by Valia Lind
"It was a memory. The man you saw, he's the king of our realm, our ruler. The dress," he clears his throat, shifting in his seat, "I think you wore that to the last Summer Solstice. Before you came here." He glances away, fidgeting.
"You remember what kind of a dress I wore?" I ask.
"Well, yes. I'm trained to be very observant."
He's uncomfortable with that statement, and there's more to it than he says. I grin without realizing I'm doing so and when he glances at me, he rolls his eyes and stands. "Whatever, Cal."
The coldness of an uncertain reality brought on by the images of my memory diminish, for just a second, and I can breathe easier.
"Did you remember anything else?" Brendan asks, and this time his question doesn't send a stab of panic through me.
"No. That was it, before I heard your voice calling me through the pain." I shudder at that memory. "Is it always going to be like that?" I'm almost afraid to ask.
"I don't know." He says, settling on his knees in front of me, "I've never seen anything like what's happened to you. Your memories should've never been erased in the first place. I have no explanation for why they were or what's happening now." He takes my hands in his and I know he can feel how cold and clammy they are.
"We'll figure it out, Calista. Whatever happens, you're not alone. We're in this together."
I don't tell him, but those are the most perfect words he could've said.
“Thank you for the story, Brendan,” I half whisper, the intense look in his eyes making my heart thud in awareness.
He nods, extracting his hand from mine and stands to walk the perimeter of our little camp. I watch him for a moment, not sure what to do next. I can’t take this tension between us, not when my mind is jumbled mess.
"So explain this whole magic being replenished thingy." I demand, sitting up and smoothing out my clothes once more. I’m getting colder by the minute and even more apprehensive about sleeping outside.
"Thingy? Very eloquently put." He smirks. The laughter in his eyes doesn't last, because I'm sure he can see the frustration written all over my face. I have the sudden urge to hold on to something—anything—and I reach out with my hand. When my fingers extend toward the ground, I yelp at the sudden contact with the bush. It has leaned out to me, wrapping itself around my hand like a set of fingers would.
"Umm, Brendan?" I hate that my voice quivers, but I'm not exactly used to plants acting alive. He spins around at the sound of fear in my voice, but then exhales in relief when he notices the plant around my hand. Kneeling in front of me, he moves his fingers over mine and the plant uncurls from around them, reaching for him.
"This is nothing to be afraid of," Brendan speaks softly, as if afraid he's going to spook me, "She reacted to your heightened emotion. You were agitated and she wanted to sooth you."
"She?"
"Yes, she. Lindera Benzoin. Most commonly known as Spicebush. They're part of the native shrub family in this part of the United States."
"Awesome biology lesson, Brendan. Still doesn't explain why you call it a she or how 'she' wanted to sooth me." I'm getting agitated again, and I'm a little afraid the plant will reach for me, so I stand, moving away from both Brendan and it. I watch him as he caresses it as if it's a pet, the leaves dancing with grace against his touch, before coming to stand in front of me.
"I told you our majyk is strong when it comes to the natural world. The plants are part of that thin line between our world and this one. Tell me, when you feel upset or tired, do you go outside?"
My eyes fly to his, because it's exactly what I do. Jemma still comments sometimes when all I want to do is go sit in the grass in our courtyard.
"You do, don't you?" His eyes flash. "It's why at the party, you went outside. Nature calls to you, even if you don't realize it, even if you don't audibly hear the call. Nature allows our inner self to calm, while letting us tap into the powers that are our birthright. Since your majyk is coming alive again, the plants are finally able to pierce through the veil."
I take a step away from him, processing what he's telling me. Sure, I've fought some giants, seen Brendan pull swords out of thin air, and had a mind blowing memory-vision. Yet, each piece of the puzzle is just as mind boggling as the first. However, there is one question that's been bugging me since the beginning. The descriptions he’s given me, everything he’s said, it sparked recognition.
“Does this...make us fairies?” I ask and am surprised when Brendan doesn’t brush my ridiculous question off.
