Act Two
From Butterflies to Fireworks Amongst Rocks and Amber
Chapter Six: Screaming Rocks
With a familiar jingle traveling across the cozy space, the bell clinging to the entrance of Rosie's flower shop announces the arrival of Varian and Lashanie, beckoning them inside.
Holding the door open for his friend, Varian dips into a bow and indicates with a sweep of his arm for her to go first. She curtsies and meets him with a prankish grin as she steps over the threshold. Varian follows closely behind, letting the door shut with another bell peal.
From a room at the far end of the shop, rustling reaches their ears. "Just a moment, please; I'll be there for you in a second," they hear Rosie, the shopkeeper, call. Then, more rustling.
"It's alright; we're not in a hurry," Varian gives back, a distinct smile dancing in his voice.
He swivels his gaze toward Lashanie, searching for her reaction, but her attention is already tethered to the stunning array of plants and flowers transforming the small shop into a jungle of tones of green and specks of color, displaying such a wide range that it would let even the most priced painting pale in comparison.
She twirls on her heels to drink in the lush green of the leaves and the perfect shape of all the flower petals in every minute detail.
Varian watches her blossom from delight, surrounded by this myriad of flowers, like she is one of them and needs their company to remain in full bloom. He almost expects all the colorful little plants to bend their heads toward Lashanie and welcome their lost sister back.
Only when Lashanie turns his way, their gazes colliding, does Varian notice with what a goofy smile he's been watching her—as it glides off his face while her eyes dilate slightly, and he feels a sudden blush climbing up his neck.
An absurd urge to deny having stared at her presses into him. His lips have already parted when Lashanie points at something above Varian. His eyes follow her gesture, finding a hanging basket with foliage spilling over the sides. The little rose-colored flowers popping from the green seem to be tilting toward him.
Flowers. Of course, she hadn't been looking at him but some flowers.
The realization replaces the shock Varian had felt a mere blink ago with a heap of disappointment.
This is silly! He should be relieved she hadn't caught him looking at her like . . . well, like . . . Ugh! Anyway! He should be glad she hadn't caught him staring. But he isn't.
"Vary, look—a geranium," admires Lashanie, unaware of his inner conflict. "They're quite seldom here since they're native to South Africa. And so beautiful. But they are more than just pretty to look at; their root extract has an expectorant effect, you know."
Finally, she pulls her attention away from the plant and attaches it to Varian, looking at him as if she'd expect to find an equal amount of enthusiasm lighting up his face.
He bites back a grimace. Silly flowers. Silly Birdy.
"That's right, Pelargonium Peltatum. T'wasn't easy getting my hands on that one, I tell you," a familiar voice sounds from the counter, drawing the gazes of Lashanie and Varian toward it alike. "I have hung her there for you, Lashie. I knew she would catch your eye," Rosie says, a chuckle lacing her voice.
Lashanie lets her glance snag on the little flower buds once more, beaming, "She's a marvel of beauty."
"Beyond a doubt." Rosie rounds the counter, approaching them. "Speaking of beauty," she reaches out, gently cupping Lashanie's face in both hands, "my dear, it's been a while, and you're becoming lovelier every time I see you."
A shy smile steals into Lashanie's face as Rosie squishes her cheeks. "Oh no, I—That's very kind of you to say, but I-I'm not . . ."
Rosie's lips tilt downward. She releases Lashanie and faces Varian instead. "She doesn't believe me. Maybe you should tell her; she'll believe you."
"I—what?!" Varian's eyes grow wide while Rosie stares back at him expectantly, giving an encouraging nod.
He turns toward Lashanie. She's blinking at him through her long lashes, waiting. His pulse increases.
"Lovely, isn't she?" Rosie prods happily.
Oh, sun above! He can't just say something like that to Birdy. And yet . . . why can't he tell her? There's nothing to it, right?
"You—you are, w-well . . ." Varian starts, the nervousness rendering him clumsy. "I mean, you—you know that you're—um, well . . ." An awkward chuckle escapes him. Oh boy, how silly could one stammer about?!
Lashanie tilts a little closer to him, her hands clasped behind her back. Not trying in the slightest to hide her amusement, she asks in honeyed tones, "Yes, Vary? I'm listening."
