Lukas apparently already knew where the cellar was and fetched several kinds of cheese, fresh tomatoes, salad, butter and a ham, whilst Paul magicked a freshly baked bread from his oven. Soon we were all sitting down, attacking the excellent food.
And then it was my turn to be interrogated by Paul: 'You mentioned something weird happening?' I told him what had happened, not hiding my chagrin at getting 'hunches' and 'feelings', and also what my boss had said.
Paul wanted to know everything in detail, wanted me to describe the feeling exactly, where I felt it, and whether it tickled, or hurt, and whether it stayed at the same intensity or faded or came in waves. I tried to remember, aided by the buzz I still felt in the back of my mind.
Talking about it, the feeling became stronger, making it easier to describe. I also told him about the lodestone-effect, which seemed to please him a lot.
Suddenly I realized that his interest must mean he knew more about what I had felt, and I cried out: 'You know what it is that I felt!'
Paul laughed and said: 'I wondered when you would realize that I was asking about something I was familiar with.' But to me it was important, so I just said: 'Tell me, please!' Not fazed by my seriousness at all, Paul observed:
'You are such a methodical person, you never considered your feeling might be right, did you?'
And indeed, I hadn't, I thought I was going mad or simple. 'It is your magic awakening, Melissa,' Paul said intently, 'apparently you can feel it if materials have weaknesses in them. You feel it as a nagging or buzzing, getting stronger when you approach the flaw itself. That beam really is a danger to the building and everyone involved.
In the future, with training, you'll be able to figure out what the problem is, not just that there is one. And the next stage is to be able to repair the damage with magic, but that is probably at least a decade away for you.'
'How will I be able to practice?' I asked him, 'and how will I convince my
boss and the contractors that something is indeed wrong when it doesn't show on the outside?' Paul answered: 'As to the first, you can hone your skills in my forge, I cast pieces all the time, and you can check them for flaws and if you find any, open them up to see if you were right. Then I'll recast the piece and you can check it again.
And with valuable pieces, you can just ask me if you are right, I have the same talent so I usually know. And as to the second question, it is difficult for you cannot prove anything. But once you've been right a few times people will start to believe you, and most people can believe in feelings and hunches without thinking of magic at all, so you'll be safe.'
Contemplating this, I concluded: 'So I cannot do anything about my current case? I'll just have to hope it will not cost too many lives and give me the reputation that my hunches come true?' Here, Paul looked at me intently and said: 'That it what I meant, yes, but maybe it will all work out after all. You can double check your calculations, maybe you'll find something, but I doubt it. I have cast plenty of large pieces, and flaws can be virtually undetectable.'
We left it at that, it was still difficult to keep up a three way conversation, though Lukas had apparently benefited greatly from Paul's books, and from their conversation today, for he could already follow some of Paul's English sentences.
Still, Paul often had to translate to Greek still, or leave Lukas out of the conversation, which of course would only prolong the time it would take for him to learn English. Looking at Lukas I noticed a shadow over his skull, and stroked it with my hand, his hair was growing in fast, he had a distinct stubble all over now. It felt really nice, and apparently not only to me, for Lukas leaned into my stroking like a cat, nearly purring.
'You'll have a nice head of hair in no time,' I told him, 'what did you two do today?' Lukas, still enjoying my caresses, replied: 'First I slept a bit more, then had breakfast and dressed, then went to Paul's, had breakfast again, and we did some English. Then we had tea with pie, then we went to the workshop. I learned to cut metal, weld it without burning my hands, stoke the furnace, feed it oxygen to make it burn hotter, and I helped Paul cast parts for a new work.
Tomorrow we'll see if they worked out, and he's going to show me how to make a new mould for castings. He thinks I may have a talent for sculpting.
