Posted 2023-10-08; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12
In the ten days she'd been with the Cullen family, Bella had fallen into something of a routine. Mornings were spent with Edward, learning to read and speak his language, as well as to circumvent the placia's functions by practicing verbal comprehension. As he'd suggested would happen, she began to hear more and more words in Sabellian. At first it was nouns, but soon unfamiliar verbs began to appear too.
Unhelpfully, both parts of speech disappeared as she sat in the parlor listening to Edward explain the difference between two very similar words. Bella closed one eye, lifting her other eyebrow in query.
Edward paused, repeating his sentence more slowly.
Bella shook her head, leaning back from the desk. It was hot, and her neck was itching again, though she kept her hands folded tightly in her lap. "I think I need a break."
Edward glanced at the clock.
How long had they been working? It felt like forever. Bella chalked it up to the summer heat. Edward had warned her it would grow much, much hotter in the coming months. Bella wasn't looking forward to it, considering the clothing options available.
"Would you like to visit the outer barns with me?"
Bella hesitated. If it was hot in the house, it would be boiling outside.
"The walk is well-shaded," Edward added.
Even in the heat, going for a walk was better than being stuck in the kitchen, which was often the only place Bella was able to help during the afternoons. She felt a guilty stab at the thought of escaping the drudgery. "Esme won't miss me, will she?"
Edward stood, shaking his head, but his accompanying smile was slightly mischievous. She supposed he was thinking of the afternoon chores waiting for him as well. He offered his arm.
Ever the gentleman.
After a quick trip upstairs to grab her hat, water bottle, bag, and handkerchief—an item that still made her shake her head in disbelief—Bella was ready.
The heavy, clamp-topped glass bottle that Esme had given Bella wasn't intended to be portable, but Bella lugged it around whenever she left the house. She was still subject to bouts of sudden and dizzying thirst—side-effects of quick water acclimation, Esme had concluded. Bella wondered if she could prevail on one of the women to help her sew or crochet some kind of sling for the cumbersome vessel.
As she mulled her escape from kitchen work, Bella considered the gender-based divisions of Sabellian labor. While the society was matriarchal, and Esme was clearly in charge of the family, Bella wasn't so sure the work evened out, but maybe she was just acclimating to the demands of the physical labor. Certainly the men didn't escape it. She knew Edward was expected to join the others in the barns or fields later.
Besides, it wasn't just the labor. The idea of being tied to such gendered roles was aggravating. She'd worked hard to be successful in her field and to be taken seriously by her colleagues. She'd learned the hard way that kindness was more likely to hamper than spur success. Now here she was in a society where strictly observed rules of decorum guided behavior, politeness ruled the day, and personal ambition was quite possibly frowned upon. Still, she couldn't discount the kindness she had been shown.
The path they took towards the barn was shaded at first by the tall, blue-topped trees and then by thick, pink, pom-pom studded shrubs. Finally, these gave way to sporadic tufts and then swaths of towering yellow grasses that leaned in to form a light-dappled tunnel.
"Wow," Bella whispered, reaching up and brushing the grass.
"Making sure they don't move on their own?" he asked.
"Maybe." She didn't mind his gentle teasing. She'd learned to be cautious when encountering new Sabellian flora, now that their moving of their own volition was in the range of possibilities.
They walked at an even pace. She liked this about their family—or culture; she wasn't sure if it was representative of just where she was or the Aristean race as a whole, but there was no rush to complete the many household chores or get places. Work got done, but without the anxious urgency she'd always felt at school. Longer lifespans would do that, she supposed.
After a few minutes of walking, the tall grasses began to peter out, sprigs of flowering shrubs poking out into the path. Without breaking pace, Edward plucked one of the trumpet-shapes, sucking on the narrow end and then blowing. The pale bud burst into a dandelion-like cloud which floated to the ground.
"Would you like to try one?" Edward asked. "They're very sweet."
Bella accepted the one he held out to her, inhaling sharply at its intense, honey-like flavor. "Oh wow. How do you stop at just one?"
Edward chuckled. "Enjoy as many as you like. They won't bloom for long, and there are no children here to cheat out of them."