The afternoon glow enclosing the shop tinges her gaze golden, and Varian can feel a hot redness rush across his cheeks as it burrows into him.
Tell her, he silently urges himself. Just tell her.
Then, Rosie pats his shoulder, paying him an apologetic smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear; I didn't mean to embarrass you."
Lashanie shrugs, assuring with an edge of cheekiness, "Don't worry, he will be fine."
Another consoling pat on his shoulder before Rosie trudges back to the counter, followed by Lashanie, and the moment is gone.
He didn't say it. Varian bites the inside of his cheek. Really, he wanted to . . . but didn't.
"How about I make it up to you? With a cup of tea and some lemon biscuits, perhaps?" the old lady offers, dispelling his thoughts of regret.
She's about to head for the room at the end of the shop immediately, but Lashanie settles a hand on her arm, halting her gently. "I fear we don't have time to stay for tea, Rosie."
The woman quirks an eyebrow at Varian. "But didn't you mention you're not in a hurry?"
"He was just kidding around, you see," Lashanie explains. "Actually, I fear we can't stay so much longer."
At that, Rosie shakes her head, frowning. "I see. The humor of young man, I tell you, Lashie."
The corners of Lashanie's mouth tip up into a whimsical smile. "Oh, I know, Rosie. I know." Her sidelong glance meets Varian.
Oh please! They both know she adores his kind of humor. So he rolls his eyes at her, sporting an impish grin of his own.
Taking no notice of their little banter, Rosie wonders, "My, no tea and no biscuits. But what can I do for you two lovelies, then?"
Varian shrugs. "We came to ask if we could borrow a broom from you."
"Please," Lashanie adds.
"But of course!" An empathetic nod lets her glasses slide down half of her nose. Adjusting them, Rosie grabs a time-worn broom leaning against a wall. She shoves the cleaning tool into Varian's hands. "Here you go. But don't cause any trouble with it." She wages a finger at him.
To his side, Lashanie barely suppresses a titter, her lips twitching betrayingly.
Holding the broom with one hand, Varian raises the other to his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. "Of course not; I won't."
What trouble is he supposed to cause with such a brittle broom anyway? That thing wouldn't even survive a single blow to Ben's hollow noggin.
•●•●•
And once they'd returned to their families, Varian kept wishing he could whack Ben over the head with that dumb broom. Not only was he—what else could have been expected of him—thinking himself too good to sweep the landing so that Varian lastly took on that task. No, the poor Benedikt also couldn't be expected to return the broom to Rosie.
When Varian had been standing inside the shop for the third time that day, he had felt ever so tempted to stay for the lemon biscuits. And if it hadn't been for Lashanie—whom her aunt insisted on staying put this time, for when they were together, they'd only dawdle—and his dad waiting for him, he gladly would have given in to that temptation.
But instead, he had made quick work of that trip. After all, he still had to persuade his dad to let him join that science expo, and he still needed to tell Lashanie about it.
When they finally left the town, homeward-bound, the sun had begun its descent behind the colorful tiled rooftops of Corona's market.
.
Now, the quickly sinking evening sun is bathing the sky in scenic flame colors.
Yet Corona was still in late summer's grip, but autumn's breath would sweep over it soon. It would make little difference concerning the temperatures, within daylight anyhow. One of the reasons people believe the kingdom to be blessed by the sun is its warm, favorable climate, after all. Still, the days are growing shorter steadily as Wintersonnenwende draws nearer. And this sunset is a loud harbinger of autumn's advent.
"It's so beautiful," Varian hears Lashanie whisper next to him.
He gives an affirmative hum.
As agreed, he, Birdy, and Ben sit on the wagon bed while the adults occupy the coachmen's seat. His dad is hemmed between Anne and Marie, having to listen to Marie talking a mile a minute about the ever-so-luxurious and perfect life she leads in Equis.
"And our estate has an impressive garden, including a hedge maze, all laid out to my personal preferences. Do you know anybody else who can say that about themselves?"
"No, I don't," Quirin answers, exhaustion swaying in his voice unmistakable.
