Loving in Heaven and Earth

by E A Comiskey

  My heart skipped a beat. I fought against the urge to call out to him in my strange, wordless way.

  Puah returned to my bedside and sat down once more.

  I forced myself to form a clear thought, apart from questions about the man… or whatever he was. You have so much here. You must be under constant attack.

  She smiled, her eyes still a little sad, and shook her head again.

  You're not under constant attack?

  She shook her head.

  But… how?

  She stood, slipping the paper and pen into her pocket. She pointed at me, pressed her palms together and laid her head on them, mimicking sleep.

  I'm not tired. But even as I had the thought a yawn rose up from my chest, huge and irresistible.

  Puah patted my arm again, removed the restraints from my arms and chest, covered me with a thick, clean blanket of soft beige fabric, and left the room.

  My thoughts were in too much turmoil to allow me to sleep, but the warm, soft bed, the feeling of safety, and likely the drugs I’d been given, were too much to resist. I slept, and dreamed of running through bloody snow; running away from battle; running toward something better.

  ~*~

  The next time I woke I was alone, unbound, and free from pain. The light in the room was dim, but not so dark I couldn't see. I pushed the covers back and planted my feet on the cool, smooth, polished floor. A single shelf ran the length of one wall. Glass jars with silver lids held soft white balls, wooden sticks, rolls of bandages, items I had no name for. The moon-shaped machine was nestled between the counter and the bed. There was a single chair, a small table on wheels, a trash bin, and a mirror on the wall.

  I stared at my reflection. A young woman with eyes too big for her little round face stared back. She was clean with pale skin that showed no sign of redness from the brutal wind. Her hair hung about her shoulders in long, shiny waves. That girl bore so little resemblance to me I could have believed her to be a stranger if not for her wide-eyed wonder. It was a perfect match to my own.

  Had I died?

  Was this the Realms?

  I reached up and touched the skin on my face. It felt as smooth and healthy as the other girl's appeared to be.

  Two doors sat at right angles to one another. Hala had gone through the one on the same wall as the mirror. I assumed it would be locked, so when the handle moved smoothly under my touch I was surprised. The door swung outward, allowing me to step into a circular hallway. A man sat at a table, writing in a large book. He looked up and smiled at me. Is he the only guard? He's too old, too relaxed, much too happy.

  His lips moved, but I didn't know his words. I looked past him. Wooden doors, each a twin to the one I'd walked through, dotted the circumference of the corridor except at one place behind him. In that spot, there was a double set of doors. The walls glowed, illuminating the entire space in soft, shadowless radiance.

  Everywhere there were plants. Green plants! Trees in enormous glazed pots. Ferns, suspended by wires from the ceiling. Dainty little things with pink flowers that spilled over the edge of the container and hung down in front of the table where the man sat. I reached toward the one nearest me, feeling it's cool, silken petals, alive, fresh, thriving inside this enormous building.

  Puah emerged from one of the doors. Her curls were tied up in a pile at the back of her head, so black they glowed blue in the light. Her smile was as quick and pretty as it had been the night before. She padded across the floor in soft-skin boots. Her loose pants and long tunic were identical to those I wore, except that hers had been painted with a rainbow of colors in swirling lines that reminded me of the northern curtain that sometimes lit the night sky above my village.

  Where am I?

  Do you live here?

  Am I a prisoner?

  My stomach growled in hunger.

  My bladder ached to be emptied.

  She handed a little rectangle to the man, exchanged a few words, and beckoned me back into the room where I'd slept. She opened the door I'd not yet been through, revealing another room, much smaller, with a steel basin and a bowl of water on the floor. She mimicked pulling down her pants and sitting on the bowl. Then she took a bit of the rolled paper that hung on a peg on the wall and pretended to dry herself. She dropped the paper in the water and pushed a button. The water disappeared through a hole in the bottom of the bowl.

  My mouth hung open in astonishment. Even human waste was magical here!