“It’s the closest the human mind has come to naming us. There is definitely a bit of fey in us, and that is how we are portrayed in many of the human stories.”
I let that sink in, allowing myself to come to terms with that word. It’s true it’s easier for me to use the word fairy than the other one. After a moment, another question arises.
"So this whole fey business," I begin, fidgeting with my shirt and trying not to look at Brendan. "Why don't I have wings?" His full belly laugh shatters the quiet around us.
"Brendan!" I exclaim, outraged.
"I'm sorry, it's just such a typical stereotype, I never expected it from you." He manages between fits of laughter. "And you don't have wings because you're not Tinkerbell."
"Wait," his words take me completely by surprise, "Is Tinkerbell real?" He gives me a look as if to say I'm crazy to even think so and it's my turn to laugh. However, my laugh comes out much less joyous and maybe slightly hysterical.
"Well, how am I supposed to know!" I throw my hands up in the air, trying to keep my voice calm and failing. "Up until a few hours ago I thought magic only existed on TV and now there are 'she plants' reaching out to comfort me."
I'm panicking, and maybe it's a delayed reaction, but I can't seem to stop it. Thoughts race through my mind, everything that's happened invading my senses from all directions. My breathing grows shallow, my heart racing at the speed of light. Brendan is there instantly, his hands on my arms, holding me up before I can collapse.
But the moment he touches me air rushes out of me and he stumbles back at the impact, as if I've physically pushed him away. The space between us shimmers for a split second, before my head fills with blinding pain and I'm on my knees.
"Cal!" I hear him, but I raise a hand, warding him off before he can take a step toward me.
"Don't." My voice comes out strong, commanding. I bury my fingers into the ground, hanging on for dear life, as the pain inside my head spreads through my body. The dirt moves under my hands, the grass and the bushes pulling themselves towards me, until I'm surrounded. I shut my eyes against the odd sensations racing through my skin, like a thousand needles poking me with precision. The panic recedes and I open my eyes to stare at the darkened ground below me.
Where there was green grass, there is now lifeless dirt. I raise my head, meeting Brendan's shocked gaze. It's not a look I've ever expected to see from him, but it's not surprising on some level. I let go of the ground as if it's on fire and the trees around me snap back to their upright position.
"Cal?" Brendan's voice is cautious, as if he's afraid he'll set me off again. I don't understand the switch he pulled. Or maybe I was the one who changed, but I don't want to do that again.
"I'm okay." I reply, keeping my voice calm as best as I can. But the moment I say the words, I know they're true. There's a renewed strength rushing though my veins now, pumping the majyk I've forgotten I possessed closer to the surface.
"I'm okay," I say again, even as I feel that I will never be again.
8
The thunder wakes me.
I pry my eyes open to find my cheek pressed against a solid chest. I'm tangled in Brendan's arms and legs, completely wrapped around him. I lay absolutely still, trying to figure out a way to disentangle myself without waking him up. I shift a little, and he sighs in his sleep, his hand moving farther south on my back. I freeze at the sudden sparks shooting through my system and try to suppress my own whimper in response.
When my hand runs down his sculptured abs, it's as if it's moving on it's own. I can't help it. He moves under my touch, almost leaning his body towards it. I glance down to where my hand is making small patterns on his stomach and smile.
"And here I thought you were afraid I'd take advantage of you." The gruff voice rumbles under my ear and I jump up in panic. I don't get far. Brendan catches me before I can get away, pulling me down until I'm leaning over his grinning face.
"If you wanted to touch, all you had to do was ask." I want to punch that arrogant smirk right off his face, but he's holding my wrists captive against his chest.
"I was—“
"Oh I know what you were doing, zaichik. And if you'd like to continue—“ he winks then, and I wretch my hand away, pushing myself to my knees.
"You're a pig."
"And you're adorable when you're mad."