But that doesn't stop Marie from keeping her brag up. "Three gardeners take care of only that one garden. Do you know anybody else who employs three gardeners for only one of the gardens on their estate? I bet you don't."
Varian can almost hear his dad's eye roll as he repeats his monotonous answer, "No, I don't."
Except for those curt negations, the only one speaking is Marie. Thank the sun they'll be home soon.
Next to him, Lashanie shifts. Varian feels her weight slightly pressing against him, her head leaning on his shoulder, and suddenly, Marie's prattle fades into mere background noise as his heartbeat does that silly, treacherous thing again: pounding faster than it should.
Opposite them, Ben grimaces. "Eugh, I'm going to be sick!"
"Huh? What did you say, Benedikt?" Marie doesn't even go to the length to peek at her son.
For an instant, a sign of indecision hovers in Ben's expression as he considers snitching on Lashanie. But then he says, "Nothing, Mother," and merely averts his gaze.
Lashanie doesn't so much as twitch to break their touch. Adamantly, she keeps huddled against Varian's shoulder.
Despite the nervous flutter in his stomach, Varian summons up the courage to tentatively slide his hand into hers.
Then, he fixes his stare forward like a statue, not daring to catch her reaction and hoping he's the only one hearing the drumbeat of his heart.
He feels Lashanie's fingers close around his hand with a gentle squeeze, and a smile breaks across his face. It's silly. He shouldn't feel so absurdly fuzzy about that touch. They've held hands probably a thousand times before. And yet . . .
Ben sighs and cuts them both a glare. "Are you finished?! Or do you want me to throw up?"
Now Marie whips her head about, her long hair lashing through the air. "Benedikt! Mind your mouth, and stop interrupting when the adults are talking!"
Ben gives a start. "But, mother—"
His mother cuts into his protest in a warning manner, "But me no buts! I've suffered enough nuisances for one day. You needn't be difficult on top."
Marie turns back and resumes her monologue without waiting for Ben's response. He crosses his arms over his chest, sporting a pout.
Sometimes, Varian can't help but wonder why Ben insists on being this quarrelsome, especially since Birdy keeps assuring him that he hasn't always been like this. That there was a time when they were close.
He peers at Lashanie, who is offering her cousin a comforting smile, and since Ben can't say anything without drawing his mother's attention, he makes do with pretending to gag at her and turns away his entire body before she can react.
That— that darn . . . A string of curses crosses Varian's mind.
In the same instant, a sprinkle of little red somethings steals into his focus. Varian watches the clumps of shrubs lining the wayside glide by.
Hm. Rosehip.
This gives him an idea.
As inconspicuously as possible, he leans over and reaches for a sprig, ripping off a handful of its fruit.
By way of answering the quizzical expression rising to Lashanie's features, Varian gives her a wink and touches a finger to his lips before slipping the rosehip into his pocket.
.
They're about to arrive at Old Corona, and Marie insists on getting off the wagon and covering the rest of the way on foot before anyone might see her entering the village on such an unsuitable ride for someone of her social status.
"You do understand that I shall not give the hoi polloi reasons to talk," she states offhand, smothering her skirt to rid it of imaginary crinkles.
Reining the horse to a halt, Quirin jerks his head in a brief nod. "Naturally."
It seems her sister's unmasked pride is rendering Anne uncomfortable, for she pays him an uneasy smile, "I hope you don't mind, Quirin."
And Varian has to stifle a chuckle at how poorly his dad tries to veil his relief over escaping Marie's presence, saying, "Not at all. We must take the horse back to the stables anyway; it would only mean a detour for you."
The wagon wheels stall, and Varian scrambles to his legs. He stretches his limbs, stitches dance in his muscles as he leaps down the landing.
While his dad aids Anne—and yes, also Marie—to alight the wagon, Varian offers his help to Lashanie.
She places her hand inside his open palm, and the instant her feet touch the ground, he tightens his grip on her, pulling her close with a grin tugging at his lips. He bends down slightly, bringing his mouth close to her ear to whisper, "I'll come to pick you up an hour past curfew. Keep your window open."
A nod from Lashanie, barely noticeable.
