Transcendence

by Shay Savage

Page 12

  “Kiss. ”

  There is a tickling feeling in the back of my head—something in my mind that feels strange. I narrow my eyes a little, and I feel like I am standing on the edge of a cliff, looking over the brink and feeling the wind in my face.

  “Kiss, Ehd. ”

  “Beh. ” I make her name-sound reflexively as I hear my own, and the sensation in the back of my head increases. I focus on her mouth as she brings us together again. I close my eyes this time, just as she does, and I feel her lips part slightly as her tongue touches my lips.

  My mate is definitely strange.

  And I like it.

  I open my mouth and taste her and feel her tongue against mine and confirm that her teeth are indeed smooth like mine. It is a bizarrely automatic action. I never would have considered doing such a thing, but now that I feel her lips against mine and her tongue reaching into my mouth, it seems as natural as breathing. I’m captivated by the feeling—warmth and moisture, softness and pressure all at once. I feel my body shiver against hers, and my need for her grows more urgent.

  I moan into her mouth.

  Beh pulls back, panting, and her face is flushed. I watch her intently as her hands move to my shoulders and she tilts her chin down, still breathing hard. I keep my hand against her face and run my thumb over her cheekbone first and then her lips.

  I definitely like it—lips and mouths and tongues together. When my tongue runs over my own lips, I can taste her there, and it’s as if she’s laid claim to me. I feel myself smile, and Beh returns the gesture through her blush. She makes more soft sounds, and this time I cover her mouth with my lips instead of my hand, which is very effective.

  I definitely like this.

  By the time she breaks away from me again, my lips feel tired from the abnormal exertion. I pull my mate tightly against my chest and try to ignore the continuing throbbing underneath my fur wrap and what it means when she will not touch me there.

  She doesn’t really want me for a mate, not completely. She is willing to stay with me and work beside me, but she doesn’t want to mate. She doesn’t want me to put a baby in her.

  I place my forehead to her shoulder and let out a long breath, trying to hide my sadness.

  The light rain stops completely during the night, and the sun is shining brightly by the time my mate’s eyes open. I have been watching her for some time now, and I have come to the conclusion that I must do more if I am going to win her over. Even though she is here with me, and she is obviously my mate now, I want her to want it, too. I want her to open herself to me…give herself to me. After the previous night, feeling how wonderful just her mouth on mine felt, I have been plagued with thoughts of how good it would feel to have my penis inside of her.

  So now I am going to do everything I can to make her happy and convince her to mate with me.

  I start with breakfast.

  As soon as her eyes open, I kneel beside her with fresh pieces of rabbit meat in my hand. I cooked them very slowly over the coals, and I’ve blown on them to cool them off a little because I want the temperature to be just right for her—not too cool or too hot. I stare into her eyes as she rolls over and pulls the furs up under her arms. She props herself up on one elbow and smiles up at me through blurry eyes.

  Her mouth makes sounds, and I silence her with a piece of the meat. She gnaws at it slowly and seems to like it as she swallows and accepts another one from my fingers. I give her a drink of water, careful not to spill any on her, and then offer her more of the tender flesh.

  Once she has eaten her fill, I hold her hand and take her outside of the cave to relieve herself. As soon as we reach the area, I let go of her hand, turn, and cover my eyes with my fingers so she knows I am not watching her. When she places her hand on my arm, I know she is done, and I smile down at her. She gives me a half smile back, but her brow is furrowed.

  I wonder if I have done something wrong.

  Determined, I take her back to the cave to gather up what we need for another trek to the lake. I want to check the rabbit traps I reset as well as give Beh a chance to wash, which she seems to like to do. Every time we go there, she spends some time washing herself in the water, which is beginning to warm nicely now that summer is upon us. When she goes into the water, I try not to look at her body, but it’s difficult.

  I startle as Beh makes a squeaking sound when we get into the cave. I rush around her, holding my arm out to protect her from whatever has frightened her, but there is nothing there. When I look at her face, she is smiling and pointing toward the fire. I follow her finger to the little cups and plates she made from the clay and then look back up at her, confused.