As for the hair, it'll never cover my horns, and Paul says no-one here has
horns, and they will not accept it if someone has. Do you think so too?' At this he sat up straight and looked at me, no longer wanting to be stroked. I couldn't lie to him, no matter how harsh the truth: 'I'm sorry Lukas, but Paul is right. No human has horns, most people would even harm you for having them, because they would think you were a devil, the embodiment of evil in our main religion. And the hooves would make it worse, he has those too in every picture ever drawn of him.'
Lukas was clearly disheartened by this: 'So that means I'll have to stay inside and see no-one but you two for the rest of my life? I already miss being outdoors, running and swimming, making love in the woods.' I really felt for him, he was still quite happy here but how long could that last?
He needed space, and other friends and yes, other lovers as well. I held out my arms to him and he quickly sat on my lap and rested his head on my shoulder. To make him feel a bit better quickly I gently rubbed the base of his horns, which had the same effect as my stroking his head, only much stronger, for now he closed his eyes and nearly fell asleep.
I was afraid Paul might not like to see us so intimate in his presence, but as I looked at him he showed as much concern about Lukas as I felt. He did seem to be studying Lukas' reaction to my caresses rather intently, but not in jealousy, more with scientific interest, as became clear when he spoke: 'That part of his horns seems very sensitive.'
I replied: 'It is, much more so than just skin.' 'And the rest of the horn?' he asked. Now Lukas showed an interest again, he clearly understood some English already, and he had followed Paul's thought even though Paul hadn't spoken it yet. 'Only the base is alive, the rest can be trimmed like my hoofs,'
he said, looking almost hungry, 'if I grow my hair long and wear clothes and shoes I could go outside.'
'How do you know they can be trimmed, and how far could you do it?' I asked, quite shocked at the thought of such a mutilation but not seeing an alternative, 'and would they grow back like a hoof? Lukas leaned back against me and I started caressing the horn-base again.
He gave me a tiny poke and a knowing look, and I realized he was getting too worked up by my ministrations. So I gave the attention to his stubble instead, and felt him relax again. The thought of him cutting off his horns still upset me, and stroking his head relaxed me too.
He didn't seem concerned by the thought, and answered my questions: 'It is
only done as punishment in our society, and not often, for we do not often need to punish or be punished. We are a peaceful people.
But I know it can be done, and I have an idea of how far the life in them goes, like with my hoofs. I feel it. And I think they grow back unless one cauterises the wound with a burning iron, which is done in the criminal's case. If one cuts too deeply it leaves a hole in the skull, for skull and horn are fused together from the age of about half a year. Needless to say that could cause horrid infections, sometimes has in the case of accidents involving horns.'
This was gruesome talk. Would Lukas really be prepared to cut off his horns to be able to go outside and live a relatively normal life? It would not make intimacy easier, during love play his partner would feel the stumps, and there was no way of hiding those elegant hoofs. I hugged him close, upset by this talk of mutilation.
Paul clearly didn't like it either, though he himself had more or less suggested it as a possibility. He said: 'Well for now it wouldn't do any good anyway, for your hair is still way too short to hide anything. So let's talk about something else, let this rest for a while.'
And we did, until I needed to do my work and went to my own apartment.
Lukas stayed in Paul's
apartment at my request, studying from his books whilst Paul finished some complicated work that he needed to do in total concentration.
Chapter 9
Though I had not expected it, my calculations did indeed not offer an explanation for the feeling of something being wrong at the building site. So I regretfully followed Paul's advice and sent a message to the building council that according to all the building standards, the situation on the site was all right.
I worried about my reputation if something were to happen, and about loss of life or damage to the building, but I couldn't stop the build on a hunch. And when the message was sent, I decided to let it go and enjoy the evening, going downstairs to Paul's workshop, to watch him at work.
It reminded me of a time only a few days ago, when my life was totally different and I looked at him in hopeless admiration. I still admired him and loved to see him work, but I was no longer hopeless, I knew I just needed to give him some time.
When I came in he hardly looked up, I could see he was in a critical process, casting a series of tiny parts out of what seemed to be pure copper. His hair was standing out in all directions, his face was smudged and a few drops of sweat rolled down his forehead. Apparently, he couldn't even wipe them off with his sleeve, he needed both hands on the job.