"You know that no man will ever show interest in Lashie if she keeps displaying such improper closeness to that farm boy, don't you, Anne?" Marie remarks as soon as her attention lands on them. And despite addressing her sister, she made sure to speak loudly enough for all of them to hear.
Sweetness , Varian's glad he won't have to suffer that woman much longer. Reluctantly, he frees Lashanie from his arms.
His dad gives an exhausted sound of disapproval, and Marie eyes him with smug complacency, knowing her venom will go with impunity; she doesn't need his help anymore. A careless one-shouldered shrug paired with a half-murmured "No offense" is all she musters up for him.
Quirin turns away, climbing back onto the wagon, "I take none."
At the same time, Ben shoves past Varian and Lashanie, deliberately bumping his shoulder into his cousin. "No sane man would ever want her anyway," he hisses.
The temptation to go through with his plan creeps into Varian. His dad calls for him, eager to leave, and it's now or never.
"Coming," he calls, sliding one hand into his pocket, where he grinds the rosehip between his gloved fingers. Now, this next step will be just as gross for him as it's going to be for Ben.
Well, the things one does to avenge their best friend . . .
Instead of joining his dad in the coachmen's seat immediately, Varian strides toward Ben and throws his arms around him in an overstated gesture, sporting a giant artificial grin, "So long, Benedikt!"
It's a mere blink of an eye before Ben's face contorts with repugnance, and he pushes him away with more force than necessary, but it suffices for Varian to smear the ground rosehip into the other's neck.
Varian staggers backward, fighting for balance. Then there are Lashanie's gentle hands, catching him.
"Don't you ever dare touch me again!" Ben casts his furious gaze from Varian to Lashanie. "Tell your idiotic friend to stay away from me," he barks.
"Now, now, Benedikt. We shall use our polite words around others," Marie says in a feigned attempt to rebuke her son.
Ben scrunches his nose at Varian before whipping about and stomping to his mother's side.
But nothing could diminish the rush of triumph coursing through Varian's veins right now. Ben would soon undergo a well-deserved surprise, and the knowing of it stretches his lips into a huge smile.
"We're leaving, Varian," his dad's voice gets carried toward him again, urging.
He looks at Lashanie. Curiosity is twinkling in her eyes as she blinks at him. And another tempting idea weasels its way into his mind.
Ah, shucks; he'll just do it!
Still bolstered by his little victory, Varian presses a peck on her cheek before scurrying to the front of the wagon and hopping onto the coach box. He beams at his dad, "Let's go."
Quirin raises an eyebrow at him but stirs the horse into motion nonetheless.
As they diverge from Lashanie and her family, they hear Marie say, "Your friend is quite an— impetuous boy," disdain dripping from her words.
"That he is," Lashanie affirms. Yet, a smile is dancing in her voice, leaving no doubt that she doesn't deem this a bad thing at all. Filling Varian with a kind of warmth much like Lashanie's words have been giving off.
Next to him, his dad discreetly clears his throat. "Well, who would have thought I'd ever witness you embracing Lashie's cousin."
He meets Varian's gaze with a sideglance, and his eyes bear such loud suspicion that Varian decides to simply tell him.
Then, in the distance, they hear Ben cry out, followed by loud chastisement from his mother. Scraps of barely comprehensible curses reach their ears.
Quirin quirks a brow at him.
"Say, did you know," Varian starts, reaching into his pocket to produce what's left of the red fruits, "that ground rosehip works as itching powder?"
For a beat or two, confusion knits into his dad's brow. Then realization. His lips twitch. "A unique parting token," he mutters.
Varian can see his face working, torn between amusement and becoming angry with him.
Lastly, Quirin allows a smile to cheer his expression. Yet, he insists, "This will remain a one-time exception, Varian. Can we agree on that?"
"Of course, Dad."
"I mean it—I don't want Seymour or Simon Durand, or one of their parents, to come my way and complain about anything involving itching powder. Are we clear?"
"Crystal." Varian rids himself of the rosehip remnants. "One-time exception; I get the idea!"
His dad nods, placing one hand on Varian's head and ruffling his hair. "Very well."
A chuckle escapes Varian as his ever-present goggles slip into his face. He pushes them back to the top of his head, neglecting any attempt to fix his hair. His dad has tousled it to the wildest anyway.