Deciding to retain some dignity, Bella allowed herself only one for every twenty steps. She thought about Edward's comment. There were no children here. She did a mental tally of the household—some thirty people she'd met so far, the Cullen family included.
"Why are there no children?" she asked.
"Well," he said, "it hasn't been time for our cohort yet." He frowned, looking down. "Because we can produce children for a long period of time, it could mean that, if not planned for, children would grow up alone. So, as much as they can, families and their households plan children together."
Bella thought of her own lonely childhood. She'd longed for a sibling and companionship. "That's very . . . community-minded. Has it always been that way? It didn't change because of the women's movement?"
Edward nodded, offering one of his soft smiles. He'd elaborated a little more on their history after that first night, and it had quickly become clear that the women's movement was a profound division in time and customs. She smoothed her hands down the skirt of her dress. The return to the traditional and much more restrictive clothing—at least for women—had been a concession to Sabellian men, meant to appease them and take some of the sting out of returning to Sabellia's matriarchal roots. Bella thought it notable that the restoration was framed as a revolution, but exactly what it signified, she still wasn't sure.
At the end of the long tunnel, Bella spied the barn. Unlike the neatly painted main house, the whitewashed structure was humble and functional.
"This is where we house the larger livestock—the alogo, a couple of dragons, the derr."
The cow-like derr and the alogo Bella knew, but . . . "Dragons? Like"—she mimed breathing fire.
"They don't breathe much fire." This time the grin was cheeky, as was his chuckle. He plucked another honey flower, sucking on the end and letting it disintegrate in the air, the breeze scattering it behind them. "So long as you don't feed them glyko."
"Finally," a man's voice called out—Jasper's, Bella recognized. "Had enough of playing tutor?"
Edward exhaled audibly, giving his brother a hard stare as they rounded a slight bend in the path.
Jasper froze, the pitchfork in his hand hovering over a large gray mound. "I apologize, Miss Swan," he said. "I meant no disrespect to you. I was—"
"Making fun of your brother?" She smiled. "It's okay. Some sibling interactions are clearly universal."
Jasper relaxed his shoulders, giving her a polite nod.
"So, um, you mentioned dragons, Mr. Cullen?" she asked Edward.
"Yes," he said. "We had two before I left but—"
"We've four now." Jasper stuck the pitchfork forcefully into the manure pile before reaching for the jacket hanging on the fence beside him and shrugging into it. "You don't have them on earth, do you?"
"Dragons?" Bella laughed a little. It was a surprisingly nice change not to be the one asking questions. "No. Just in movies, I'm afraid." Bella skirted the manure pile.
Jasper's frown reappeared.
"Discolus," Edward said.
"Ah. Of course. Imagery with sound. I didn't realize." Jasper peered towards the large barn, the interior dim against the sunny sky. "It should be safe to see them. They fed a while ago, but keep clear of the breeding pen."
"I haven't been gone that long," Edward muttered.
"The advice wasn't for you, brother." Jasper looked at Bella, "Stay behind us. For safety's sake."
Bella watched an almost . . . unfriendly look pass between the brothers, quickly dissipating as they passed through the barn door.
"Um, sure," she said.
Turning to face her, Jasper mouthed the word, another question in his features.
"I mean yes, I understand." She'd already learned to avoid most idioms and slang, but it was tricky to strip them all from her thinking and speaking.
"The very strands!" Emmett's booming voice rang out from the back of the barn.
"And my sister's hands," Edward replied.
Now it was Bella's turn to look confused.
"Old stories," Edward said. "I'll explain later." He waved her ahead and she moved forward, catching a glimpse of his frown as Jasper took Edward's usual place beside her. When Jasper held out his arm, Bella felt obligated to take it.
She watched Emmett give Edward a hearty thump on the back with his closed fist, a gesture that she'd witnessed before between the men, glad it wasn't one anyone had tried on her. All three men towered above her, as did most of the people she'd met. At five foot eight, she was small by Sibellian standards, or at least small for the humanoids she'd met.
"He's finally let you out of the parlor!" Emmett sounded pleased, grinning enthusiastically.
