Chapter VI: Tribal Legends and Love Declarations

"Legends are best left as legends and attempts to make them real are rarely successful."

—Michael Moorcock, Elric of Melniboné

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Renesmee guessed she always knew she loved Jacob. At first, it was just as her older brother, her goofy uncle, her permanent babysitter. He looked after her when she was small. He was kind of a parent. Her feelings didn't have a name or a label, but they didn't need one. They were just there, in the back of everything, all the time.

When she got a little older, a little wiser, when she discovered what love was, or at least what it was meant to be, she began to see him differently. She started to like how he held her hand and opened doors for her and climbed in her window to say goodnight. She started to like him.

She started to wonder maybe . . .

And soon, all thoughts of love and Jacob were so irrevocably woven together that she couldn't separate them. Thoughts of Jacob just came with thoughts of love. It had been like that forever, but now she understood it.

And she didn't love him like a brother anymore.

She loved him as naturally as her lungs drew breath. As certainly as joy was to laughter, and hurt was to tears. As irreversibly as life was of living, and dying was of death.

Sometimes she thought she saw it there in him, in his eyes, too. Sometimes, he'd look at her and she'd be convinced that he'd never look away, that they would stay that way – forever in a suspended moment of happiness.

But they didn't. And they never would.

Jacob would never see her that way.

He was her friend, despite all of the trouble she knew it had caused him with his pack. He was her friend. That could be enough for her. That would be enough for her. A little of Jacob was better than no Jacob at all.

So she hid her love beneath their mountain of friendship. It was easy most of the time. Everything with Jacob was easy.

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Jacob cleared his throat. He sat a little taller, a little straighter, and when he spoke, his words reverberated across the flames. He didn't have much to say, just a small Quileute prayer, but his voice was filled with power and leadership and might and valour. It was the voice of the alpha, the voice his friends laughingly said frightened them when he was angry.

He spoke in Old Quileute, but Renesmee understood it perfectly. She remembered when she was just two or three, and how Billy had taught her to speak it, and how for weeks afterward she spoke exclusively in Quileute. That rendered conversation with most of her family impossible, but it was worth it to have her own secret language through which only she and Jacob could communicate.

It was a bubble of intimacy, speaking in his tongue and knowing only he could understand her words.

She was fluent now, and recognised each word that passed Jacob's lips. He was blessing the necklaces and their owners, asking for Taha Aki's guidance and protection.

At some point, Jacob's hand had slid down her arm to her wrist, and he took her hand.

He finished and Sam picked up with his own rhythm and lilt.

Jacob had been watching her the entire time, but only now that he'd stopped speaking did she fell like he really saw her. She smiled, as brightly and as earnestly as she could, a whole bouquet of emotions blooming in her chest.

She leaned into his side, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, and she listened in rapture as Sam finished.

There was nothing very special about the blessing itself; it was the togetherness of the tribe and the closeness of Jacob that had her heart palpitating. When Sam finished, there was silence. Everyone stayed quiet, in their respective pairs, and after a while conversation started up again.

"So," Jacob said, rather nervously. "What do you think?"

"Jake." She gave his hand a squeeze. "That was just . . . so amazing." She couldn't reason in words how amazing. "Thank you so much . . . for sharing that with me," she said. Thank you for choosing me, she is what she secretly meant.

He squeezed her hand back. "Thank you for coming," he replied, and she wanted his thank you to secretly mean things as well. She wanted it to mean thank you for choosing me, too, and thank you for being my other half.

But it was Jacob. He was mostly likely just thanking her for coming.

Sam stood up, holding Emily's hand, and called out to the group: "Will we take this down the beach?" There a was a shout of approval.

"Where are they going?" Renesmee asked, as the couples started after Sam down the sand.

Jacob watched them leave but made no move. "To continue the party."

Nessie leaned further into his warm side. "Don't we get to party?" she asked, only slightly kidding because, honestly, the idea intrigued her.

"I thought you might like to hear the stories first?" He said it like a question.

"Sure, sure." She felt so content in that moment. Using his words, wrapped in his arms, wearing his necklace. Surely such bliss couldn't last.

Other people were beginning to trickle back to the circle. Seth came first, and she watched as he playfully lifted Lisa over a log, sweeping her knees up and setting her down gently a few seats away.

Something dawned on her. "I thought the blessing was a pack thing?"

"It was." His fingers were absently twirling the charm on his thread.

Nessie's brow knitted in confusion. "Then why wasn't Seth here? Or Embry? Or any of the others?"

Jacob sat up straight again, like the strings in his back had been pulled taut. He said, "That's kind of part of what I have to tell you."

Renesmee considered this. "And when will you be doing that?"

The rest of the group were returning; Sue Clearwater was helping Billy's wheelchair along the sand, and Old Quil was hot in their pursuit.

"Soon," Jake said. "Real soon, by the looks of it."