He leans into Quirin's focus as best as possible from his seat, "So, Dad . . . about that science expo again . . ."
•●•●•
Night has settled upon Old Corona, bathing the village in hues of silver and blue. The quiet is disturbed by only the cicadas' song of love and the repeated calls of nocturnal birds.
And the crunch of Varian's strides against the sandy path leading away from his house.
His feet halt near the fork between his and Lashanie's home.
It's not precisely chilly tonight, yet it should suffice for sounds to get carried far enough for Lashanie to hear their secret sign. If she's still awake, that is. Convincing his dad to let him partake in the expo took longer than expected.
He lifts his cupped hands to his mouth, amplifying the call of a whippoorwill. Or, well, the whistle he blows, imitating a whippoorwill's call as best he can.
Varian waits.
Then, light blooms in Lashanie's window. He gives another whistle. The light flickers out again.
One corner of Varian's mouth tips up as he watches his best friend sneak out through the open window.
.
Lashanie is waiting by her window; her head resting on her folded arms, she gazes up into the starry sky.
It was just a peck. There was absolutely nothing to it. It also wasn't the first time she'd received a kiss on the cheek from him.
So why does it keep spiraling in her mind? And what is taking him so long?
She strains her ears for the familiar whistle.
Perhaps he's forgotten. Or fallen asleep. Or Quirin has caught him trying to sneak out, and now—
Lashanie's train of thought gets derailed abruptly when the semi-authentic imitation of a whippoorwill call rings through the night.
Her heart does a little skip. Vary.
She reaches for the candle resting on her nightstand as well as the fire steel and the flint she's burrowed from the parlor.
Clack . . . Clack. Clack. At the third time of bringing the two tools in her hands together, a flame flickers to life on the wick, and she places the burning candle in her window. Then she listens, bating her breath without noticing.
Another 'whippoorwill call'.
Lashanie's lips curl into a smile as she bends down to blow out the candle and returns it to the nightstand. She sits down on the windowsill and listens into the house. It's wrapped in deep silence.
Perfect.
Effortlessly, she swings her legs to the other side of the window, letting them dangle against the exterior wall. Then, she jumps.
With a soft thud, her feet meet the ground, and once more, she pauses to listen for a possible sign that her parents have taken notice of her nocturnal trip, front teeth pressing into her bottom lip. And again, there's no rustling or footsteps or any other suspicious sound traveling through the quiet of the house.
Lashanie's mouth morphs into the smile of the cat that swallowed the canary as she rights herself and smoothes out her clothes.
Soft-footed, she steals away.
At the fork in the path between their houses, Varian is waiting for her, a half-smile playing on his lips.
He isn't wearing his apron, and his thick gloves are missing, too, while Lashanie is still dressed the same way as the moment they parted a few hours ago. Well, except for her own gloves. She'll hardly need them tonight. Still, with her full skirt plus petticoat and gold-rimmed loincloth, she can't help feeling absurdly overdressed next to Varian.
Is he thinking she's stayed this dolled up for him? Is this why he's smiling like that?
Lashanie's own smile turns sheepish as she bridges the distance that still lies between him and her. Tugging a strand of hair behind her ear, she whispers, "Hey."
.
Until they approach the more secluded areas of the village, they have to walk in silence.
Again and again, Lashanie finds herself peering at Varian's profile. She had always thought that his blue eyes looked mesmerizing in the moonlight. But catching herself thinking how pretty it looks when that silver glow slides down his nose and scatters across the curves of his lips and down his chin—how beautiful he is—is new. And somehow, these thoughts equally fluster and scare her. Feeling warmth bloom on her cheeks, she tries to will them away, working her hands into the fabric of her skirt.
Finally, they reach the edge of the village, and a loud exhale from Varian turns into a relieved chuckle.
Once again, they've sneaked out at night successfully.
Lashanie allows herself a liberating sigh. For her, getting caught would undoubtedly be followed by more dire consequences. Still, she can't help defying her parents. In fact, it was she who had incited these little forbidden trips and come up with their secret sign.