I'm throwing mental daggers his way, as I stand and right my clothes. He follows in suit, reaching for the blanket we were laying on. Another rumble of thunder shakes the air around us and a rush of wind ruffles my hair. There's an odd presence in the air, as if we're being watched, and I look around, but don't see anything.
"Here," Brendan hands me a fig bar from his backpack, brining my attention back to him. "breakfast is served." He doesn't seem concerned, so maybe it's just the nerves.
I take the food offered gratefully, because any minute now my stomach will start the morning song of its people. But before I can dig in, a rumble comes from beneath our feet. I reach for the nearest tree, my heart jumping within my chest. Brendan stands still for a minutes as the aftershocks of the tiny quake die out. As suddenly as it came, it's gone. I glance over at Brendan and find him watching me, waiting for me to loose control again, no doubt. But I'm fine. It's only an earthquake. He seems satisfied with my calm exterior and turns back to what he was doing.
Nibbling on my food, I watch Brendan pack up our stuff, scarfing down his own fig bar. When he's done, he nods in my direction and sets off toward where he hid his bike. I follow a bit slower behind, contemplating. We never did talk about what happened last night. How I turned the green grass into ashes, or why. I asked to lay down right away, seeking the comfort of sleep to push all these conflicting emotions away. I thought I would have a difficult time falling asleep, but as soon as I laid down on that blanket, I was out.
It doesn’t take a genius to see there is something that he's not telling me. Something that's guarding his words and actions when it comes to me. I want to demand answers, but then I’m afraid he’s going to demand the same. I’m not prepared for that.
"Ready to go?" Brendan asks when I meet him back on the road. He's secured his stuff to the bike and is standing next to it, waiting for me. Before I can answer a noise catches my attention and I spin around, staring into the shadows of the forest.
"What is it?" Brendan is beside me in a blink of an eye.
"Do you hear that?" I ask, my hearing straining to understand the noise, before it comes again. "I hear—Jemma."
Her voice becomes clear as soon as I say it, calling my name. There's movement in the leaves, and I'm pulled towards it before I can make a conscious decision to go.
"Calista. Don't." Brendan steps in front of me, but I can't take my eyes off the forest.
"She needs me." My own voice sounds far away to my ears. I hear my best friend calling to me, and I know she’s crying. Without a second thought, my whole body is being pulled toward where she is. I just need to get to her.
"No, Calista. Focus on me." He puts his hands on my shoulders and the contact seems to snap me out of the fog. I meet his concerned gaze, trying to disperse the cobwebs littering my mind. I still hear her voice, but now there's something different in it, a tone that's not quite right.
"Don't you hear her?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off Brendan. There's panic in Jemma's voice now, and I have to physically restrain myself from rushing off after her by wrapping my hands around Brendan’s arms. He doesn’t flinch at the harsh contact, not taking his eyes off of mine.
"No," he replies, keeping his body between me and the trees. "It's not Jemma. What you're hearing is a Leshy, and you have to fight against it. Push past the voice it wants you to hear and listen for the reality." I shake my head in denial, because it’s Jemma. It has to be Jemma. But he won't let up. What I said earlier is true, I do trust him. That’s why I’m keeping myself pinned to him. ”You can do it. Fight it."
There is a soft confidence in his words that pushes me over the edge. My hearing reaches out to the voice, but this time I look further. It's an automatic response I can't explain, but I don't stop to wonder. I keep going. When it becomes clear, I gasp.
"It's an old man."
Brendan visibly relaxes at my words, before standing up straighter. Now that I've heard the old man's voice, the pull is no longer there. I look at Brendan questionably, waiting for him to explain.
"Let's get out of here before I divulge any other information." He says, reaching for his helmet once more. I'm beyond ready to go.
"To see an old friend?" I ask a question I already know the answer to.
"To see an old friend."
Amidst great rocks
Koschei the Deathless leaping,
Onward rides,
Wild and fierce
And free again from chains.
Like the storm he howls and weeping,
Sprays the steppes
With burning tears of rage.
