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And Yet They Shine
Chapter 7: Awe
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The antechamber to the Underworld was not what Bella had expected. The floor was dark, volcanic sand: so many tiny beads of glass. The walls shone with diamond and rubies, emeralds and gold. As Edward entered the room, sconces lit upon each wall, each of them cast shimmering light upon them.
Edward glowed, his pale skin turning golden, taking on the hues of the room around them. Isabella stared at him, transfixed by the change. He no longer wore the pale shine of the moon, but instead took on such rich color that before she knew it, she was reaching for him, to touch his face. As she pressed her fingers to his cheek, his lashes fluttered against his cheeks, and he pushed his face into her open hand. The image was so like that of a cat that Bella found herself waiting for him to purr.
They stayed like that until she breathed in and out once, twice. His eyes lit upon hers, green, so green that she felt they were blades of summer grass, moss in the shade of a tree, Spanish olives, brought to her from a far-off place.
"What you see may startle you," he said.
His fingers crept toward her hand, and laced hers within his. "Never be afraid. I will always keep you safe."
He waved his hand and the wall before them dissolved.
Elysian Fields lay before them, meadows of wildflowers in bright bloom against an impossible summer sky. Trees rustled with a cool breeze, and Bella felt as though she were seeing some kind of magic, not meant for mortal eyes.
She was right.
"What is this?" she asked, her hands brushing against the flowers that grew waist high.
"The fields of paradise? Heaven? You people have so many names for this place."
Bella twirled in the field, her arms outstretched like the heroine in one of her favorite movies.
"I feel like I should sing," she said, laughter in her voice.
"I think I'd like to see that."
Bella gave a twirl. "The hills are alive," she sang, her voice barely audible.
Edward laughed at her joy, the sound a cascade of delight, and it sounded, to her, like chimes playing the loveliest song she'd ever heard.
She twirled twice again, the scent of flowers kicking up, until it was heady and thick in her nose, inundating her with rich, floral spice.
An image, far off, at the edge of the field gave her pause. It was an old woman, her hair gone pale and thin, her frame bent, and fragile.
Bella watched the woman, and her hand rose against her throat.
"Gran?"
The woman looked up at the sound of Bella's voice, and Bella found herself pressing a fist harder against her own chest as a single tear traced its way down her cheek.
"Gran!"
In a moment she was off, bounding across the fields of flowers, oblivious to Edward's calls behind her. He watched her go, with the helplessness of a parent setting a child off to school: knowing the child would learn things that would both please and terrify them. Knowing that knowledge has a price.
Bella approached the woman, her steps both tentative and relentless.
Her fingers lifted to touch the silvery strands of hair, to stroke the skin, grown papery thin with age.
"Gran?"
"Beautiful girl," the woman said, and Isabella broke in that moment, her hands wrapping around the woman as she fell to her knees.
It was only a moment, a stumble, before Isabella learned the terrible truth: Even here, in paradise, shades were no more than ghosts of their former selves.
Isabella reached, time and again, for the image of her grandmother, the woman who bore her father, the woman that she looked so much like that it brought her father to a halt some days.
When she realized the truth – the terrible truth – that the comfort of her grandmother's arms would be denied her, she turned in a fury upon Edward.
"You did this!" she raged, her heart climbing to the top her throat. "Why would you do this to me?"
Her hands balled to fists and she flung herself against him, all her rage impotent against him, against a god.
Still, he stood for it. He let her fists beat against his chest, let her cling to his lapels and let her cry herself out against the crisp stiffness of his white shirt.
When she was done, he beckoned the shade toward him, and the woman complied (they always comply).
"If there are things you have to say, now is the time."
He disentangled himself from Isabella, and stepped away to give them the illusion, if not the fact, of privacy.
As they talked, he whistled to himself. Various shades came to beg his favor for this or that, and Athena's owl brought him scrolls from his brother and sister both.
When Isabella grew distraught, Edward dug his fingers into his own flesh rather than rush to her side. When she grew teary, he turned away, and when her voice bubbled with laughter, he found himself granting passes to the world above to three of the men who petitioned at his side.
Chagrinned, Edward waved toward the shade, and soon, Isabella found herself alone, again.
"It's cruel," she said, "to give me so much, and not enough."
"It's not my cruelty," he answered. "It simply is."
Isabella groaned her own dismay, then asked him to take her away.
He complied, his fingers lacing hers again, feeling only the sadness as it seeped out of her pores, out of her heart, into the very air around them.
"Elysian Fields," he said, "is only for the purest of hearts. It is a paradise where there is no cold, no heat, no fear, nor hunger, nor pain. Only everlasting springtime, everlasting birdsongs, everlasting joy. Can you be happy, Isabella, that you've met someone you love in such a place?"
Isabella looked at her feet as she walked, and answered him not.
She was not a child. She felt the awe of such a beautiful place, felt the joy that its inhabitants felt, as much as she felt the mild breezes that carried so much cool air across her skin. I can be happy, she thought, if only for Gran. I can be happy.
Her happiness, though, was soaked with sorrow, and Edward despaired for a toy, a trinket, that might bring her back to happiness. He wanted her to be willing. He longed for her to make the choice.
But if she wouldn't, well…he still had other ways.