"Finally!" Varian grins at her, mischief twinkling in his eyes, "So, Birdy, tell me: how did Ben like my gift?"
"Oh, he loved it. So much so that he invented an entire flood of new cusses for you."
Varian laughs. "Really, that much?"
"You have no idea. In the end, Papa threatened to wash his mouth out with soap if he didn't stop."
Through a snicker, Varian utters, "Now, this is even better than I thought," his bright eyes crinkling into crescents.
There is something about his laugh making Lashanie's heart pound a little faster. She inclines her head, hoping to mask another blush she feels claiming her face. "You should probably avoid Ben the next days, though. I suppose he would only be too pleased to return the favor."
Varian waves off her concern, making to resume their little stroll. "Eh, you don't need to worry, Birdy; I'm going to be otherwise engaged anyway."
Lashanie follows him. "Oh, you are?"
Instead of answering straight, Varian produces a sheet of folded paper from his pocket. She knows how much Vary enjoys a big reveal, so Lashanie patiently waits for him to unfold it, watching his lips curve upward.
"I will be busy," Varian says, pausing for effect before he hands her a flyer, "preparing my entry for the upcoming Exposition of Sciences."
"Really? That's amazing, Vary!" Lashanie clasps hold of the paper to survey it closely in the scarce light. Dr. Al-Alcott St. Croix? The name doesn't ring a bell with her, but Varian will know if that man is someone worth trying to win approval from. Yet, she also has to wonder . . . "Your dad actually allows you to join?"
With a distinct touch of pride swaying in his voice, Varian confirms, "Of course he does! You're surprised?"
"Hm, a little." Lashanie pinches her fingers in example.
"Alright, it took some persuading, and I had to agree not to use anything highly flammable," Varian falls into a murmur, "or flammable at all." But with the next blink, his expression cheers up again. "Still, I'm going to join a scientific contest, Birdy. And I will win!"
She smiles, "Oh, I know you will." That, she's got no doubt of. Varian is the most genius, most creative person she has ever met. "So, you already know what you'll present to that great scientist acting as a judge?"
"Not yet. But I'd wager we'll happen across something that sparks an idea."
Lashanie nods, squinting at the flyer and tilting it to catch more of the moonlight. "I guess it's possible." And that might well be an understatement. Like no other, Varian is able to turn any fragment he picks up into an idea. It wouldn't take him long to come up with something clever, she's certain.
"You know what? You can be my assistant, Birdy," Varian enthuses.
"Oh, I don't know . . ." Lashanie pretends to ponder, feeling a betraying smile blooming on her lips already. But then, her gaze finds the part of the flyer declaring the staging grounds of the exposition, and her face falls. Of all the places . . . Her mouth suddenly feels parched; her feet stall.
Varian turns to her, spurred by her quiet. The unease must be written across her face because his brows crinkle with worry at once. "What's wrong?"
Lashanie swallows, trying to banish the dryness from her throat. "The—the expo . . . it's taking place in the castle courtyard."
For a beat, Varian seems utterly confused. "Well, yeah. Where did you think it would—" Then, realization washes into his features. "Oh! You . . . It's because of that trial, isn't it? You're still afraid of the royal family."
"Ah, you know, I wouldn't say afraid ." Lashanie attempts a chuckle to lighten the mood, but it comes out as a miserable sound instead. She bites into her lip.
"Hm, now it makes much more sense why you've been so," he searches for the right word, " meek in the presence of Rapunzel. But why didn't you tell me?" Varian trails his hand over her arm as if hoping his touch could rid her of that fright.
Lashanie shirks to meet his gaze. "I—I don't know; it's just that . . . I thought it wasn't worth bringing up. It's not a big deal, really," she fibs.
Actually, she knows exactly why she kept quiet about it. Because she already feels silly enough for that irrational fear without making anyone privy. Because she knows that nothing is going to happen to her when she nears the castle, and still, seeing it stirs up an avalanche of anxiety to this very day. But most of all, she doesn't want to look like a coward, at least not in Vary's eyes.
Varian tilts his head, bringing his face so close that his brow almost touches Lashanie's, compelling her to look him in the eye. "Hey, it's alright. You don't have to go there with me if you don't—"
"No! No, I want to go with you," Lashanie hastily cuts into his words. "You're always there for me, and I want to be there for you too."