- Russian Folk Tale
9
We stop a few miles down the road and I'm glad this bathroom break doesn't bring with it any crazy mind melting visions. When I walk back outside, Brendan is leaning against his bike, two coffee cups in hands and I smile at the familiarity of this situation. It's how he won me over, not two months ago, at school. Back then I was scared of my reaction to him, so I stayed away after that first meeting. He managed to bring my defenses down with a good cup of coffee and a discussion of slasher films. After that, it was easier to be around him, but not any less unnerving.
"You're planning on explaining what happened?" I ask, taking the coffee out of his hands with a quick thanks. The fact that I'm this patient for answers kind of surprises me, but I'm not getting on that bike until I understand what that was. Brendan sees the defiance, smirking at me before he takes another sip of his coffee.
"Leshy is a forest troll who lures young women away by imitating voices of their loved ones." He says matter of fact, as if this is something I should've already known. Which means it's something I do know, but once again, can't remember.
"Why did it wait till the morning?"
"It might've found us at night, but you have to be awake and come willingly for the majyk to work."
"Okay then." I reply, taking a swig from my own cup.
"That's it? No more questions?" Brendan asks, when I don't comment further.
"I think I will be better off if I just accept everything at face value at this point." I reply.
"How very mature of you." I glance at Brendan, finding him watching me with amusement.
“Oh yeah. That’s me.” I say, my words dripping with sarcasm.
"Don't be grumpy." He bumps his shoulder against my own and I grunt in response.
"Let's get a move on," I say, instead of saying the million things rushing through my mind. "I'm ready to be out of the cold."
We both look up at the sky at my words and it seems to grow even darker around us. The storms that have been plaguing the world are not letting up. It’s morning, but it looks like we’re in the middle of a dark night. The shadows send a chill up my spine.
It takes us about four hours to get to where we're going. When we pull up to the cabin in the middle of the woods, I'm intrigued. The place is run down and tiny, about the size of two outhouses, side by side. However, the moment I dismount the bike, I feel a power surge through the ground I step on.
"I'm not imagining things?" I ask, glancing over at Brend
an, who once again is watching for my reaction.
"Not at all."
He leads me inside the cabin, and the moment we step in, I freeze because the place is ginormous.
The outside may look like a rotting mess, but the inside looks like a palace. Chuckling, Brendan tugs on my hand, leading me down the main hallway. It's a chore to take it all in at once. The different paintings that grace the walls, the expensive looking furniture. It's like walking through a museum of arts. There is so much history in just one ancient looking doorknob we pass, the historians would have a field day. Brendan reaches the door at the end of the hallway and motions me inside. Once I step in, the door shuts behind us and the room is plunged into darkness.
One by one, candle after candle, the room is lit up from one corner to the other. I watch the process, fascinated by the flick of the flame, as if someone is walking the perimeter, but I can't see anyone. A loud boom sounds through the room, vibrating the walls and I step back, running into Brendan.
"Who dares to enter the dungeon of the master?" A menacing voice shatters the darkness and suddenly a creature rises from the blackness of the room. He's built like an ox, with shoulders the size of a small car. His face is covered by a silver mask, the eyes aflame. The horns coming out of his helmet are about five feet tall, and I can see the fabric ripple around him as if a great wind is moving through the room. He seems to float over us, rising higher and higher. I reach for Brendan and when my hand wraps around his forearm, I can feel his shoulders shake. Tearing my eyes from the sight in front of me, I stare at Brendan as he begins to laugh out loud.
"Chill, Maxwell. It's only me." Brendan calls out. The room is flooded with light and a guy’s voice comes from the folds of the creature.
"Really, Brendan? You can't call and let a guy know you're coming?"
I blink and then a gorgeous guy materializes in front of me. He's about Brendan's height, putting him at least five inches taller than me. He's not as muscular as the costume he was wearing, but he is built. His eyes are the color of emeralds.