  Puah laughed.

  My cheeks burned. I'd forgotten she could hear my thoughts.

  She patted me on the arm and left the room, leaving me to deal with this new witchcraft.

  I returned to the sleeping room just as she placed a tray of food on the little table; a slice of meat, baked golden brown, a little pile of green and orange vegetables, a thick slice of bread with butter melting in the middle, an apple, shiny and red, a large glass of water, and a steaming mug of tea. My mouth watered at the sight. I could count on my fingers the number of times I'd eaten such a meal in my life, and never had it been arranged like art on a pretty glass dish. Perhaps a more disciplined person would have been slow and graceful in sampling such fare, but I was starving. I dug into the food with both hands, unknowing and uncaring about manners and cutlery.

  Puah waited patiently for me to finish and, when I was done, offered me a warm, damp cloth to clean my hands and face.

  Why are you doing all this for me?

  She just smiled her lovely smile.

  If you came to my village in a similar state, we'd have stripped you of every good thing you carried and left you to die.

  She went to the counter and opened a little door beneath. There, neatly laid out on shelves, were my furs and boots, my knife, my drinking cup, and the bone necklace I'd been wearing when my village was attacked. They'd taken nothing from me. I struggled to understand my position in this new world.

  Who am I to be treated with such tenderness? I'm a prisoner of war. A slave. When will this illusion of comfort be withdrawn?

  She took my shoulders firmly but gently in her hands, looked straight into my eyes, and shook her head. A single word formed on her lips. "No."

  I knew that word! That syllable was in common with my people! I'm not a slave? Not a prisoner?

  Lacing her hands together at the thumbs, she flapped her fingers in an imitation of a bird before pointing at me.

  I'm a bird?

  A nod and another word.

  Is that word yes?

  Another nod.

  Yes, you think I'm a bird?

  She nodded again.

  I can fly?

  "Yes," she said. I delighted at understanding the word on her lips.

  Fly away?

  "Yes."

  Any time I want?

  "Yes."

  The immensity of the idea pressed down on my shoulders, pushing me to the edge of the bed where I sat, staring at my trembling hands. Freedom. Images of the things I'd seen and done flashed through my mind. I'd been given a gift far greater than any I'd ever imagined, far greater than I deserved. I will earn this kindness. I will repay it. I will not be like my father's people.

  As if in answer, she produced a soft, light jacket that hung nearly to my knees and a pair of boots identical to hers. Once I had them on, she led me from the room. We passed the man at the table, who was still writing in his book, and went through the double doors into a long hall with fabric floors that gave softly under my feet. Here, there were no plants, but wonderful, beautiful paintings of plants, fields, even people, hung on the walls. We exited the hall into a room with glass walls. Bright sun shone through, illuminating the space where a dozen or so people moved about, paying little attention to us. They entered and exited the glass doors in the glass walls, seeming to have not a worry in the world. What is the secret of such peaceful existence? In my heart, the desire to understand the answer to that question took root. I would find out, and I would never live in fear of battle again.

>   Even though we wore only the thin, soft garments, Puah led me outside. Warm air wrapped me in a gentle embrace. A laugh burst out of me. It was warm outside! It was like a dream.

  I spun in a slow circle, taking it in. Long, low buildings stretched to either side of us. People hurried in and out, alone and in small, chattering groups. Trading posts? The center of any town was the commerce. It made sense. Behind the building, a crooked tower with a shattered glass front reflected the sun's rays. It was no more than a ruin, beautiful in its own way, but out of place among the smaller, more colorful buildings of the town.

  Wheeled boxes, like the one Hala had put me in, zipped along paths of stone that wound between patches of green grass. Two men rode horses, walking them slowly among the people. Trees, taller than the buildings, swayed in a fragrant breeze. Little yellow flowers with red centers dotted the landscape. I knelt in the grass and touched one. The tiny, slender petals were smooth as water. The grass was cool, despite the sun. I laughed again. Puah laughed with me. Several others glanced our way, all as brown and beautiful as she, smiles on their lips and in their eyes.