Billy and Old Quil settled by the fireside, and the circle subconsciously turned to face them. Jacob may be the pack leader, but the tribal chiefs out ranked him.

Nessie had been to enough bonfires to recognise what was happening now: The Quileute legends. Everyone was settling down, readying themselves to listen.

Suddenly an incredible quiet spread over the group like influenza, and Nessie could ask no more questions. Everyone leaned forwards, listening, their attention captured by Billy Black. Only when in the telling of a Quileute story did Renesmee recognise the ring of majesty that his voice held, and she understood where Jacob had gotten his from.

"The Quileutes have been a small people from the beginning," he said, and the entire group took a collected breath of anticipation. "And we are a small people still, but we have never disappeared. This is because there has always been magic in our blood. It wasn't always the magic of shape-shifting—that came later. First we were spirit walkers."

Billy's words wove themselves into a scene in front of her. Soon, Nessie could see was Taha Aki. She watched him speak to the wolf, asking to share his body, to become a spirit walker. She watched him and his tribe's men run through the forest, their bodies sinuously melting into the huge powerful form of the wolf.

It was such a beautiful story, and no less entertaining even though she'd heard it so many times before. But she couldn't get into it like usual. She couldn't climb inside and live and run and breathe with the wolves. Her head was too full of questions and it was distracting her.

When Billy stopped speaking and the tale was over, a collective sigh filled the air. Renesmee glanced at Jacob, who was watching her. The last question she asked still hung in the air between them. She could feel it, and she knew Jacob could, too.

Collected mummers were beginning to fill the air, but they were immediately stilted when Old Quil cleared his throat. Nessie looked back to the head of the circle curiously: she'd been to several Quileute bonfires, but Old Quil didn't usually attend. He'd never told a story before. Is this what he had been talking about?

"The story of our origin is equal to only one other story," he said, and his voice held a different kind of power than Billy's. It was strong and enticing, yes, but it was also mysterious and enigmatic. "Only one other story holds equal importance. Only one other has held as strongly throughout the generations."

Old Quil paused and looked up—

—straight at Renesmee—

And for some reason, her breath caught in her throat.

"And that is the story of the Third Wife."

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"Now, the tale of the Third Wife is as old and as honoured as the tale of our founding, for it shows how the power of love can transform a person and give them strength they never knew existed."

Suddenly, Renesmee knew him so well she could actually feel it stirring in him, Jacob lit up in panic. She glanced at him questioningly, sitting at her side, her hand still in his.

Beside him, she noticed, Seth was watching her avidly. Nessie smiled at him, wondering what he wanted, when she noticed that Quil was watching her, too. Taking her gaze around the circle, she realised every pair of eyes were focused on her.

No one's eyes were as heavy as Jacob's, however, and his were currently full of alarm. He gave the hand he was holding a squeeze and tried to stand up. "I've changed my mind. Let's get out of here," he whispered to her, and his voice was a crack in the glass of silence.

"What? No, I want to hear," she told him, and leaned forward in anticipation.

"The power of the wolf," Old Quil began, "gave Taha Aki the life span of many men. He saw his first two wives, whom he loved dearly, die of old age. He saw his many children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren grow old and finally pass away. But Taha Aki stayed young with the power of the wolf."

"Ness," Jacob whispered, his voice wild with panic. "Come on—let's go for a walk. The guys are just down the beach—"

"I'm listening!" she whispered back at him. When she turned around, she avoided the looks she knew were fixed on her.

"Years after the death of his second wife," Old Quil continued, "many women desired him for his braveness and strength, but Taha Aki had already met the woman who would become his third wife, and the love he felt for her was greater than anything he had ever experienced in his long life."

Renesmee became all of a sudden so attached to Old Quil's story. Something about it was catching her, tugging on her heart. Her questions drifted away and disintegrated into nothingness; Jacob's hand pulling hers became weightless.

"Nessie, please . . ."

"Like the push and pull of the tides, the third wife drew him into an eternal dance, and suddenly the whole world was shadow and she was his only light. The very instant he saw her, their souls entwined and he was hers forever."

Renesmee felt her lips move with the story she'd never heard before. Each word was being engraved on her heart. The Third Wife and her lover became the most important people she had ever known.

"Their bond was unlike any other, immeasurable to those around them. The power of the imprint—"

"Okay," Jacob said over Old Quil, and he stood up, pulling her with him.

"Jacob!" she protested, aware everyone was looking at them.

"Nessie—come for a walk with me," he whispered to her, and started pulling her down the beach.

"Jacob, what are you doing? Stop it," she said, trying to keep her voice down, but also knowing it was useless – everyone would hear anyway.

"Please, Nessie. Please." He didn't really wait for an answer. Nessie let him pull her to the water, away from the fire and the story and his friends.

