's ears turned red. "I don't know if he meant anything by it, but once or twice, he's said things that make me think— Mako, you know how much I think!"

"Is he making unwelcome advances?" Makoto started to sort of puff up, like a bear that had just spotted a threat to one of its cubs.

"No," Ami shook her head firmly. "He just kind of… drops hints. They're few and far between."

"Hm. How do you feel about him?" Makoto asked.

"He's a good friend. You know me, my ideas can get rather discursive and, well, complicated. Some people choose not to try and understand me; Zed always tries to keep up, and most of the time, he can. He's an excellent correspondent. He, well, he makes me laugh." Ami smiled into the setting sun.

"I like to talk to him," she thought. "I like to share my thoughts, and hear his."

"That's very nice," said Makoto, giving Ami a furtive glance. "What's he studying, here in Japan?"

"Art and music. He's training to be a therapist, and he believes in the power of the arts to purify and heal. Wait…"

"What is it?"

"I need to remember…" Those words, purify and heal, they rang a bell deep in her memory. Her intuition sounded a chime of warning. Those words mean something, her intuition said, it means something that you used them now…

"Hey, good evening," sounded from below them.

"Nate!" Makoto said.

He took the steps two at a time while Mako tripped down, until they met in the middle and clasped hands. Ami watched them: she observed how they stayed in contact as they ascended the stairs. They were newly reconciled, Mako and Nate. Ami so rarely had the opportunity to observe young love up close. And she was happy for Makoto, because Mako deserved happiness, but Ami knew she would miss the days when Makoto hadn't had a boyfriend to eat into her talk and time.

And how have you managed to forgive him? Ami wanted to quiz Makoto on that. But that question… too many silken threads and complications. Too soon.

If Nate, once-upon-a-time Nephrite, had managed to find his way back to his Prince, the others were bound to be out there too… Ami frowned. Another complication to prepare for.

Purify and heal. The words' significance came back to her. Behind her eyes there was a fall of cherry blossom petals. A cold laugh echoed.

That was… Ami thought quickly.

That was nothing. An idle thought, easily explained thus:

In response to the idea that Zed liked her, Ami's subconscious mind conjured a ghost as an age-old reminder: Love is for others. You cannot trust your heart. Ami did not need such a reminder. She had learned her lesson well.

But even with that lesson in place… when Ami thought about meeting Zed in person, a warm blossom of anticipation began to grow inside her. She hoped with all her might that they "clicked" as well in person as they did online. If they did, they would have an excellent friendship to enjoy while he stayed in Japan.

Friendship was exactly the word of Ami's choosing.

Right up until—

Two p.m. the next day. Rain.

Ami reached their rendezvous point— a bridge in Ueno Park—and there was already a man standing there. Zed, in the green waistcoat that he had promised.

Good heavens—his hair. She'd never seen such a color, or such a delicate wave. She drew closer under her umbrella. He was taller than she had imagined. Leaner. Grumbling to himself.

Oh—oh. There were the hands she knew so well from all the video screens.

"Zed?" she asked.

He turned to her, and Ami thought, "Oh no, he's beautiful."

Zander turned and saw her and he knew her.

He knew it because her clothes were both practical and sweet, and she was carrying an umbrella with little hydrangea blossoms on it, and she held herself like she was asking a question of the universe, and the whole of her spelled Ami, mon amie.

"Zed," she repeated, with greater confidence. "Get under the umbrella, you're getting soaked!"

Practical and sweet. She held up the umbrella as he ducked under. She looked up—and their eyes met. He'd never seen such a blue. And the expression—bright with curiosity and humor, mellow with gentleness and thought. His heart gave a loud thump and said "This is it, I trust her completely."

Was his jaw hanging open?

Zander recalled himself and ran a hand over his hair, beaded with rain. "Hello."

"Hello. Alexander… Hervieux?" she asked, her phrasing careful and perfect.

"Zander," he said with a nod. "Ami… Mizuno?"

"Yes. It's good to meet you at last." She smiled up at him.

He couldn't help it, he smiled back. "It's great to meet you, too, yeah. Well—" he gestured around. "I know you like the rain, but do you think we could find a more sheltered place?"

"Absolutely," Ami said with a solemn nod. "There is a cafe nearby, and according to the Yelp reviews, their coffee is superb. Shall we?"

"Lead the way, Miss Mizuno."

"Ami, please," she told him, and Zander's heart leapt. "Now, did you have a good flight in?"

Thus, their conversation easily turned into a continuation of their email correspondence: Zander answered in a long, chattering stream, but he clammed up if Ami held up a hand. She would halt his conversation just long enough to point out something interesting—the way the sun broke through the clouds, for example, or a particularly fine bit of music floating out from a shop. They reached the cafe, and Zander held the door open for Ami. He asked her then about her family, and how was her new class load? She wasn't working herself too hard, was she?

Ami shrugged. "But it's such interesting, challenging work," she said. "I like pushing myself and working hard."

"But I don't want you overdoing it," Zander said. A waitress came by and put down their coffee and their cakes (opera for Ami, Victoria sandwich for Zander). He went on, "Don't burn out and leave me without my jam session partner. Not that I would know about burnout," he added, "having never applied myself to honest labor a day in my life…"

"Zander."

