by Pati Nagle
“Well, if we’re going to do that, you’d better hunt.” Manda got up. “Thanks for the dinner,” she said to Caeran.
“Wait,” I said, and she turned.
I fetched the last of the new tablets and gave it to her. “Caeran got us these.”
She brightened. “Cool! Thanks, Caeran! You want my old one?”
“Give it to Lomen,” he said.
She and Savhoran left. Madóran returned to the couch to sit by Pirian, and Len and Caeran went to their room, leaving me alone at the table. I sat finishing my tea, thinking about the next few days.
The house was kind of weird, dark all the time. I could hole up in Lomen’s room and study, or maybe ride down to my apartment and work there.
Evennight was Friday. I figured Thursday night would be our celebration. I had only one class on Friday, not too bad to skip it if I drove Madóran home that day. I could stay for the ceremony up north, so Lomen wouldn’t have to miss it.
A log rolled off the fire, knocking the screen out of line and landing half on the brick hearth, scattering bits of coal onto the wood floor. I jumped up and went to the fireplace, grabbed a pair of tongs that were long and awkward, and managed to get the log back into the fire.
I brushed the flecks of coal off the oak and onto the brick. One was caught in a crack between two of the floorboards. I picked it up and yelped; it was hot—sizzled against my skin. I threw it into the fire and cussed, sticking my thumb in my mouth.
Before I could stand, I heard Madóran’s footsteps. He knelt beside me, saying softly, “Let me see.”
“It’s all right, I can get some ice,” I said, but he took my hand and cupped both of his around it.
I held still, caught by the wonder of him. His presence—his, khi, I suppose—enveloped me like a warm blanket. He didn’t speak to me but he was there with me.
The pain of the burn had vanished the moment he touched me. His hands were cool on mine, like a stream on a hot day. I closed my eyes, quietly reveling in the contact. I forgot to shield, forgot everything except how amazing he was.
Old, old soul. Deep heart, gentle but surprisingly strong. A heart that could care for a killer, though killing was opposite to his purpose.
Gradually I became aware of a shift in his attention. My hand was healed; I knew it because he knew it. His hands were warmer, now, which would have made the burn react if it hadn’t been completely cured. I should thank him, but I was drifting in a state of bliss and afraid to lose it by moving, by speaking.
I felt a smile flash through his khi. My soul shivered in response.
I was on the verge of giving myself to him. The thought made me draw back, made me open my eyes.
His face was lit golden by firelight, flames dancing in his eyes. I smelled pine and spice, warmed by the fire and the heat of his flesh. His smile as he gazed at me sent a tingle through me.
Oh, how I wanted to throw my heart open.
I shouldn’t ... I ...
He withdrew, not quite completely for which I was grateful, because it would have felt like a door slamming. Still, the bliss vanished, and only a tiny thread of contact remained.
Of course. Forgive me, Steven. I would never wish to hurt Lomen, or you.
He gave my hands a gentle squeeze, let go, and returned to the couch and to Pirian.
It took me a few breaths to calm down enough to stand and go to my room.
Lomen’s room. Oh, jeez, I wished he was there.
= 15 =
I hid in the bedroom the rest of the evening, except for a short trip to the bathroom to get ready for bed. I tried to study but that was pretty hopeless. The text looked better on the tablet than on my phone, but I mostly just stared at it without seeing the words.
I slept poorly. Had a lot of weird dreams. Luckily I didn’t remember any of them the next morning.
I woke before dawn, hearing the front door close. Must be Manda and Savhoran coming back. I drowsed for another half hour, by which time my brain was clamoring at me enough that I gave up and got dressed.
Caeran had bought a mess of fruit at the grocery store. I picked out a cantaloupe and a couple of oranges and sliced them up, leaving the majority on the cutting board while I carried a dish of fruit and a cup of yogurt out to the back patio.
It was chilly. I ate, then went back inside to make tea and coffee. A pot was simmering on the stove: the green soup, reheating. While I was filling the kettle, Savhoran came in and helped himself to some.
Which meant that his hunting had been successful. I wondered what sort of person he’d fed from, what he’d given them as atonement. Man, that must be hard to live with.
I shielded, hoping he hadn’t caught that. If he did, he gave no sign.
Even now, fresh from feeding, he didn’t give me the creeps the way Pirian did. Was his atonement what made the difference?
Madóran came into the kitchen. I paid close attention to measuring the coffee while he helped himself to the fruit.
I really had nothing to freak out about. I told myself not to be a dick.
Madóran was friendly but didn’t push the least bit. Still, I was glad when Len and Caeran came in, crowding the kitchen enough that I had an excuse to leave. I took a mug of coffee to my room and studied—more successfully this time—until Len came to fetch me.
I grabbed a hat, my shades, and my phone and followed her to the garage. Caeran was already in the car.
“Is Manda coming with us?” I asked as I climbed in the back seat.
“No, she wants to study,” Len said.
And to hang out with Savhoran, I figured. Sounded like she didn’t get to see as much of him as she’d like.
Caeran drove to the freeway and headed east, through Tijeras Canyon. Some of the trees there were already starting to turn.