He had registered my presence, for he said: 'Melissa, would you be so kind as to hand me my pair of orange handled tweezers, from the wall?' I fetched them and laid them within easy reach. 'Thank you, you have saved my life,'
he said, and picking them up he used them to adjust one of the moulds a tiny bit.
I sat back and kept watching him, after a few minutes he left the moulds where they were, and got a tray, which he put on the work table in front of me. 'Here are some castings you can check for flaws', he said.
Then he did wipe his forehead with his sleeve, and messed up his curls even more by running both his hands through them. It made him look irresistible, and I had to really control myself not to stand up and try to get him to kiss me.
Instead, I picked up a figurine of a horse out of the tray, whilst he started to open up another set of moulds, carefully removing the shape inside, and filing and sanding it, then giving it a polish with a velvet cloth. I didn't look at the little horse in my hand, I knew it would be exquisitely detailed and full of life, but I was trying to find flaws in it, so I tried to 'feel' it rather than observe it.
When I picked it up it was dark, unpolished, so I hadn't seen the material it was made of. Holding the object in my hand, I tried to reach out to it with my mind, and as I did this, the world around me ceased to exist. The metal seemed to vibrate in a regular rhythm, a pattern.
This pattern was the same throughout the little horse's shape, forming a sort of grid with regular spacings. The spacings did not follow the shape of the little horse, they were exactly the same in every part of its head, neck, body and legs.
Except at the base of the tail, where the grid seemed to narrow, then widen again to the normal grid in the tail. The vibrating grid gave off a ringing tone, which reminded me of a bell, only pitched higher. It gave me a feeling of copper.
Then I heard the sound of filing again, and looked at the shape in my hand.
The horse was indeed exquisitely shaped, with an elegant little head complete with eyes and ears and nostrils flaring.
The little mane and tail were streaming, and the legs with their perfectly shaped tiny hooves were flying. But I now knew why it was with the discards, waiting to be re-melted and cast again: the apparently perfect little tail could break off any moment.
Being able to see this made Paul so much better at his craft, he could guarantee his work being free of flaws. I picked up the velvet cloth and rubbed the little horse on the behind, and it shone coppery red. This was fun!
I put the little horse back in the tray, and picked up an ornament, a winding stalk with leaves and flowers, meant to support a bookshelf. Now the filing stopped for a moment, and Paul's voice asked: 'And, do you know what was wrong with the little horse?' I looked up from the ornament and told him:
'The tail could break off any moment. It was not visible on the outside, but I saw it and felt it in the grid inside. I also knew it was copper by the sound of the vibrations inside.'
Paul was impressed, I could see that, but he picked up the velvet cloth and
started buffing his casting. He just said: 'Good, that's a good start, and you've got the flower ornament now. Let's see what you make of that.'
The world disappeared again, but this time the grid was denser, and there were fewer vibrations but stronger ones. I thought it was cold iron, I could imagine the inhabitants of faery not liking the strong emanations from it. It made me feel safe and grounded though, clearly an engineer I suppose. The grid had the same density throughout, but in the middle of the ornament was a void. I supposed that was an air-bubble in the casting, of course causing a really weak spot.
This would not carry a load of books, so it was also to be melted down. Paul was still buffing, I couldn't see what his casting was. The flower ornament was beautiful, and of course I already knew it was iron, I could still feel it vibrate in my hands. That sure was strong stuff, how had I ever failed to notice that before?
I felt a little tired now, and asked Paul: 'Is this supposed to make me tired?'
He nodded affirmatively and asked: 'What was it this time?' I replied: 'Cold iron, denser grid, stronger vibrations but fewer, I can feel the vibrations even now, it emanates them. There is a hole inside, an air-bubble I guess.' Paul looked really proud now: 'Full marks, you're good at this! Can you handle one more? Then you've earned a rest.'
I looked at him cheekily and said: 'If you give me a kiss.'
