NeverSleep
Page 27
I see him there, lying yonder, without cushion for his head. I will be his cushion. I will . . .
It is no use. The sky is too fast. On the outer banks of the motionless sea of relics, I fall out of hover. My knees melt into the ground, and from inside of me, something wrongs.
I feel the sensation, ripping at me, tearing at the weak bonds tying me to my pactor.
By Thyst we are bound until death.
That is the way it should be.
That is the way it has always been.
Even so, it is not is death, and yet I feel it. Just as certainly as if I were stabbed, I feel it.
My pact with Awyer breaks.
Chapter XX: Awaken
There was once a time when I thought I knew what it was like to be nonexistent. That tiny sliver of time when my new confidant refused to see and to hear me. I wandered for hours, thinking I knew the disparity of being unreal.
I was wrong then.
Now, truly for the first time in my existence I know what it is like to be unreal. Unheard. Unseen. Unfelt.
I am nothing. A wisp. A vapor.
No, even those things exist in the physical plane.
I am a shadow, unable to exist in the absence of another.
From between the seams, I watch him awaken. I watch his eyes, dark-lined and more like an animal than any person’s, open slowly, groggishly. And as he comes to, the first word on his lips is,
“Grim.”
Sitting up, he looks right and left. I am in between right and left, yet his eyes move through me. I am fast fading, and the emptiness left from our broken pact plagues me.
“Awyer!” I call, though I know it will do naught. “My pacto–” My tongue refuses to finish the word, for it knows the truth. I have no pactor. And the longer I go without one, the fainter I will fade.
I reach for him, seeking to place a hand to his cheek, but for the first time ever, my fingers do not meet his flesh. My fingers instead pass through, the way smoke passes through fog. I can no longer feel the one person I may feel in the absence of enchants?!
NO!
How has it come to this!? Awyer assured me! He saw the future and he believed that we would be together! He believed that without magicks I would not fade, merely change.
Uninvited, panic enters me. Starting at my heart and throbbing outwards, my entire nonexistent being quivers.
Never again will I touch him.
How I long to touch him!
Awyer is not my pactor. Awyer is not my ward. What, then, is he? Nothing.
No, I am nothing.
He is everything.
Tears, the kind that a naefaerie should not have, pass over my cheeks and disappear before reaching the ground – the very ground that wishes to swallow me.
Second by second, I sink lower.
In my last minutes, I will take as much of him in as I can so that his image will be all that I see when I fade.
He is not dashing as Feligo is dashing, and he is not rugged as Techton is rugged, and he is not energetic as Pedj is energetic, and he is not sultry as Mael is sultry. But he is most desirable. He is taller than when I first kissed him. His frame has matured from when I first broke the lock. His jaw and shoulders are strong. His chest is firm and warm. His hair is outgrown from his time asleep, but that is fine. It suits him, the way it falls into his face. His eyes are deep, enigmatic, and commanding. His mouth is . . .
I watch him rub at the side of his head. He is disoriented. He moves his neck to the side, and it cracks.
He looks to the crumbling mount behind me. I look also to see an unexpected shape bobbing in the air. It is not an agent. It is a being that should not, by normal means, fly. Pedj floats over the heap of rubble, feet kicking and eyes bulging, whilst holding on to a glowing blade of grassweed.
Ah. Magicks might be gone from this place, but the effects have yet to reach Yel’ram.
The zombie has been saved by a knightly silverfox.
I am glad for them, even if I am far from glad for myself.
“It happened,” my sphinx says, and his voice is croaky from weeks of disuse. “That means she is . . .” His gaze searches for me but cannot find me, yet he does not fret. He does not panic in the way I panic.
Why does he not panic!?
He searches the ground for my shadow, but even that, too, is no longer.
“Grim,” he says again. “Come here.” He extends his hand at me and my neck shivers. It is good to hear him call me, even if he cannot see me.
Open-palmed, his hand extends to me. Eagerly, I attempt to take it, but when my hand again passes through his, my tears turn to sobs.
“I love you,” I say through the gush. “I told you I would tell you once you awoke, and now it is too late!” Awyer is a fool! He would not let me tell him in Dimensia, and now I will never get to speak it to him! My body sinks farther into the earth and my hands begin to flicker even from my view. My fading happens faster now than even the first time I left Ensecré! Unable to find pactor, I was certain I would disappear, until rescued by Awyer’s ancestor. At that time, I was in danger of fading, but it was not as immediate as now! Now, I disappear more with each drawn breath! Is it because no magicks exist to sustain me!?
“My mistress,” Awyer says, stare passing through me. “Do not worry.”
How can he say that?! How can I not worry?!
Again, I shout at the top of my fading lungs. “I love you, Awyer! I need you to hear it at least once! I LOVE YOU!”
“Grim,” Awyer says with affirmation. “I also love you.”
Epilogue: Until Death
Faeries begin to change when they’re without pactors.
They don’t die. They drift.
How do you know that you will disappear without a ward?
The salt of the air licks my cheeks. The burn of wind and salt and spray is rawing, but I delight in the sensation.
Though the day is bright, my hair is dark. After the change occurred, it remains dark. That is fine. My love likes it that way.