Bella's hand was still tucked tightly against Jasper's side, and she felt a little odd being so close to him, rather than Edward. Assuming it would be rude to pull away, she let him guide her towards the back of the large building.
"Most of the alogos are at pasture, but we have a newborn if you'd like to see?"
There was a note of excitement in Jasper's voice. Was this the Sabellian equivalent of being shown a puppy?
"I'd love to." She hoped it would be cute, mentally batting away a brief vision of something slimy and reptilian.
"Can you help me with a harness, Edward?" Emmett asked.
When Edward glanced her way, she smiled in answer to the question in his eyes. "I'm good. Baby alogos, you know?"
Reassured, he nodded and followed Emmett to the other side of the barn.
Baby alogos were cuter than puppies, Bella decided. About the same size as a newborn fawn, they were even more uncoordinated. Nestled next to its mother, who rested on her side, the little creature looked like it was covered in peach fuzz. It stood, wobbled, and then collapsed with a tiny bray and was rewarded with a nuzzle from its dam.
"Here." Jasper pulled off a work glove before reaching into his pocket, retrieving a piece of fruit and handing it to her. "Toss it in." As she took it, their fingers brushed.
There was a low and quiet growl from behind them.
Bella froze, nearly holding her breath when she heard and then felt the vibration of another growl, this one coming from Jasper.
The soft fruit tumbled from her hand, and feeling Jasper's arm flex, she yanked her own away, stumbling backwards.
It was a familiar pair of hands that kept her from falling. "It's alright," Edward said, making sure she was steady on her feet before stepping away.
Was it?
She eyed him and then Jasper, whose curled lip trembled as he slowly shook his head back and forth. Edward seemed to be swallowing repeatedly. Both were studying the floor of the barn, tense features communicating . . . who the hell knows, Bella decided.
Emmett stood nearby, looking as frozen as she felt.
Jasper recovered first, clearing his throat. "I have chores to finish. I'll see you at supper." He nodded to Bella and then his brother, giving Edward what she could only surmise was a pleading look.
The growl had been real; Bella was sure of that. She gripped her forearm where she'd felt the tremble.
Edward coughed once, covering his mouth with his arm. "Miss Swan?"
She nodded, not certain what her words would do. Not certain what had just happened.
"Would you . . . like to see the dragons?" Edward asked.
No explanation, then. She recalled Edward's unexpected reaction in the parlor. He hadn't offered an explanation then either—not until she'd brought it up.
What had she done now? This time she was afraid to ask.
"Yes, I, um . . . of course." She didn't want to, but after that display, saying no didn't exactly feel safe.
"This way, please." He was the gentleman again, gesturing to the other side of the barn.
She walked down the narrow throughway, surprised by the smell of . . . burnt oranges. No, not oranges. Burnt sugar. There were hints of vanilla, too.
"It's not a smell you'd expect to find in a barn, is it?" Edward asked.
Bella shook her head, focused on moving slowly. The building was much darker in the far section and her eyes adjusted like her movement. Beyond a thick-slatted wall, dim shapes slithered. The soft glow from the doorway behind them and tiny pinpricks of light coming through the rough-hewn walls revealed equally tiny spots of shimmering purple, green, and yellow. As they moved, long salamander bodies came into view, necks bounded by flaring webby scales that resembled Elizabethan collars. Sitting just beneath the collar was a metal and leather band that wrapped around the midsection, restraining what appeared to be the bony prominences of . . . wings?
Even in the dark, they were beautiful creatures.
"Wow."
The larger of the two turned to her and called, a long trembling note that reminded her of the loons she'd once heard on a camping trip. It was a mournful cry, answered by one some distance away.
"Its mate," Edward said. "She's bred, so they'll need to be apart for a while."
"Because?"
"Because he might eat their offspring."
Oh. "Are the dragons . . . safe?" She wondered what they were used for.
"They are, when you know how to handle them. These have been domesticated over several generations. We ride them." As he spoke, a wistful smile crept onto his face. "It's quite exhilarating. They're fast."
Exhilarating. Bella had another word for what it was probably like, but kept her thoughts to herself.