No matter how much the castle and the royal family intimidate her, there's no way she'd ever let Varian down on such an important day. She wants to be brave for him.
He smiles, and in this moment, his eyes outshine the stars in the sky. Lashanie is helplessly lost in his blue gaze for one beat—two.
Then Varian pulls away, letting out an awkward chuckle, as he brings one hand to his neck. And—it's hard to tell under the veil of night—but has the tinge on his cheeks deepened, or is she just imagining things?
"Heh, alright. Let's keep our eyes peeled then, for something that might spark an idea," Varian says, his voice bearing a hint of bashfulness.
Lashanie nods, and they're about to continue meandering the edge of their sleeping village when, suddenly, an unfamiliar sound pierces the place's usual calm. It reminds her of digging, the sound of earth being burrowed through. But she can't pinpoint it to any animal living near the village. None of them would make so much noise. None of them is large enough to.
Varian exchanges a meaningful look with her, and in the next blink, they're already hunting down that strange noise.
Their pursuit leads them to one of the hills skirting Old Corona. They push through the brush, and there, the search ends as they gaze up at a cluster of smooth stones jutting into the sky, pointy and pitch-black.
"What the—?" Varian's approach slows but doesn't entirely stop, unlike Lashanie's. Her feet stumble and freeze in place.
Something about these things gives her the creeps. They're eerie . . . yes, almost threatening.
"Vary, I-I don't think we should go near them."
But Varian doesn't even stall for a beat. "You're kidding, right? Don't tell me you ain't curious to find out what they are."
Well, perhaps she is, a little . . . But she'd prefer to observe them from a safe distance first. And yet, Vary is inching ever closer to them and further away from her.
Venting a sigh, Lashanie forces her legs to unfreeze and carry her to his side.
The nearer she draws to these— rocks , the louder a pulse grows in the air surrounding them. A stirring sharpness, like before a coming storm.
This can only be a bad idea.
Step by step, they bridge the safe distance until they're so close to the black objects that half an arm's length would suffice to touch them.
Lashanie feels dread clawing up her throat, and she swallows hard in an attempt to gulp it down. Don't be ridiculous, she tells herself. It's only rocks. Harmless, black, spiky rocks that sprout out the ground in the middle of the night . . . Ow, if only she could shut out her own thoughts!
At the same time, Varian examines them with an almost child-like fascination. "Hm, interesting. That smooth surface . . . it could be an unknown mineral, don't you think,' he mutters, more as if to himself.
Then he reaches out. And a wash of goosebumps spreads down Lashanie's limbs. She clasps his arm and yanks him back. "No—you can't just touch them!"
"Birdy, you're being silly," he says, reaching out again.
This time, she grabs two fistfuls of his collar, forcing him to look at her, "I mean it, Varian!" She lowers her voice to a whisper as if the rocks could hear her, "You don't know what might happen. What if they're dangerous ?"
Tipping his head back, Varian cast his gaze into the sky, rolling his eyes. "Oh, come on!"
The next blink, while Lashanie's still clutching his collar, he places a palm flat against one of the stones.
Lashanie draws in a loud gasp, holds her breath for a beat, and rereleases it in a blow when nothing happens. Huh.
Varian tilts his head, amusement bending his lips. "See? Everything's fine." His gaze wanders to her hands, the smirk growing wider. "I think you can let go now."
Promptly, Lashanie's fists spring open. The heat of a deep blush rushes into her cheeks as she tries to smooth out the creases of her grip on his shirt. "I'm sorry, Vary," she mutters.
Goodness, he must think her so silly. What was she even expecting to happen?! They're just some strange rocks or minerals or something. Oh, how she would love to just melt into the ground.
But instead of poking fun at her, Varian trails his hand over hers, calming their frantic endeavor. His smile becomes softer. "It's alright, Birdy. Just—relax a little, okay?"
Lashanie nods, retracting her hands.
And Varian casts his attention back at their discovery. Palms planted against his hips, he says, "Too bad I didn't bring anything to cut these with. I'd love to take home a sample to analyze it."