Out of the house, away from the darkened rooms, I began to relax. The weather was clear, and as we drove away from the city I remembered how beautiful the east side of the Sandias was. In contrast to the stark, rugged stone of the west face, the lee side had more gradual slopes that were covered in pine, with patches of oak and, higher up, aspens. Those weren’t a blaze of gold quite yet, but it wouldn’t be long.
Caeran drove south on highway 14, winding through the Manzano Mountains, a lesser chain than the Sandias. Still beautiful woods.
Len was giving him directions from her tablet. I didn’t pay much attention. Soon Caeran pulled off next to a gate that was chained shut.
A hand-painted sign on a board wired to the gate screamed “KEEP OUT!” Beyond, a rutted dirt driveway led down to what looked like a farm: an open, relatively flat meadow, piñon trees scattered along its edges, a one-story house on the south side.
“This is it,” Len said.
Caeran got out of the car and stood gazing at the property. Len got out too, and I followed.
“I had hoped for more woods,” Caeran said.
“I don’t think this is the right area for us,” Len said. “Did you see that sign about land grants? This is old Spanish grant country. They don’t take kindly to gringos moving in.”
Caeran gave her an amused look. “Gringos?”
“You’re a gringo, sweetie. Same as me.”
I walked over to the gate. “I’ve heard of newly built houses being burned down in places like this.”
Len nodded. “Yeah.”
“We would not permit that,” Caeran said. “But I do not wish you two and Manda to have to deal with hostile neighbors. We will try elsewhere.”
We piled back in the car and continued south, passing through a couple of tiny villages. I saw farms, ranches, signs advertising firewood or hay, signs in Spanish. After a while we turned west and started climbing into the mountains. The roads got progressively rougher, and the cloud of dust that kicked up behind us foretold mud in wet weather.
We passed an area that had burned fairly recently. All that was left were the tall, black spikes of tree trunks. A few plants were starting to come back, so it had been
maybe a year or two, but nothing taller than a bush was green. When we passed back into living forest, I felt relieved.
The property that was available in the area turned out to be twenty acres of undeveloped forest. Sunflowers grew along the roadside. We got out and walked among the trees: mixed pine and juniper. Dry grasses, knee high, brushed against us, leaving hopeful seeds in our clothing.
Caeran stood gazing up through the trees at the sky. “The land is good, but it’s rather far from the city.”
“Long commute,” I said, nodding.
“No utilities,” Len added. “We’d have to drill a well and set up a solar array.”
“Yes,” Caeran said, “though neither of those is a problem. I am more concerned about the distance.”
“It’s pretty,” Len said, bending to pick a little purple flower.
“We’ll keep this one in mind.”
Caeran headed back to the car. Reluctantly, Len and I followed. I would have loved to spend more time walking there, but there were other properties to look at.
We retraced our route back to the highway and north again, past the burn and the villages and the Spanish grant land. We crossed under the freeway and were now on the back side of the Sandias.
The highway wound through the little town of Cedar Crest. I’d driven through it a couple of times before, on the way to hikes and once on a visit to the former mining town and current hippie art scene of Madrid. We didn’t go that far.
First stop was to the east, another farm-like property much like the first one but without the Spanish grant issue. Caeran wasn’t hot for it, so we moved on.
Driving further north, we turned off into a community of fairly fancy houses, spaced well apart.
“How large are the lots here?” Caeran asked.
“Ten acres,” Len said. “We’re looking at two adjacent ones.”
She directed him toward the northwest by a fairly winding route. We had a fine view of the antenna farm on Sandia Crest. That would mean good Internet reception, for what it was worth.
After about fifteen minutes, we turned onto a short street that ended in a cul-de-sac. Len pulled up a map of lots on her tablet, and we got out and walked around. The area was hilly, with a dense forest of mixed piñon and juniper. Rocky underfoot. Chamisa bushes were in bloom, and I sneezed, wishing for antihistamines.
“Can’t see the neighbors,” Len commented. “That’s good.”
“This is the one that’s zoned residential?” Caeran asked.
“Yeah. We might have to pull some strings to build the lab—there are covenants.”
“If we combined the two lots and built right in the center, perhaps that would do.”
“Take some legal finagling. Manda would know what we need.”
Caeran turned to me. “Steven? What do you think?”
I looked around at the hills. “You’d probably have to berm some of the buildings. Where’s the center spot?”
We consulted Len’s tablet and GPS, and found the center of the two lots. It happened to fall in the steepest part, with a dry wash running almost exactly down the property line. It would take a lot of earth-moving, and some erosion control, to get it ready for buildings.
We left it on the list and got back in the car. Drove back out to the highway and back south. Turned right on the road that went up to Sandia Crest, which made me curious. There were a few houses in the area, but not many as far as I knew.
We drove up for a while. Len directed Caeran to turn on a side road that was almost invisible. It wasn’t paved, but it was well-graded and recently graveled. It started to climb, and a ponderosa forest closed in around us.
I rolled down my window, wanting to smell the pines. This forest reminded me of the Gila Wilderness, one of my favorite childhood stomping grounds. Clumps of oak grew beneath the evergreens, some of the leaves going orange already. I inhaled deeply, not quite hanging my head out the window like a dog. As we wound higher into the mountains, the air got perceptibly cooler, with a hint of the damp forest scent that I had always loved.
