Amaranthine Special Edition Vol I

by Naylor, Joleene

  The meaning of his words filtered through slowly, and then she understood. He could – no! No! “You did what?” she cried, shocked and horrified.

  “I had no choice-” he began, but she cut him off mid-sentence.

  “You had no choice?” She shouted, waving her hands to punctuate her words. “No choice? For the love of God! One minute you throw me out and the next you link my brain with yours! That doesn’t even make any sense! And now you can read my thoughts and see my dreams?” She willed herself to calm down, but it didn’t happen. “No! No, you have to undo this!”

  His eyes narrowed angrily and he shouted back at her, “I can’t undo it, Katelina!”

  “And you didn’t even ask me!” Katelina spat. “You just decided it on your own? I suppose it's for my own good?”

  “No, it wasn't!” he roared. In the face of his fury she froze and let her hands fall uselessly to her side. “I did it because if I didn't, you'd have bled to death in my arms, Katelina! I did it because I couldn't bear that! I'm selfish, fine! Call me selfish! Tell me how terrible I am, how I'm some monster from the darkness who deserves to be alone and miserable until my cursed existence comes to an end! Go ahead, say it!”

  “You're selfish,” she responded, with only half the conviction. Her eyes dropped away from his face.

  Jorick gave an almost sadistic chuckle, then snapped, “Yes, I know. So where's the rest of it? Tell me what an inhuman monster I am. How much you hate me!”

  “I don't hate you.”

  “Really?” he snapped. “You have an odd way of showing it!”

  She glowered at him, furious again. “Do I? At least I don't lock myself in a room every night praying to my dead girlfriend!”

  “Praying?” he demanded. “Praying? You think that I-” he broke off and anger raced across his face. “Of all the-” He clenched his teeth. “And she wasn’t my girlfriend, Katelina. She was my wife.”

  Katelina laughed wildly and threw up her hands. “Of course she was! And then she left you because...” she trailed off, daring him to finish the sentence.

  “She died,” he snarled. “The humans took her; they dragged her through the fields and nailed her to a tree, then they set it on fire! Is that a good enough reason for you?”

  Katelina froze; her mouth open, but wordless. She blinked at him, unsure what to feel or say. Of all the situations she’d imagined, Velnya's violent death wasn’t one of them. “The letters?” she whispered.

  “I sent them to her while I was away,” his tone was heavy with controlled fury. “I was running errands for Malick and I didn't make it back in time. I told her not to fear the local population, even when they got suspicious and spread rumors about witchcraft! Witchcraft! What an antiquated idea, as if that meant anything! And who were they, anyway?” His voice got louder, angrier. “They were just petty humans who could do nothing to her, whose touch was but a breath of wind! And she listened! She listened!” he screamed. “When they came for her, she wouldn’t even fight back! She pitied them! She pitied their weakness! She said she remembered what it was to be so fragile, so terrified, and that to fight them would only prove them right, so she did nothing, until the very end, and then it was too late. And where was I? I was busy! She died because I wasn’t there to stop it! She was nailed to a tree and burned while I did my master's bidding! So, you know what? Maybe it was a shrine, but not to her! To my guilt! A reminder of what happens when you put the wrong priorities first! How is that, Katelina? Did that answer your question?”

  Katelina's breath escaped in a little puff and all semblance of coherent speech left her. She could see the pain on his face and reached out for him, but he jerked away.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered.

  “That makes two of us.” He made as if to say more but shook his head instead. “When you think that you can face such a monster again, let me know.” He turned away sharply and stormed from the room.

  The door slammed behind him and Katelina was left alone, her hand still extended to the air. Slowly, she lowered it, uncertain what she should do next. Her emotions raged between guilt and fury. On one hand she wanted to comfort him, but on the other he’d “linked” them! She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t help but wonder what he’d do with this new connection. Would he use it? Did he even have a choice? Was she now an open book, her every thought on display for him, or did he have to choose to do it?