Again, he runs a hand against one of the strange rocks. Gripping a smaller one near the pointy end, Varian tries to break off a piece. Unsuccessfully, however. When even leaning in with his full weight doesn't work, he gives up. "Ugh, these things are rock solid." Snickering, he nudges Lashanie with his elbow, "Who'd have guessed, right?"
Lashanie feigns a chuckle. "What . . . what do they feel like?" she hears herself ask, strange and distant, as if it came from somebody else.
But Varian doesn't seem to notice. He purses his lips, pondering. "Mostly, they feel smooth and cold."
"Cold," Lashanie repeats quietly. It's strange, so inexpressibly strange, but the longer she's near them, the more she feels compelled to touch these rocks. It's almost as if they're bearing a consciousness . . . as if they're calling for someone.
Lashanie can sense that someone is not her. And yet, she watches her fingers reach for the stone.
Her skin has barely made contact when a jolt wrecks through her, mercilessly arcing through every limb. Cold. So cold. Whispers as loud as a storm invade her thoughts. A confused jumble she can't make sense of. Her pulse increases to a drum, thundering through every artery.
Suddenly, scorching heat inflames her blood.
White spots speck her vision. She can't breathe.
As abruptly as they've captured her, the rocks release Lashanie, and she staggers backward . . . falls.
For a moment, sole silence. But then there is Varian. She can feel his arms cradling her, can hear his voice calling her name. And see his eyes reflecting confusion and worry. So much worry.
Air fills her lungs once again, her breaths coming in short gasps.
Lashanie tastes bile rising up her throat, and she tries to sit up, gulping against the sour pain. Blinking repeatedly, she's willing away the sparkles dancing before her eyes as her mouth keeps forming voiceless words.
At that, a touch of relief enters Varian's expression. "Oh, thank the sun, you're awake!" He encloses Lashanie in his arms, pressing her upper body tight against his own. His face buried in her hair, he streams frantic sentences together, "Birdy, I was so scared. You didn't respond to me, a-a-and I thought you weren't breathing, and I didn't know what to do. I thought you were —you . . . Don't ever scare me like that again. Please."
Lashanie lowers her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling Varian's ever-present lavender scent, and with every breath, her heartbeat returns to its own pace.
When she's sure she can trust her thoughts and, more importantly, her limbs again, she reluctantly slides a hand between herself and Varian, resting it against his chest with gentle pressure, entangling herself from his arms.
"You alright?" Varian scans her face. Lashanie nods, and a smile slips over his features before his brows draw together again a mere blink later. "What happened? Why did you pass out?"
"I . . . I don't know." The simple truth, even though she wishes she could explain to him. Or at least understand it herself.
Her gaze wanders to those 'stones,' scrutinizing the black surface glinting in the moonlight. What are they really ?
.
Once Lashanie assures Varian that she's feeling well enough to stand, he carefully helps her back to her legs. "Are you sure you can walk? You know, I could also give you a piggyback ride. What do you say?"
Lashanie feels her mouth tilt upward at the corners. "You're an angel, Vary. But I—I think walking a bit will do me good."
Varian nods, and while Lashanie tentatively ventures a few steps down the hill, he lingers briefly. Wearing a flustered grin, he quietly repeats to himself, "An angel . . ."
One step at a time, Lashanie tells herself, making her descent. Ha! She knew her legs would carry her. Perhaps a little shakier than usual, but still.
She turns to give Varian a look of "I told ya" but finds he hasn't moved an inch yet.
"Are you coming, Vary?" she calls.
His gaze shoots up, eyes dilating as if he'd been jolted from a daydream. "Uh—yeah, of course!" He quickly catches up with her.
.
As they return to the residential zone of the village, Lashanie and Varian have to veil themselves in silence again.
They walk side by side, and Lashanie's thoughts flow in too many directions for her attention to hold when Varian reaches for her hand, interlacing his finger with hers, diverting all of them at once.
Her gaze flits to him. He smiles.
And instead of twisting and turning about the 'rocks' they've discovered, Lashanie's thoughts resume spinning on stunning blue eyes and moonlight dancing across nose bridges and lips and how those lips produce such beautiful smiles . . .