But before she rounded the corner, she caught sight of Billy, at the head of the circle. He didn't look annoyed, like she would have presumed he'd have been at the interruption, but rather . . . disappointed? He was frowning at something she couldn't discern. He held her gaze until she rounded the corner and they were separated.

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"What's wrong with you?" she hissed when they were far enough away from the fire no one would hear them. She tugged her hand away, infuriated, but her fingers had been in his so long that the sudden cold snapped at them harshly.

His eyes saddened at that, following her as she stepped back from him. "I'm sorry, Nessie – I'm sorry."

"What's going on, Jake?"

"Nothing. I just – I want to go to that party after all."

"What – right now? It couldn't have waited until the end of the story?" She sounded wounded, like Jacob had torn the story from her skin. That's certainly what it felt like.

"No." Jacob's eyes were remorseful and his hand was hesitant when he reached it out again for her.

She looked at his hand, hovering in the air between them, and then she looked at Jacob with his pleading deep brown eyes. But she was in no mood for handholding. She was angry.

"Let's go back." She started to walk past him, but he caught her arm.

"Ness, come on—"

"You come on. I want to go back and hear that story." Renesmee didn't know what was wrong with her. So they left the bonfire early? It was no big deal.

Except it was. Something about that story was alluring to her, even from up the beach she felt a pull to it. And she just couldn't let it go.

They'd travelled further than she'd thought from the bonfire—she could no longer hear the talk of the revellers. But in the not-so-far distance she could hear music and laughter, and she supposed it was the group which had left before.

"You've heard them a hundred times—" he started to say.

"Not that one I haven't." He must have heard the longing in her voice. He must have. It was as blatant as if she'd taken his hand and shown him.

"Sorry – I just – I wanted." He took a breath. "There's so much I need to tell you, and I have to do it right. It's important I tell you . . . the right way." He smiled his most glorious Jacoby smile. "I'm nervous."

And just like that the anger drained from her, like someone had pierced a hole directly in her melancholy. "Tell me what?" she asked. "Jacob? Tell me what?"

He took a breath. Exhaled it. "Nessie, you have to promise you'll let me finish talking before you react? Hear me out?"

Renesmee nodded like she understood even though she didn't. Because it was there again. This bizarre bubbling in her chest that told her it was okay, that everything was okay. That this weird hand-holding, hugging, sneak-in-your-window-at-the-dead-of-night relationship she shared with Jacob was okay.

"I'll hear you out," she promised.

"I've been thinking for weeks how to say this without sounding . . . cheesy? Overbearing? I don't know, stupid?" He shook his head. "There's this thing, Nessie, this thing about you and me."

You and me. You and me you and me you and me.

"And I know it will probably sound crazy and I won't make any sense, but I don't know any other way, and I can't not tell you any longer."

"Whatever it is," she said, her voice drifting on the wind, "just tell me."

"Okay." He took another breath, like he was preparing to dive head first into oblivion. "But remember you still matter to me without this. I'd still love you without this. It's a—"

"Love me?" A quiet interruption.

Jacob paused, said "Yes. Love you," and tried to continue whatever monologue he had prepared, but he look on Nessie's face stopped him.

"You love me?" she asked, aware of how ridiculous she sounded but too far past caring.

Jacob shook his head, losing the place in his speech. "Of course I love you."

"I. . ." she started but words failed her. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how long she'd loved him, how much she longed for him. But no words in the world were enough. And here he was, telling her that he loved her, too.

It was too much. Too much like heaven to ever be real.

Jacob tried to speak again, but she was too overwhelmed. "Just give me a second."

He watched her with uncertainty. "Are you okay?"

"I . . . yes." She was okay. So very, very okay. Because Jacob was saying he loved her. And he had given her half his moon and sun. And he had chosen her. Things had never been so okay in her life.

"I love you," she said, hardly believing her bravery. "I've always loved you, Jake." She reached up to touch his face, but he saw her coming and took a large step back.

"Nessie," he said, frowning.

She couldn't see the signs, couldn't see his hesitance, couldn't see anything through the haze of happiness clouding her eyes.

Another step put her right up against him, close enough that he could smell her. For someone who lived in a house of stinking vampires, she somehow managed to smell like sunshine and apples and sweet grass.

"I have always loved you," she said again.

And before he could say anything further, she reached up and did something she had only thought of in her wildest and most inconceivable dreams.

She kissed him.

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COMING UP . . .

Rosalie flashed to her side in an instant, wrapped her up in a cold, hard embrace. "You're back early," she said, and then she leaned back, looking at Nessie expectantly. "How was it?" She asked like she already knew the answer. It seemed that everybody but Nessie knew what had been planned for the night.

"Where's my mom?" Renesmee said, her voice rough, like each syllable scratched her throat.

Rosalie's face hardened. "What did he do?"

"Aunt Rose . . ."

"So help me God, Nessie, what did he do?"