by Eve Langlais
“It’s that expression, the cream is tastier in your neighbor’s fridge. In this case, they wonder if the city can give them more than the land, never realizing the whole world has gone gray.”
“Gray. That’s an apt method of putting it.” Onaria’s lips turned down.
He wanted to hug her and tell her things would be okay. A lie, but he wanted to offer comfort.
Be bold.
He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers then placed them on his leg. The time to slowly court had passed. She didn’t protest his temerity but held on tight to him.
Their destination proved to be the end of the world, as far as they could get from the city, which was just a distant smudge on the horizon. Literally a smudge, the smog spreading out like an evil beast with stretching dark tentacles.
A crisp wind rolled down off the mountains, biting through his clothes, bringing with it a cold bite. The peaks were covered in snow and ice, or so he’d read. The tips of them much too high to see and hidden by the low-hanging smog. What none of the articles he’d studied conveyed was the sheer vastness of the mountains.
He gaped at them. “I never realized—”
“How big they are?” She craned her neck beside him. “Have you never visited?”
“No.” He’d barely ever left the city at all. “Farthest I ever went was that fair we checked out last semester.” An overnight trip with Onaria and he’d lost his nerve to give her a kiss.
So many wasted moments.
“You never saw them and yet your mission in life was to have an expedition sent?”
“Because it was the only place left. And I knew they were large, but this…” He waved at them.
Standing at the foot of a drive, seeing the backdrop of the mountains behind a small house, he couldn’t help but feel miniscule in comparison. No wonder Geoff didn’t recommend exploring them. Their sheer height made it more than a daunting task. The stone appeared unmarked by vegetation of any sort.
And yet, the wind off the peaks brought a hint of freshness, of air not yet completely tainted.
As they neared the house, Onaria frowned. “That’s odd.”
“What’s wrong?”
She pointed to a mound of dirt recently dug up. The right size for a grave.
“It’s probably nothing,” he stated, but the ball of dread in his stomach said otherwise.
Onaria flew to the door of the house, the once-white paint a peeling gray. She gave it a solid thump and didn’t wait for a reply before shoving inside. By the time he’d followed, she’d run through the house yelling her aunt’s name.
He found her standing in the kitchen, the cupboards clearly ransacked.
“She’s dead.” A statement spoken dully.
All he could do was hug her as she sobbed, her grief soaking his shoulder. As he stroked her hair, his mind furiously worked, wondering how they’d survive. They’d expected to arrive at a home with at least a modicum of food. Whoever had buried Onaria’s aunt didn’t leave anything to waste. If they buried her. He preferred to not think of the alternative.
By the time Onaria stopped sobbing, night had fallen.
“I’ll boil some water.” Because it was the only thing he could think of. The fluid from the tap didn’t emerge as gray as that in the city. The joys of being on a well. Filling a pot, he set it on the stove and headed outside, examining the yard with a critical eye.
“What are you looking for?” Onaria said from behind in a voice still wobbly from her grief.
“Something to make tea with.” He crouched down and pulled at some wilted leaves on a plant that belonged, at one time, to a garden.
“You don’t want to use that.”
Frustrated, he tossed it and scrubbed his face and hair. “What are we going to do?” There was nothing for them here. The air was fresher, but for how long? Judging by the foliage around, the taint was already here.
“Oh, Jool.” She hugged him, the woman grieving offering him comfort. “We’ll be fine. Come.”
She tugged him by the hand and led him to a pile of wood. He eyed it and said, “You want to build a fire?”
“That would be nice and cozy, but I’m more interested in this.” Crouching down, she grabbed the knotted protrusion on a log at the very bottom of the pile.
“Don’t pull on that, you’ll—” The warning about toppling the pile was never finished, as the entire stacked heap lifted on a hydraulic hinge, revealing a ladder leading down into a hole.
“Say hello to Auntie’s secret cellar. It used to be where my uncle brewed his wine and beer, but when he died, Auntie began filling it with food.” She descended the ladder, and he saw a light flare as she lit something.
He peered over the edge and saw a larger room than expected, lined with shelves and jars. So many jars of canned edibles.
They wouldn’t die of starvation. He almost cried in relief.
They ate by candlelight, toasting the aunt he’d never met, filling their bellies properly for the first time in ages. Later perhaps, they’d be more careful about rationing, but for the moment, it felt nice to ease the gnawing inside.
Then they spent the evening listening to the radio. The announcer had only dire things to tell. After a while, they turned it to a channel that played music. Neither really talking. Even here, they couldn’t completely escape reality.
The following day, with nothing better to do, he went into the yard and stared at the mountains, remembering the suggestion he actually explore them. In the light of day, it seemed impossible.
The edge of them began abruptly, jagged thrusts of rock emerging from the ground as if punched through the crust of the earth. They formed a veritable wall that, once scaled, led to another ridge of stone, then another. Nothing grew in any of the crevices. Not even a tiny bit of moss.
Craning his head, he noted the peaks of the mountains remained hidden by the smog. He wondered if they still held snow as the books claimed. Even if they did, he’d wager it wasn’t the pristine kind you could eat but the grayish version that meant the pollution found it and stuck.