  A tiny yellow and black insect hovered near my face before descending toward the flower. Its little body was covered in fur! I could hardly imagine a little bug needing fur in a place so mild. I reached toward it, but Puah grabbed my hand. "No," she said, clicking her teeth together to show biting.

  It bites?

  "Yes."

  I drew away, watching it climb around on the petals for a moment. I was glad for the tiny creature’s potential for harm. This place was almost too perfect. It seemed good and right that there should be some sort of balance.

  My guide tapped me on the shoulder and motioned for me to follow. Curious what other wonders this place could possibly hold, I accompanied her through a city of magic where no one lived in fear.

  Three

  Outside the city center, houses lined the streets in neat concentric circles. Lush gardens filled the space in front of each home, and each had a little room on the front with three half-walls and a roof. In many of those rooms, elderly men and women sat in wooden chairs, watching over small children and waving at passersby with casual smiles. The buildings seemed to be extensions of the flowerbeds, painted in bright, bold colors as warm as the air around them.

  Puah turned up the path of a beautifully painted place. I stumbled, not wanting to take my eyes from it to look where I was walking. Vines with wild flowers and creatures I had no name for climbed the sparkling walls.

  The front door opened, and my gaze was drawn to a handsome man with grey hair at his temples and warm brown eyes exactly like Puah's. It had to be her father. The resemblance was uncanny.

  She tapped me on the shoulder and, when I looked at her, she formed a word for me. "Edward."

  His name is Edward?

  Puah nodded.

  Is he your father?

  "Yes."

  The man bowed his head toward me before stepping back, holding the door so we could enter. Inside, the space resembled the building we'd come from, on a smaller scale. Another man sat nearby. A baby, barely old enough to walk, and a girl a year or so older than him, played with wooden blocks near the man's feet. The man stood and kissed Puah.

  She looked at me and pressed her hand against his heart. "William."

  Your mate?

  "Yes."

  She bent to lavish hugs and kisses on the children.

  My eyes moved to the couple on the long chair that was big enough to seat three people. Hala smiled at me, and waves of emotion washed over me, tearing through the filth of a lifetime of guilt, and anger, and violence, and leaving me fresh and raw. His arm was around a tall slender woman with a wide, infectious smile. The tips of her pointed ears poked through her long, curly, golden hair.

  She tapped her chest. "Risa."

  I bowed, awkwardly imitating what I'd seen the others doing.

  She took a book from a pack near her feet and stood, handing it to me.

  I looked at Puah. I can't read.

  She opened the cover and pointed at the pictures. Page after page was filled with illustrations for hand gestures.

  I don't understand.

  Risa touched my arm to get my attention and pointed to the book in my hands. She pressed her palms together and opened them again. Her lips formed a word, "book." She went to the table and pointed at a different book and did the same. And then a third.

  Book. This is a book.

  Puah nodded.

  Risa tapped the table. She crossed her arms in front of herself, palms flat and facing the floor. "Table."

  Table, I thought.

  "Yes," Puah said. She flipped through the pages, then pointed at a picture. A woman in the illustration stood next to a table with her hands in the position Risa's had just been in.

  Understanding tickled my mind, but I dared not believe such a thing. A silent language, spoken with the hands?

  "Yes," she said, beaming.

  Risa made a rapid series of very deliberate gestures with her hands and spoke one word: "Risa." She pointed at Puah, made a shorter series of gestures and said, "Puah." She pointed at me, hooked her small finger through the air, made a fist, curled her forefinger down. "Jax."

  Without looking away from her, I copied her gestures: a hook, a fist, a curled finger.

  She nodded, grinning, and pointed at me again.

  I can speak.