  She stared at the door and it stared back at her accusingly. She tried to ignore it, but when she looked away she imagined Jorick’s face, his mouth set in a tight line and raw hurt in his eyes.

  Something crumpled inside her, and she jerked the door open. She dashed up the stairs, but stopped when she reached the heavy cellar door. Beyond it lay a terrible reality that she didn’t want to face, and for a moment she felt like a ghost in a horror novel, whose dead body lay in the other room, waiting for her to see it and understand the truth.

  She pinched her arm painfully to find flesh and blood between her fingers. No, she was alive and she needed to either go forward or run back to the bedroom.

  The door opened into a hallway still littered with shards of wood. She picked her way to the ruined white door, then stopped, almost superstitiously. What was left of it was splattered with blood and barely hung on its hinges. She took a tentative step past it, into the room beyond. Broken furniture littered the floor, and the window was shattered so that a frost heavy wind blew through it. She shivered in the cold, and when her eyes moved to the wall, her stomach lurched. On either side of the window was a pair of hooks, no doubt for some old window dressing, but long, black streaks ran down the wall from the left one and onto the floor. She knew what that was, and it made her sick.

  She hurried away to the bathroom, but it was no more comforting. The bathtub was streaked with blood and gore and a pile of bloody clothing was thrown in one corner; a possible attempt at makeshift bandages. The bag she'd abandoned in the driveway was thrown on the back of the toilet and she quickly ripped it open in search of warm clothes and socks, trying desperately to ignore what she was seeing.

  She dressed quickly, though she couldn’t resist looking in the mirror. On her neck, above her right collar bone, was a new “mark”. It looked like the last one, including the cross cut beneath it, but there was something different about the scar tissue; it was translucent and smooth, and cool to the touch. Now she understood what Claudius meant when he said it “looked like an ordinary mark”. Her eyes were drawn on down to the rest of her new scars. They were ugly, and lumpy with unhappy edges. Most notable was the one that ran from her right hip to her ribs. Her insides went cold as she remembered it. She’d felt the knife cut through her, felt it destroy vital organs and, in those moments, she’d tasted her own death. Even the memories held a bitter flavor, like bile. There was no question about it, she’d been on the threshold of oblivion and she hadn’t expected to survive.

  When she was dressed, her hair was brushed, and she was slathered in the sanity of deodorant, she abandoned the mess in the bathroom to seek out Jorick. She picked her way through the house, noting the wanton destruction. In the dining room the drawers had been pulled from the heavy desk. One of them had been hurled across the room and, from the gouges in the plaster, into the wall. The shattered remnants lay scattered on the floor mingled with bits of broken ceramic and carelessly thrown books. She stooped and picked one of them up. Its spine was broken. Still, she closed it carefully and laid it on the table. How could Loren have done this?

  The front room was as she remembered it, though the door hung half open and let the winter inside. She opened it all the way, and was surprised to find Jorick seated on the cement porch outside, staring into the distant stand of icy trees.

  She hesitated in the doorway and waited for him to acknowledge her presence. When he didn’t even flinch, she took a deep breath and plunged into the cold night. She stood next to him and looked down, still waiting for a sign that he knew she was the
re. Finally, she surrendered and dropped onto the porch. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. The cold concrete seeped through her jeans and the chilly wind cut past her sweatshirt.

  Jorick continued to stare straight ahead, and she followed his gaze to see what was so absorbing. The trees stood in an icy cluster and their crystal coated branches tinkled as they swayed. The star strewn sky spread above them and the moon hung cold, silver and as impassive as always.

  She took a deep breath and turned back to Jorick. His smooth skin reminded her more of marble than flesh; a perfect carving by a master. His dark eyes were moist and filled with an emotion she couldn't name as they stared unblinkingly at nothing. His soft lips were closed tightly and his raven hair fell onto his bare, gleaming shoulders in pools of captured darkness. His naked back barely rose with his breaths. The well muscled surface invited a touch, but she refrained.