Onaria joined him, wearing a cardigan of her aunt’s, yet the biting wind had her hugging herself. “Impressive, aren’t they?”
“Very. Have you ever climbed them?”
She shook her head. “Auntie would have had my hide. Besides, there’s nothing to see.”
He noticed a network of bells strung across the outcropping, with more bells dangling over the top rim of the fence.
He pointed. “What is that?”
“Warning system.” A wide gaze on his part led to Onaria laughing. “Sometimes the things that live past the stone get hungry.”
He blinked. “But Geoff said—”
She interrupted. “That nothing is alive?” She snorted. “Geoff is a government official, and their standard line is nothing to see, move along.”
“But if there are animals, then that must mean there’s some sort of food.”
“Does it?” She arched a brow. “Maybe once upon a time there was, but I should mention that Auntie hasn’t had a bell go off since I was a little girl. Whatever lived in those mountains is probably long dead, too. The calamity that struck the farms and few forests might have taken longer to hit out here at the edge of civilization, but it would be foolish to think there’s salvation amongst those peaks.”
As he gazed upon them, it was almost as if he could hear a voice, a whisper really, urging him to check out the mountains. Not being the brave type of explorer that existed in adventures, Jool turned away from them. Onaria was right. There was nothing amidst those rocks.
Besides, he had everything he needed right here. A roof over his head, food, and Onaria, the woman he loved.
If only he had the words to say what was in his heart. But the moment he thought about telling Onaria how he felt, his mouth dried up, his heart raced, and he couldn’t speak.
It was while they sat on the porch that night, staring at the stars seen through a thin
film, that she coughed. Not the first time. She’d had a few tiny fits on the train, as had he.
This time proved more than a gentle expelling of breath. She hacked, her entire body spasming as she heaved and choked. By the time she finished, she gasped for air and couldn’t hide the blood she’d captured on her sleeve.
“How long?” he asked quietly.
“The blood started only yesterday,” she replied.
“And you didn’t tell me.”
Her shoulders rolled. “I didn’t know how. I hoped…” She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. She’d hoped that the fresher air might extend her time.
But as with everything else in their lives, they weren’t so lucky. A bomb ticked inside her, which was why there was no time to waste.
He slid to a knee, and her mouth rounded. “Jool, what are you doing?”
Clasping both her hands in his, he rushed through the words he’d been thinking on for some time. Cursing himself for lacking the bravery before to say them. “You and I have been friends for a long time. And I’ve cherished our moments together. But I want more than just friendship, Onaria. Marry me.”
“I’m dying, Jool.”
“We all are. Which is why we shouldn’t waste a moment. I love you, Onaria. For whatever time we have left, be my bride.”
She blinked at him. “Who will marry us?”
“We will. The sun in the sky shall be our witness. The wind shall hear our vows. Please, Onaria, be my wife.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she nodded before managing a blubbery, “Yes. Oh, Jool, I love you, too.”
4
They married at dawn the next morning, with him wearing an old suit they managed to find hidden in a trunk. Dusty and creased, the style was way out of date, but he looked quite smart. She managed to find a frock and a shawl, the pink fabric faded. She left her hair loose, a rarity, given her nursing duties required she have it pulled out of the way. The fluffy curls framed her face.
“You look beautiful,” he said, the sincerity shining in his words and eyes.
Hands clasped, they stood in the yard, the mountain as their sentinel, and spoke the vows in their hearts. And for a brief moment, as they kissed, the sun managed to pierce the haze and shine on them.
Surely a sign their luck would change.
Their wedding night seemed too far for a couple who’d been shyly dancing around their attraction for a long time.
Taking him by the hand, she tugged him into her bedroom, and as she stood with uncertainty before him, he realized, She’s my wife.
He was allowed to kiss and touch her.
As if a dam broke, their frantic need overwhelmed. Their mouths met in a clumsy crash of teeth and lips. But they didn’t mind. The kiss hot and arousing. Clumsy fingers tugged at clothing as they did their best to denude the other. He got only brief glimpses of her body. Smooth skin. A curve of a hip. The swell of her breast.
Their lips clung hotly, her soft moan swelling a cock already fit to burst.
The bed creaked as they fell upon it, the touch of skin on skin electrifying.
Jool lay atop her, nestled between her parted legs, his shaft pinned between their bodies, throbbing insistently. Her fingers dug into his scalp, holding him close, their mouths open that their tongues might slide against each other.
He wanted to kiss her forever, but she squirmed so deliciously. Rather than embarrass himself on his wedding night by finishing too quickly, he chose to ensure her pleasure first.
Tearing his mouth from hers—giving her several quick pecks when she protested—he nibbled his way down to a tempting, puckered nipple. He rubbed his face against it. Felt her shiver. Heard her moan that turned into a cry as he latched on.
He sucked at the peak, drawing it into his mouth, suctioning it, gently scraping it with his teeth.
She moaned again and said, “Touch me.”
She commanded. He obeyed.
He shifted to the side, all the while still playing with her breasts, letting his hand travel down over the slim plane of her body, through the trimmed thatch on her mound. Her hips pumped against his hand, and he cupped her, feeling the heat of her. Moisture met his fingertips when he parted her nether lips, and it was his turn to moan against her flesh as he rubbed the slit of her sex, back and forth.