I walk along the sand, and it is cool beneath my feet. I look behind me to see a trail of footprints that I left along the shore. The lapping waves will soon eat them away, but for a time, at least, they are proof that I exist.
Really and truly, I exist.
Warm arms wrap around my shoulders.
Awyer! I did not hear him approach! I turn to face him and his face, though dirty, is peaceful.
“You have dirt upon your cheek, my heart,” I tell him. Reaching for him, I do not pass through. Rather, my thumb makes contact and rubs away the smear.
“I blame you,” he says, playful. “It was your dinner’s fault.”
“It is a bother to eat every day.”
He rolls his eyes. “More than once is normal, you know.”
So he says. But I am not yet normal.
“I will work up to it,” I say.
We are silent. The sound of the sea is comforting. At times, it is fierce. Others, it is calm. The sea has a life of its own. This place is a place of bad omen. Not many settle here, for fear of what lies across the sea. Perhaps such fears are grounded. After all, the draggar, exterminator of magicks, came from over this very sea.
I place my head upon Awyer’s warm chest, but he will not stand for it. He takes my chin in his hand and draws my sight to his.
“What is wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Grim.”
He knows all too well that nothing always means something.
“We are not evil, are we?” I say. “For abandoning the world?”
“We do not need to be heroes.”
Aye, he speaks truth. We do not need to be heroes. We need only to be us. We may stand on the sidelines this time. It was our task to end the world, and our task is through. Let the youth rebuild it, free of Gold and Void. And also free of Amethyst.
Awyer’s eyes press into me.
“Are you happy, my faerie?”
“I am no longer a f
aerie.”
“You are small and fair. It suits you.”
My cheeks turn warm.
When unpacted, naefaeries undergo a change. Long ago, before pacting with Awyer’s ancestor, I began to feel that change, but I could not know then what was happening to me. Having never experienced it before, I did not know what it felt like to be . . .
Alive.
My feet touch the earth. My face feels the wind. I am seen. Heard. Real.
That is the nature of who I am.
I look to the sky.
It is not tainted by Void or Gold or Bloőd or Azure or Amethyst. It is only blue, as skies should be, and sometimes gray, when the day is dreary. So far, Mael does her job. Queen Necromancer does her job. Aside her king, she guards the Eternity Vessel from magicks.
It is hard to say if the world will survive.
Can the nations truly function without enchants?
Can people advance using only physical and mental means?
And will people still find things to fight over in the absence of magicks?
But while I think on these things, Awyer thinks only of me. He takes my face in his hands to draw my thought from the sky.
“We will visit Pedj soon,” he says. “Will that make you happy?”
“I am happy,” I tell him without hesitation, and it is not a lie. I have never, ever been happier. “But yes, let us visit him. And Feligo, too.”
A second time, Awyer rolls his eyes. “You have become social, Mistress,” he says, grinning. But the grin is spontaneous and after only a short moment, his face falls. “Are you certain you still like me best?”
I delight to see his jealousy. Is that normal? “The very best,” I say.
And with that, he brings his lips to my lips. Soft and confidant, he moves his mouth against mine. The taste of him is good. The feel of him is good. The scent of him is good.
“Do you want to go inside?” he whispers into my ear, bringing his hand to my back and pressing me close to him.
Hotter yet, my cheeks and neck become.
Inside, to our bed, where together we will lie.
“On one condition,” I say, breathless.
He buries his nose in my hair and inhales deeply. “Mm?”
“Never sleep again.”
The End
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More Info
About the Author:
NeverSleep was MN author Brindi Quinn’s ninth published work, and the sequel to EverDare.
Shortly after finishing college in 2010, Brindi began her mad dash into authordom. The Heart of Farellah Trilogy was first to hit shelves in 2011, and she hasn’t stopped since. In addition to her debut trilogy, Brindi’s publications include: Seconds: The Shared Soul Chronicles, a third person sci-fi romance; Sil in a Dark World: A Paranormal Love-Hate Story; The World Remains, a dystopian adventure; Atto’s Tale, the miniseries spinoff to Heart of Farellah; The Death and Romancing of Marley Craw, a sexy postmortem tale; and The Ongoing Pursuit of Zillow Stone, a post-apocalyptic series.
Brindi considers herself a nerd, indulging heavily (when she can) in video games, anime, manga, horror flicks and good sci-fi TV. Brindi recently set off on a grand adventure. After spending a time near the northern coast of California, she’s currently tucked away in a cozy hobbit hole near Seattle.
Follow Brindi on Twitter:
@Brindiful
AND connect with her on Facebook:
Facebook.com/Brindiful
About the Artist:
Ben Clemann is an amateur artist from Minnesota; and though his degree is in Youth Developmental Studies rather than Visual Arts, he has still been drawing since before he could pronounce the letter "r". Among his studies in youth culture and pop artistry, he also enjoys other pursuits of many things of academic and artistic nature, including philosophy, psychology, sociology, theology, and a wide array of arts visual, musical, literary, and martial. A true ‘Jack of All Trades’ . . . and master of none.
You can view his other artwork at:
http://www.otakumako.deviantart.com