  She cleared her throat noisily, but he stayed silent. The seconds lapsed into minutes and her annoyance grew. Finally, she said peevishly, “Look, if you're going to ignore me I'll just go in the house.”

  He didn’t look at her, but his voice came low; like thunder in the distance before a summer storm, “I'm not ignoring you. I just don't have anything to say.”

  She raised a brow in disbelief. “You could start by telling me if it was Loren who tore up the house. I know the idiot twins didn't.”

  “No,” he replied tonelessly. “They didn't. I did.”

  She pressed her lips together tightly and tried to understand the logic. When nothing presented itself she asked slowly, “Mind if I ask why?”

  Jorick’s shoulders moved almost imperceptibly, an imitation of a shrug. “It's better to take your anger out on objects that don't feel.”

  “Anger? About what?” He didn’t answer, and she realized she’d made a mistake by following him. “Forget it,” she said quietly and stood. She walked across the porch in a handful of steps and stopped next to the gaping door. “If you want to sit out here and be uncommunicative then fine, but I'm not freezing to death so you can ignore me.” Her eyes narrowed at his broad back. She desperately wanted him to talk, and since he wouldn’t she continued to fill the silence. “You wanna pout, then pout.” When he still didn’t respond she added, “I'm sorry, okay? If it’s about what I said, I already apologized-”

  He cut her off but still didn’t look at her, “It has nothing to do with what you said. Words mean nothing.” He waved his hand to indicate how easily dismissed they were.

  “Then what?” Did he plan to send her away again? Was he mad because she’d admitted to reading those letters? Was he angry that she’d snooped or that she’d somehow desecrated Velnya’s memory?

  His laughter rippled all around her, the last reaction she’d expected. “I thought women were intuitive creatures! Yet, I’ve never heard anyone be so wrong.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “What do you think it's over, Katelina? Read my soul and tell me.”

  “You’re the mind reader, not me.”

  A strange smirk settled on his lips. “Yes, I suppose I am. Perhaps I should have practiced more of it.”

  She started to argue with him, but stopped, suddenly confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have respected your privacy so much. Maybe I should have dug deeper instead of waiting for things to resolve themselves.” He broke off and looked away again. “Maybe if I’d paid attention to your deeper thoughts instead of just brushing aside the noisome, surface chatter, then I’d have known what you were up to.”

  “Up to?” she echoed incredulously.

  “The letters? Interrogating Loren? You could have just asked me.”

  “Ask you?” she cried. “Ask you? I did! I asked you what was in that damn room and you brushed me off every time!”

  He took a moment to reply. “And what would you have done with the answer?”

  She laid a frustrated hand to her head. “I don’t know. But I wouldn’t have taken it as something so serious if it wasn’t such a damned secret.”

  “I didn’t see any reason to burden you with it,” he murmured quietly.

  “Did it ever occur to you that it wasn’t a burden?” she shouted, her self control gone. “It’s called sharing!”

  He turned suddenly icy. “I didn’t know that people who aren’t in committed relationships shared so much.” Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, so he went on, “Those were your words, I believe?”

  She shook her head helplessly. “Yes, but… I don't know. You don't make any sense!”

  His voice was dry and scathing, “And why is that? Is it because I'm so much more evil than you? Much more loathsome, perhaps?”

  “You're not loathsome!” she snapped impatiently. “If you want to have a pity Jorick party, don't bother inviting me.”

  “A pity Jorick party?” he mused. “I didn't know I had invited you.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and willed sanity to return. “I'm getting cold,” she said flatly.

  He made a noise of contempt in his throat. “What am I supposed to do about it? Do you expect me to go inside because you’re cold?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No, not really,” he replied smoothly. “It’s a side effect of being so terribly inhuman.”

  She started to argue, but stopped. This was pointless. “You know what? Just forget it!” Then she turned and slammed into the house.