While not a man of much experience, he did have more than a passing acquaintance with how to please a woman. And himself.
He slid down her body, lips trailing across her flesh, making her gasp and arch as he made his way to the heated honey between her legs. He lapped her like a man dying of thirst. Flicks of his tongue that had her bucking. An arm around each thigh anchoring her in place that his tongue might tease her flesh, and he didn’t stop until he drew an orgasm from her.
As the pleasure clung to her, he slid a finger into her sex, feeling the spasm of her climax. It subsided, but not completely, as he kept lapping at her, teasing her clitoris until the tension he sought clenched his finger tight.
Only then did he finally cease and cover her body with his own. “Onaria.” He murmured her name softy.
She opened her eyes, the lids heavy with passion, her lips swollen by his kisses. He slid into her. Her gaze widened as he stretched her. Lips parted on a sigh.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Until the end of time,” he said, thrusting into her. Pure bliss. His head tilted back as he held himself inside her, feeling the tight grip of her sex, the heated pleasure of being inside the woman he loved.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
He gladly complied, their lips meshing hotly as he began to move inside her, short strokes that mostly ground him deeper. Swirling and pushing, trying to hold on, but it was so hard. He quickened his pace. Her hips met him stroke for stroke, and her soft, panting cries urged him onward. He thrust faster, and her channel tightened. Squeezed.
When she came, her body literally rippled, and he couldn’t help himself. He pushed one last time as deep as he could go and climaxed. A perfect joining that left him happier than he’d ever imagined.
They spent that afternoon making love, and for a few hours, she could almost pretend everything would turn out all right.
A few days later, her cough took a turn for the worse.
5
It killed Jool to hear Onaria gasping for breath. To see the brightness of her blood on cloth, the pain pulling her features taut.
So unfair. They’d just gotten married. He’d hoped for a second chance. A reprieve.
A miracle.
Tucking her into bed, he headed into the yard and kept moving, past the fence to the very edge of the mountains themselves. Glancing upwards, he grabbed hold of the stone and began to climb, needing the exertion. He exulted in the pain as his bare fingers clung to rock. He made it a quarter of the way to the top of the first ridge and collapsed onto a jutting ledge.
Panting with the exertion, he couldn’t stop the hot tears that filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Anguish, but also anger. He pounded his fists into the ground, not caring he scraped skin and drew blood. It couldn’t penetrate the ache in his heart. Down below, he’d have to be strong for Onaria. But out here, alone, he screamed his frustration to the sky. Wailed his anguish as he broke apart inside.
What would he do if she died? He didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to live without her.
It took a while before he’d exhausted his pain. He huddled on the stone, his mind whirling, looking for an answer. But there wasn’t a way to fix this.
Don’t be so sure.
He hated the whispered optimism. Where did it come from? Because he saw no reason to hope.
As he got to his feet, he felt the stinging in his hands. Turning them over, he grimaced as he noticed his scholarly fingers scraped and bloodied from the climb. And he’d yet to return. The imagined pain brought a wince.
Not wanting Onaria to wake and worry, he began his descent, only to curse as his talisman somehow managed to
dangle free and get caught on a jagged piece of rock. Plastered to the stone, his feet wedged in cracks, he tugged at the chain, but it was well and truly looped.
“Stupid thing.” He fisted the broken cog and yanked hard enough it bit into his flesh. The chain snapped, the suddenness almost sending him flying from his precarious perch.
He clenched the artifact and hated it in that moment. Perhaps if he’d spent more time focusing on solutions to save his planet, rather than digging into the past, he’d have found a way to reverse what had been done.
There’s still a way.
Damn his mind for being contrary.
The cog he clenched warmed in his fist. He loosened his fingers and glanced at the broken piece sitting in his palm. He’d smeared it with blood, the wetness seeping into the crevices.
I can help.
I? Who was this “I” that thought to make him feel crazy? He threw the chain, and the talisman far from him and finished his climb.
Hitting the ground, he heard it again.
There is a place...
Why did he hear voices? Was his mind already fracturing, unable to handle everything that happened?
You’re not crazy.
Only crazy people had a voice that told them that.
If I weren’t broken, I would show you.
Show him? Somehow his gaze found the talisman he’d tossed sitting amongst the gravel littering the other side of the fence.
He crouched and snared it. Rubbed at the blood on it, and only managed to grind it in deeper.
“Are you really talking to me?”
Before it could reply, he heard his name called.
“Jool? What are you doing?”
Tucking the talisman into his pocket, he stood and smiled at his wife. “Thought I saw a rat.”
“Did you catch it so we could eat it?”
He gaped at her.
She laughed. “Oh, husband. If you only knew what was in those jars.”
Was it any wonder he eyed his plate suspiciously at dinner? But he still ate. If this was rat, then it sure tasted damned good.
Later he snuggled Onaria as she struggled for breath, rubbing her back, doing his best to soothe her until she fell asleep. Only then did he roll to his back and pull out the broken cog. He dangled it.