That startled him, but he handled himself admirably and retorted: 'When you're done, and only if you get it right.' To accept the challenge, I took a piece out of the tray again, an inlay this time, cast very flat indeed. It was shaped like a dragon, and again so dark I couldn't see what metal it was made of by the colour. I directed my feelings inward and got a different feel altogether.
The grid was regular, but not the same throughout: it had a kind of pattern of larger and smaller parts, and the vibration was composite as well. I thought I recognized part of it as the clear high tone of copper, but the other part was less clear and lower in tone, and the grid seemed denser than copper, but less dense than iron.
And no matter how carefully I checked the grid, I could find no aberrations. I checked it again, then suppressed my natural inclination to accept failure. If I couldn't find a flaw, maybe there just wasn't one! This time, I was really fagged when I came back to the now. Why was this so tiring? Paul looked at
me with just a tiny bit of concern, and a great deal of challenge and curiosity:
'And?' he said.
I told him: 'I think it's an alloy of copper, probably bronze, and there is no flaw in it.' Looking at the dragon with my eyes I was stunned how something so thin could be so incredibly detailed. Scales, eyes, little horn extrusions, clawed feel, everything was there. Sighing in awe I looked up, wanting to tell Paul how exquisite it was, but he was much closer than I expected him to be.
He was on his knees, face to my face, and before I could say anything he had both his hands in my hair and he kissed me. The passion in that kiss had me breathless, and it took a while before I realized I should get some air.
Then I answered his kiss with heat, eyes closed, holding his stubbled cheeks in my hands, feeling as much out of this world as a few moments ago but way, way better. I so loved the way he smelled, and now I felt his warm mouth as well and his passionate body against mine. It was heaven. He groaned a little with feeling, clearly no longer able to control himself completely.
I would have loved to let him lose it totally right then and there, but my exercises in magic had clearly taken a lot out of me. I felt my consciousness slipping, holding on to him not to fall, clutching myself to his chest, part blissfully, and partly alarmed at wh
at was happening. But I felt so safe, the kiss broken but in his arms now, that I gave myself up totally for a moment and just clung to him.
When I came to, Paul's face was still very close to me and I was still in his arms. I could not help my feeling of satisfaction, lying where I wanted to, all his attention on me in total, sweet concern. He was sitting on the floor with me in his arms, and I just wanted to stay there forever. He stroked my hair, kissed me lovingly, voicing his concern: 'Dearest, are you okay? I'm sorry I rode you so hard, I should know by now magic does that to people at first.
You did so well. I'm so sorry.'
I didn't mind the situation at all, so I said: 'If I end up in your arms, you can ride me this hard any day.' Then I snuggled up to him, determined to make the most of this moment of intimacy. Who knows when I'd get the chance again.
'You should be in bed,' he said, and I, still a bit groggy, replied: 'If you'll be there with me.' Clearly, Paul had great difficulty with that, for he blurted out:
'Why are you doing this to me all the time, tempting me, what would Lukas
have to say about that? You love each other, don't you?' Groggy or not, this needed an explanation, for Paul was clearly and needlessly very unhappy about this.
I tried to explain: 'Paul, dearest, Lukas knows I love you as much as I love him, and he doesn't understand why the two of us are not physically involved.
He wants us to be together too, he is not a man, he doesn't even know what jealousy is.
His culture is based on love, and on expressing love, always. We won't hurt him. Him and me, we can hurt you, but we already hurt you every time you see us. I know it is hard to comprehend from our culture's viewpoint, but please think about it. And hold me a little longer, then I'll be fine again.' I could see Paul was doing his very best to cope with this knowledge and his own feelings, but it was still too soon. I would have to do without intimacy with him for some time yet. I just hoped it wouldn't damage our friendship or make him really miserable.
Now another voice made itself heard, in broken English this time: 'Melissa is right, we express love where we feel it. If you feel love inside and do not let it out, it hurts you, it hurts her and it hurts even me, for I can feel it.
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