"Now, now! I know my Aesop, I know I'm a feckless Grasshopper doomed to die in the winter. I've made my peace with it."

"No, you haven't," she told him. "And you're not."

He fell silent. For a moment his green eyes lingered on her blue ones. "The point is," he said, "now that I'm here, you'll indulge in a healthy amount of playing hooky and courting scandal."

"Will I, now? What about your studies, Monsieur Hervieux?"

"Very good pronunciation!" He lifted his espresso cup in a tiny toast. "Everyone knows you study abroad for the life experience, not the grades."

"Is that so?" Her voice was very dry indeed.

"We-e-ell," he drawled, "what if I say it's about broadening the mind? You believe in mind-broadening, don't you? I want to make friends, visit the Pacific, paint a masterpiece. All that stuff broadens the mind." Now he didn't quite meet her gaze. "I don't mean to toss aside my classes, I will apply myself—it's just that, well, the French have a saying, Profitez de la vie—"

"Zander."

"Yes?"

"You're yammering," she said. "Is something on your mind?"

He grinned and hung his head. "I forgot, I can't hide anything from you," he said. "You know me too well, Miss Mizuno. Okay." He took a bite of his Victoria sandwich, washed it down with a swig of coffee, and said, "The truth is, I'm worried about my music classes."

"Why?"

"Because I've had— well, I don't want you to worry…"

"Why would I worry?"

Zander peered up at the ceiling. "I've been… hearing bells," he admitted. "And no one else can hear them. The sound drifts in and out."

"Bells?" she repeated.

"It was really bad at New Year's," he added.

Ami sat up a little straighter. "Do you mean New Year's Eve," she asked carefully, "Or New Year's Day?"

"Eve, Eve," he clarified. "I mean, in Geneva, all the city and church bells ring at midnight to welcome the New Year. But I heard bells at seventeen hours—just as I was getting ready for the party."

"Seventeen hours? You mean five p.m.?" She sounded calm. A little too calm.

"Yeah. I was just getting my outfit ready for the party, then I thought— the city clocks had gone haywire. I thought I was losing my mind for a while there. Started… imagining things…" He buried his confusion with a sip of coffee. He hadn't meant for this conversation to turn medical. This was going into territory that snared his mind like briar roses.

He almost spat his coffee out when Ami asked, "What sort of things did you imagine?"

"Oh, you don't want to hear that nonsense…" Zander looked up and met her eyes. Her gaze was steely. Cool.

"Humor me," she said.

"I—well—it's not really interesting," he said. "I must have slept very badly, because it seemed like my dreams were bleeding into my waking life. On New Year's, I mean." "And on the following days," he thought, but decided to keep that thought to himself. "The one really clear image… I was asleep in bed, January second… I dreamed I was in this space like a temple. Big, holy, airy, that sort of thing. But I was looking at the floor. The floor had a, what's the word, image made up of little tiny pieces, little stones…?"

"Mosaic?" Ami supplied.

"Thank you, a mosaic! And the mosaic had all the symbols of the planets, in different colors." His voice slowed. "And I was standing at the symbol of Mercury, which was set in lapis lazuli."

He paused a long time before speaking again. "I… I spat on it. And I don't know why I did it. Only that I felt the most awful surge of sheer hatred. I mean, part of me did," he added. "The part of me that was dreaming was… horrified. And I keep having these dreams, and daydreams… wait, that's not appropriate," he blurted, interrupting himself. "You don't want to hear this—" for the first time in a few minutes, he looked at her. "Wait, Ami, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ami started. Her expression was shocked, cold, deeply interior, but it began to fade.

"I'm sorry, Zed—I mean, Zander—I—that's a very strange dream."

He hesitated. "Most of the dreams are much nicer… In one, I was in a sort of—what's the word? Pavillion," he said in French, "it was afternoon in a garden of yellow flowers, and I was playing music. There were four other boys there. That was a nice dream," he admitted, before remembering himself. "I'm yammering again. Other people's dreams are always so boring…"

"Zander. You said you heard bells at five in the evening, in Geneva?"

"Yes," he said. "It was nothing—probably the stress of the semester getting to me—"

"I don't think it was nothing," she said. "Geneva's time zone is Central European Time, correct?"

"Of course you've got all the time zones memorized. I mean, yes," he said. He could feel an awed smile stretching over his face. She was brilliant.

"Seven hours behind Tokyo," she murmured, looking off into the distance.

She started, and came back to the present. She leaned in closer to Zander, who mirrored her. For a wordless moment, she looked deep into his eyes, as if trying to search for something. Zander's heart thundered. Was she—?

She sat back abruptly. "My phone…" She picked it up and checked it. There was a flicker behind her eyes—an expression too quick for Zander to read—and then she said, "Zander, I'm sorry, but my friend Usagi is having an emergency. Is it alright if I—"

"Of course! Go to her aid."

"I really am sorry."

"Oh, no worries, go ahead," he told her, even as his heart sank.

"Goodbye, Zander, it really is so good to meet you in person. I'm sorry—" she composed herself again with a visible effort, "I'm sorry to leave you so fast. Until we meet again."

"Goodbye," he called after her, "Text me!"

But she was already gone, with her hydrangea umbrella and everything.

Bells were ringing in Zander's head again.

"Oh, god," he asked himself, "how did I mess this up?"