  Beh makes more sounds, kneels next to the fire, and holds up the little brown cup. I take it in my hand, and I am surprised at how hard it is! It’s no longer mushy and soft but feels more like a rock. The edges are rough and scratch the tips of my fingers. I turn it over and over again in my hand. Even the inside of it is dry and rigid. I look back to Beh, amazed at what she has handed to me.

  She holds up one of the plates as well, which is also dry and unyielding. I give her the cup back and examine the plate a little more closely. I try to bend it with my fingers, but it doesn’t bend at all. It doesn’t even feel like clay anymore, and I wonder just how strong it is.

  I knock it against one of the cooking rocks, and it shatters with a horrendous sound. The noise is loud and echoes through the cave. I jump up and back away, bringing Beh with me. She is yelling now, and I wrap my arms around her to shield her from the thing.

  After a moment, I realize it is just sitting there in pieces, and I let my struggling mate free. She stares at the plate, now broken into three pieces, and her eyes go wide. Beh drops down to her knees and reaches for the fragments as a strangled cry comes from her mouth. She covers up her lips with her hand, but I can still hear her repeating the same set of sounds over and over again while I stand behind her, unsure and ashamed.

  “Ohmygod…ohmygod…”

  I know immediately that I haven’t just destroyed the clay plate she made, but I’ve also ruined any chance at all I had of making her want me to put a baby inside of her. I didn’t know the plate would break—it seemed so sturdy in my hands! Though it felt like a hard stone, it is apparently more like the flint I use for tools, easily broken if not handled correctly.

  “Ohmygod…ohmygod…” Beh rocks back and forth on her heels, and I want to go to her and hold her against my chest, but I’m afraid. She is so upset, and I’m the reason for it. I have definitely made a huge mess of this, and I watch helplessly as she picks up a couple of the pieces and holds them in her hands.

  I hear her mumbled sounds turn to sobs, and she holds the pieces against her chest, and I cannot stand it anymore. I move up behind her, reaching out and touching her shoulder with my hand. She turns quickly and screams horrible sounds at me. The pieces fall from her hands as she stands up and continues yelling. As she does, her hands reach down to the strange wraps that cover her legs. In the center of it—right below her navel, there is a small round thing. She grips it, shaking the little object as she screams, and I cower from the sound.

  With another sob, Beh drops down to the ground again and grabs into her hands the pieces of the plate I have broken. When my mate turns her head to look at me, I can’t meet her eyes. I drop down into a crouch and lower my head. My hair falls over my forehead, effectively hiding me from her. I wish she couldn’t see me at all, but I can still feel her eyes on me.

  Though I still feel the urge to hide, I have to follow when Beh rushes out of the cave with the pieces of clay in her hands. Even if she does not want me at all, I have to keep her safe. I follow her at a distance as she runs off across the grasslands with the clay pieces still clutched in her fingers. I have to jog at a good pace to keep up with her and run faster as she approaches the pine forest and the cover of trees. Beh runs all the way to the lake, goes righ
t up to the side, and flings the broken pieces far off into the water.

  I come to a quick halt on the rocks behind her and tense, waiting to see what she will do next. A moment later, Beh drops to her knees and lets out a long moan. Risking further wrath, I go to her and wrap my arms around her from behind.

  I don’t understand. I never understand, but I hold her as tightly as I can until her struggles subside, and she turns toward me. Her arms go up and around my neck, and she tucks her head against my chest. My mate alternates between crying, screaming, and smacking her palm against my chest or shoulder as she makes her strange noises. All I can do is hold her and wait until she collapses in exhaustion and closes her eyes. I feel her relax against me as her breathing becomes metered and quiet.

  I look down into her tear-stained, sleeping face and sigh. Pulling my legs underneath me, I slip one arm under her legs and the other behind her shoulders. I brace my legs underneath me and stand up with her in my arms. I’m grateful she’s small and not too heavy to lift this way. Her head flops against my chest as I turn from the water and carry her up the bank, through the woods, across the steppes, and into our cave.

  Looking around the cave, I decide not to lay her down in our furs. Instead, I lower myself slowly in front of the fire and continue to hold her close to me. I use one hand to add more wood from the pile but manage to let her sleep at the same time.