They watched the dragons in silence for a little longer. The big animals moved slowly in their pen which, while large, was small relative to their size. It was a captivity that Bella felt a strange kinship with. She too was living in unnatural environs, pining for the people she loved, unable to reunite with them.
The sight of the penned dragons went from magical to monstrous. Her grief was fresh again. She looked away, her words almost whispered. "I'd like to go back."
Edward's polite "of course" lacked his usual energy.
She didn't know what had happened between the two brothers and herself, or why, and she didn't care. The grief of her loss would come in waves, just as it had with losing her mother. And as she faced the fresh volley, it was with weakened resolve.
It'll be better tomorrow, she told herself, but even that was out of a mechanical sense of duty. I'm just tired. That's all. That was more believable. Even so, as Edward offered his arm and led her back, it felt like a far longer walk to the house than it had been on the way there.
— o — 0 — o —
Several days later, Bella and Edward sat on a green patch of ground a short walk from one of the storehouses. Though she'd seen much of the property, there were still pieces of it that surprised her, the tiny grove being one of them. Edward had retrieved a small basket of dried glyka, a bluish-purple fruit, at Rose's request.
She suspected Edward had planned this impromptu rest. Still not back to her physical prime, she wrangled with unexpected and annoying waves of dizziness, though she tried her best to conceal them from the Cullens. It was already irksome to be so dependent on strangers without causing them additional worry. If Edward or Esme had noticed anything, they had both been too polite to say so.
In fact, since the still-unexplained incident in the barn, Edward had been, if anything, more polite and attentive than before. She couldn't be sure, but she sensed that Jasper and Edward were both embarrassed by what had happened, and she had managed to convince herself that she had never been in any danger, despite her unease at the time; it had been a simple spat between the brothers that had nothing to do with her.
Deep down, she knew her bigger fear would be losing the one friendship she'd made here.
From where she sat, the view was pretty. The nearby storage shed was on a slight knoll, allowing them a modest vista of the property and the distant blue trees waving a little in the breeze. Very pleasant. She could almost pretend she was home.
Beside her, Edward sat quietly, one arm resting on his knee, his gaze also on the landscape. With the rustic setting and warm afternoon light, he looked like a picture out of a magazine—maybe a cross between Esquire and Country Living.
He was handsome, and not just by her own standards. She wondered again how he'd avoided attracting attention on earth—attention of the romantic kind, anyway. Young women might have been intimidated by his formality, but older women—the term cougars came to mind—they would've been bolder. Again she pictured his formal attire from the day they'd met, smiling to herself.
"I find myself wondering what makes you smile so."
Had he caught her staring? The smile turned into a blush.
"Not that you need to answer," he added quietly.
She shook her head. "It's okay. I was just wondering something. Well, I had a question."
Edward faced her, his expression alert. "Yes?"
She swept the hillside with her gaze, assuring herself they were still alone. "You mentioned not interacting with others on Earth. How did you keep all the women off of you?"
Edward huffed in amusement. "I think you assume a great deal."
"I don't. Edward, you . . . you must have figured out that a lot of women there thought you were, um, good looking?"
The smile persisted. "You don't believe me?"
"Nope."
"I suppose I had a few scripts," he admitted, pushing the basket of glyka towards her.
Scripts. Interesting. Still thinking of the most likely predators, she asked: "So, where were you most likely to be pursued—or prowled?" She took a tentative bite of the dried glyka. As promised, it was sweet like a date, slightly bitter like coffee. Chewy too. She wasn't sure if she liked it.
"The grocery store."
Bella blinked, trying to envision Edward carrying a plastic basket, squeezing peaches or peeling corn. No, she decided, he'd probably just buy his best guess, not wanting to risk ruining someone else's food. And not a plastic basket, either. He'd have used a reusable cloth bag.
"Where did you live? On earth?"
"Mostly on the ground."
She rolled her eyes, but smirked at his chuckle.
"In an apartment." He named a modest area—opposite her side of town. "One of the older walkups. There were enough occupants that I didn't stand out much. There were no cameras in the hall, either."
Not just unattached then, but unobserved. She thought of the records they'd examined together, and the portraits. Clearly, other Sabellian visitors had missed the memo on staying hidden, but maybe the rules had changed over time.