  She took a deep breath to clear her mind, then started to pick up the scattered books, but thought better of it. He’d made the mess, he could clean it up. The house was chilly, so she moved to the hearth and busied herself preparing a fire. She raked through the cold ashes but stopped when she found something metal. She dug it out to find that it was the silver cross from the bundle of letters; Velnya’s cross.

  She sat back on her haunches and stared at it, lying black and cold in her hand. What in the hell? Had he burned the letters? And if so, why? Why save them all these years only to destroy them now?

  As if on cue, the door opened and Jorick strode through it. He stopped in the middle of the mess and stared at her, though it was more like he was staring through her. “Because I don’t need them anymore,” he answered flatly.

  She turned her back to him and dumped logs in the fireplace, but she could feel his dark eyes boring uncomfortably into her back. “Why?” she finally asked, and added silently, “Don’t you love her anymore?”

  He made a low noise in his throat, like a sigh only more irritated. “It has nothing to do with her. It has to do with you.”

  “Me?” she demanded. A stab of annoyance prickled her, but it felt foreign, as though it didn’t belong to her. It was a strange idea that she couldn’t comprehend, so she tried to ignore it. “What about me?”

  Jorick looked torn between sadness and irritation. “You still refuse to understand, don't you?”

  “Understand what?” she cried in exasperation and stood to face him, hands on her hips. “You don’t make any sense!”

  He crossed the room to her, then cocked his head to one side and studied her. When he spoke, his voice was hurt and angry, “You didn't have to leave as easily as that.”

  His words caught her off guard and left her with nothing to say except, “What?”

  “It took no convincing,” he explained, his voice husky. “One word and you agreed. One sentence and you packed your bag. You even refused to sleep where you thought I’d be.” His voice was raw and his eyes held pain that she’d never expected to see. “You didn’t even tell me goodbye,” he whispered. “Am I so terrible? Do I mean so little to you?”

  She gaped at him, fumbling for words. “What… You… You didn’t give me a chance! You stuffed the damn money in my hand and ran away.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he defended. “I went downstairs, where you could have followed. You chose not to.” He stared at her accusingly. “I waited and when I came back upstairs you were already gone.” His th
roat caught. “You didn’t even bother to say goodbye. And then you left. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers loudly. “You left!”

  Katelina stared at him as though he’d been replaced by an alien. “You're mad because I left when you told me to? What should I have done? Yelled and screamed like an idiot? Chased you down and begged you not to send me away? Would that have been better?”

  His tone was serious, “Yes, actually.”

  She almost laughed. “You're joking, right?” But the smile died on her lips when she saw his jaw tighten. “You’re not joking?”

  “No,” he answered shortly. “I've been told I'm not very good at it.” His eyes burned into her and she looked away, with nothing to say. When she stayed silent, he went on, “You didn't argue. Not a single objection.” His voice echoed the pain in his eyes, “Do you want to go home so badly?”

  Tears pressed behind her eyelids and she whispered, “You're an idiot.”

  “Am I?” His question held a double meaning that was lost on her.

  “Yes, Jorick, you’re an idiot,” she repeated. The tears shone brightly in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. “You expected me to say, ‘Please, don't send me away’ after you ordered me to go? You expected me to beg you to reconsider when you’d broken my heart? You wanted me to leave!”

  He cupped her face in his smooth hand, ending her tirade and drawing her eyes to his. “I never wanted you to leave,” he whispered.

  A single tear slipped down her cheek. “Then why did you tell me to?”

  “I didn't.” His thumb gently caught the errant tear and wiped it away. “I said you should leave, that I should never have involved you.” He slipped his arm around her and pulled her so close that her face was in his. He swallowed hard and his eyes searched hers. “I never said that I wanted you to go.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest and the look in his deep eyes stole away her words. She took a trembling breath and forced her mouth to work, though her sentence was scarcely louder than a breath, “Then maybe you should try saying what you mean.”