  It is late in the day when she wakes, and her bloodshot eyes look up at me. I feel the shiver run through her body as she stares at me, looks around the cave, and then closes her eyes again for a moment. When she opens them again, she pushes herself from my lap and goes to the small rock shelf where the water skins sit. She picks one of them up and brings it back to us.

  I watch through my hair warily as she picks up one of the small round cups she made and pours water into it. She holds the cup out to me and then pours a second cup when I take the first from her hand. I look at the water for a moment and then quickly drink it down. I run my tongue over the edge of the cup, and it tastes like mud in my mouth. It is not like the cups my mother created out of broad leaves laced tightly together, but it certainly still holds the liquid securely. Though the sides of the cup have a muddy taste on my tongue, it doesn’t make the water taste like dirt.

  Beh is looking at me as she drinks from her own cup, and I try to smile at her with my head bowed down—still hiding. She looks down to the ground, but there is now the hint of a smile on her lips. She reaches over toward the fire, and I can hear a slight scraping sound. I glance up through my hair and see her gathering up tiny broken shards still on the ground. I know I should probably do it myself—it is my fault the plate is broken—but I’m afraid to move. I only want to do things that made her happy today, and I am failing miserably.

  Beh stands with the broken bits in her hands and heads toward the entrance to the cave. I crawl behind her, still unwilling to let her go out alone but also not wanting to show myself in my shame. Once we are both outside, she takes the remaining broken pieces and tosses them off the cliff and into a shallow ravine before she turns back to me. I’m standing right by the cave entrance, pushing myself against the rock wall, hoping she won’t yell that no sound at me again.

  Beh walks up to me and stands very close. I let my eyes meet hers, and she takes a long, deep breath. She lifts her hands away from her sides and takes my fingers in her grasp. With a small tug, she brings herself against my chest and tips her forehead on my shoulder. My arms go around her, and I feel her relax into me.

  “Beh?”

  She turns her head to look up at me and smiles, but her eyes remain dull. My thumb strokes her cheek softly as she makes muted sounds with her mouth. I want to put my lips on hers to make her quiet again, but I’m not sure how well that would be received at the moment. I still feel lost and confused. Without knowing what else to do, I pick her up and carry her back into the cave as the rain begins again. She makes a little squeaking sound as I lift her into my arms but doesn’t protest as I lay her back on the furs and bring her the remaining rabbit meat from earlier.

  I feed her a little piece at a time from my fingers, followed by sips of water from the cups she made. My mate is quiet as she eats, and I alternate between feeding her and slowly stroking her arm with my fingers.

  After the meat is gone, Beh’s eyes meet mine. She watches me carefully as she reaches up and runs her hand over my cheek. With her fingertips, she slowly pushes the hair from my forehead. I lean against the warmth of her palm, and when she smiles this time, the firelight hits her eyes and makes them sparkle. She leans forward, and her lips brush softly over mine.

  Finally, I am forgiven.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The spring rains have finally ended. Though the sun is high in the sky, Beh still hasn’t moved from our bed. Eventually, I climb back into the furs with her and nuzzle against her neck with my nose until she is roused. She still seems tired, and when I take her outside to relieve herself, she gasps loud enough for me to turn around to make sure she isn’t harmed. There is nothing around her to pose any threat, but she is squatting near the ravine and looking down at her hand. There is blood on it, but I don’t think from her expression she is injured—just worried.

  Her eyes widen, and she glances up at me as I approach to find out what is wrong. Her strange leggings are around her ankles, and she starts to stand to pull them up her legs—she still doesn’t want me to see her body—but then stops and looks to her hand again.

  She is bleeding. Her eyes well up with tears, and at first I think she might actually be hurt. As soon as I am close enough, I know from the smell of the blood that it is different from a wound, and I know why. It is her bleeding time. What I do not understand is why that makes her cry. She is too old for this to be the first time her blood has come.

  I bend down and pick her up with her leggings still down around her lower legs. Even though she pushes at me, gets all wriggly, and makes loud sounds, I don’t stop or put her down. I remember the other women of my tribe—especially my mother and sisters—and what they did during their bleeding time. I carry Beh back to our cave and hold her still until I can dig one of the older furs out from the bottom on the depression where we sleep. I spread it out on the floor and sit Beh on top of it.