She caught Edward studying her. "But you were asking how I deterred unwanted attention."
"Hmm." She tried another bite of glyka. The taste might grow on her, she supposed.
"I always knew to prepare when a woman asked for help with reaching something from a high shelf."
She could imagine that. He was tall.
"That usually led to overly profuse thanks, a hand on my arm, and then the questions started. I should add, the most persistent usually came from women who were closer to my mother's age."
He peeked sideways at Bella. "Well, perhaps not her true age."
Bella giggled hard at this, accidentally snorting a piece of glyka out her nose.
Edward passed her his handkerchief, politely looking away.
"Thank you," she murmured, wiping the mess off her face, though not her smile.
"After that, the more attentive ones would notice my wedding ring."
Unbidden, Bella's gaze zoomed to his left hand—and the empty ring finger. Had he worn it that day? She couldn't recall.
"I wasn't wearing it when we met," he said, noticing her perusal. "I knew I'd be traveling soon so I left it behind. No need for it here." He shrugged. "Once they noticed the ring, there would be the obligatory comment on how my lucky wife must be waiting for me at home. The bolder ones insinuated I should keep her waiting."
"Ugh. People can be awful."
"Some were. Some weren't." He spat out a glyka pit into the grass. "I liked my neighbors."
She tucked questions about his neighbors away for later. "So, how'd you get rid of the cougars after that?"
He frowned. "That's a . . . mountain lion, correct? A feline—"
Bella laughed. "Sorry, another species of predator. Older women attempting to seduce you."
He chuckled. "Ah, I see. Well, quite easily. I told them my wives were waiting for me in the van."
After laughing again—and not snorting out a pit—Bella nodded. "Nicely done."
He cocked his head. "And that is how I 'kept the women off of me', as you put it."
Impersonating a polygamist had been an inspired idea, and she told him so.
"Few who are willing to cross one moral line will hesitate at a second," Edward said, brushing grass from his legs. "But they will when their core beliefs are threatened. Many women wouldn't balk at adultery, but polygamy—that threatens the nature of marriage, and using it almost always worked."
He looked as pensive as she felt, and she hugged her knees, studying his features, itching to capture the quizzical expression on his face.
She flopped back onto her hands. He was right. A lot of people were fine breaking their own moral standards. But heaven help anyone who tried to mess with their definitions of right and wrong.
Bella liked hearing his analysis. Edward's opinions were universally empathetic and logical—in that order.
Being an outsider had given him the perspective to have a far greater clarity on human affairs, just as her status helped her to see a little of what Sabellians did not—or chose not to, as the case was. She mused over the heavily gendered divisions of labor again, divisions that were often dressed up in the language of equity. She wondered what roles Sabellian women had assumed in the past—before the women's movement. She was still confused about much of Sabellian history, but she was beginning to understand why they'd believed the return to traditional ways was worth the effort. If they felt they'd lost their way as a people, the concept of returning to a simpler time and clearly defined roles might have sounded appealing.
That Edward so clearly knew what it was to be an outsider was abruptly fresh and reassuring for Bella. They both studied people and their patterns. It helped, having that common ground and someone to discuss it with.
But who would she talk to when she went home?
No one. Not unless she wanted to be locked up in a psych ward.
"Of course, on occasion I also pretended to be gay."
Bella blinked out of her brief reverie.
"And did that cross moral lines for you?" she asked, curious.
"No."
The answer surprised her. From what she'd learned so far, Sabellian society was strictly heteronormative. Maybe Edward had a quietly acknowledged gay uncle. Or maybe he was gay?
The thought gave her pause.
Edward shrugged slightly. " It didn't work as well as a deterrent, in any case. A few women assured me that being with them would change my 'preferences', as they put it."
"Ew, but on point for some."
He smiled.
She thought for a moment. "You know, all you had to do was say you were transgender, and they'd have gone running."
He tossed a pit over the hedge. "Your planet is not short on intolerance, that's certain."
Not unlike Sabellia. She kept that thought to herself.
"Nor is mine," he added softly.
Yes, she decided, she definitely liked his thinking.
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.