“Look for a lot number sign that says ‘64’,” Len told us.
She spotted it first, just a small sign by the road, no driveway. Caeran pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned on the hazards. We piled out.
I walked a few steps onto the land and stopped to take a deep breath. Tall pines swayed gently and I heard the rushing-water sound of wind in the trees. I closed my eyes.
Footsteps moved past me, crunching on dry needles in the grass. After a moment I followed.
The grass here was greener though it was definitely drying out with the approach of autumn. We walked westward up a gentle slope and before long reached a small meadow ringed by pines. A stand of aspens, just starting to get a tinge of gold on the edges of their fluttering leaves, stood at the north end.
“Oh,” Len said, sounding enchanted.
Caeran turned to me. “What do you think? Big enough for the lab?”
“Um.”
My first thought was that it would be a shame to fill that beautiful place with buildings. Knowing the ælven, though, the buildings would be just as beautiful. I made myself focus on the question.
“I don’t think the lab needs to be huge. It will be me, Len, Lomen...you?”
“Probably not me, but as you suggested, we should recruit one other if we can.”
“So maybe one big room, one smaller room, some storage and space for an office. Don’t need a reception area—or do we?”
“No. The house will serve if we ever need to entertain.”
“So, a house. How many will live there?”
“Those working at the lab, and possibly one or two others. Manda, for instance.”
“Office for Manda, then. And the house: four bedrooms? Five? That’s kind of big.”
Len grinned. “Wait ‘til you see Madóran’s house.”
“We could do worse than use Madóran’s house as a model,” Caeran said.
“It wouldn’t fit here, though,” said Len.
“The lot is thirty acres.”
We walked westward, uphill, leaving the sunny meadow behind. The wonderful vanilla smell of the ponderosas filled the air. I took long, deep breaths, savoring the forest.
Could I live here? Oh, yes.
I found myself wishing I could share this with Lomen. Wanting to lie in that meadow, with the smell of dry leaves around us and aspen leaves flickering against blue sky above.
We found another meadow, a smaller one, after walking about five minutes. The sound of water was more pronounced, and when Len gave a cry of delight I saw why: a little stream ran down one side of the meadow, trending northward.
Caeran watched her run over to it, smiling fondly. He seemed more relaxed than I’d seen him in a while.
“If we site the house here, would you mind walking to the lab?” he asked me.
Duh. “Uh, no.”
“Even in the snow?”
“I’ve got a down coat.” Left over from the one season I dated a skier. I’d been too much a novice for him.
We strolled over to join Len by the stream, then we all followed it uphill for a while. Just when I was wondering if we’d strayed off the lot, we found the water’s source: a spring, bubbling up from a rocky hollow in the hillside. More aspens stood around it, along with scrub oak and other bushes I couldn’t identify. The slope got noticeably steeper beyond the spring.
“Is this on the property?” I asked.
“If it isn’t, we will buy this land as well,” Caeran said.
“Might be on forest land,” Len said.
“Then we will seek permission to use it.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, staring at the water rising out of the mountain’s heart. Like most desert rats, I’m sentimental about water.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” Caeran said.
Len stepped toward him. “There’s one more property.”
“We’ll look at it.”
Th
e walk downhill seemed shorter. We got in the car and headed back to the village. The other property Len had us visit was closer to it and smaller. It was pretty, but there were neighboring houses within sight. We didn’t have to discuss it.
We got back in the car, but instead of starting it, Caeran pulled out his phone and asked Len to give him the number of the agent selling the previous lot. Right then and there, he offered to buy the land at its listed price. He also asked if any adjoining property was available. I could just picture the real estate agent salivating.
We were thirsty, so we stopped at the local grocery store for drinks. This would be our neighborhood store, I thought, admiring a fairly extensive wine section.
I could buy some, I realized. On impulse, I grabbed a bottle of champagne and took it to the register with my bottle of water. The cashier asked to see my ID and wished me a happy birthday, which got me a raised eyebrow from Len.
“You must be very thirsty,” Caeran said as we walked out.
“It’s for celebrating, right?”
He smiled. “Good idea, though perhaps a little premature. I have yet to sign the purchase.”
“We could stop on our way home,” Len said. “The agent’s here in Cedar Crest.”
“They won’t have the paperwork ready, I think, but yes—let’s stop and say hello.”
The real estate office was in a tiny strip mall with half a dozen store fronts. The agent, a thirty-something who introduced himself as Tony Gutierrez, was delighted to see us and came close to fawning over Caeran. He offered us all chairs and coffee, and passed around the listings for two neighboring pieces of land. Caeran ended up signing a purchase agreement for the original lot and writing out a down-payment check for an amount that made me feel faint.
We were doing it. We were building a compound—a commune, maybe—in a gorgeous forest in the mountains. I had trouble believing it was real.
Driving home, Caeran chatted with Len about finding an architect and where to put a solar array. I sat thinking about that beautiful land, which I couldn’t wait to see again.