  A single tear spilled from my eye. I reached for something to steady myself. I can speak. These saviors, who had already given me so much, just gave me the whole world.

  We spent the rest of the day in the little house together. Hand-speaking became a game to them. Who could learn the most words? To me, this was no game. I clung to Risa's side, watching her every gesture, matching it to the words on her lips, straining to absorb the meanings and make sense of them. In the moments when she left the room I devoured the book. Page by page I drew it into my soul, burning the images in my mind.

  Puah helped me as much as she could with two children demanding her attention.

  "No," she said, correcting me. She pointed at me, "you," then at Risa, "Risa," at herself, "Puah are 'woman.’" She brushed the thumb of her closed fist across her jaw and dropped it down toward her chest. Then she gestured to the men and children as well. "Person." Both of her hands moved in a straight line from shoulder to hip.

  "I am woman," I said with my hands. "My name is Jax."

  With her hands and her lips, Risa replied, "My name is Risa. It's nice to meet you."

  My knees trembled, and I sank into the soft chair. I was speaking with people. Truly speaking! How did Risa come to know these words? Who created the books? Why did they do it? Are there so many others like me? Will I be able to learn to speak with those who don't know these hand-signs? I need more words!

  They gave me the name for every item in the house, the words for tree, grease, path, road, sky, sun, and more.

  At some point, William put food on the table and I ate, but even as I ate I flipped through the pages looking for bread, water, meat, berries. There was no word for berries! I looked again, my stomach sinking as I realized that even this thick volume couldn't possibly hold the sign for every word. What could I do?

  Puah touched my arm.

  There are words not in this book!

  She patted my arm and spoke to Risa. I only knew a fraction of what she said. "I… baby… you… books… Jax… words."

  Fighting panic, I watched Risa stand and disappear into the other room for a moment. She came back and put a stack of three more books on the table next to me. "More words," she told me.

  I opened the cover and saw pages with thousands of the little drawings. "Yes! Many!" I laughed out loud. I would know them all!

  ~*~

  After everyone had eaten I sat on the wide chair--a couch--and practiced the gestures, one after another. Running, walking, riding, sit, stand, kneel, bow, tall, short, fat, thin. I sensed the movement of the others around m
e, but wasn't fully aware of it until Risa sat next to me and touched my arm gently.

  "… dark. Children…bed. You… Hala and me… house… room you… welcome…"

  I chewed my lip, trying to make sense of her question.

  She tried again. "You come my house. Sleep."

  I glanced around. William and Puah had disappeared with the children. Edward stood near the door, speaking with Hala. Hala with the magical eyes that transformed my murderous dark heart into something sane that kept me from killing these people and running away with all the beautiful things they were so casual about.

  I nodded. "Yes. I come."

  I followed Hala and Risa into the night. The air had cooled, but it wasn't a cold I had to brace against so much as a refreshing release from the sun's warmth. The rich, earthy fragrance of day had been replaced by something sharper, more primal. I breathed deeply, a smile playing on my lips, even as my eyes searched the shadows for hidden danger. If someone ambushed us I would be at a disadvantage, smaller than most people, and unarmed. They wouldn't expect one so slight would know how to fight, though.

  Ahead of me, Risa strode as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Beside her, Hala's head moved from side to side as mine had. He did not seem as secure as she did.

  I was glad when we climbed the steps of another house, this one as brown as the earth. Puah's home was a wonder to the eye. This simpler place was a balm to the spirit, soothing and serene.

  Inside, it was much the same. Only the presence of several of the potted plants, like I'd seen in the medic's building, set it apart. Risa led me to one of the smaller rooms in the back and, with a motion of her hand, the lights winked on, glowing softly from the walls.

  "…room… you." She went to a mirror on the wall and slid it aside, revealing a little closet with several changes of clothes, similar to those I was wearing. She spoke, but I didn't understand.

  She pointed at the clothes and at me. "Jax's clothes." She gestured around the space. "Jax's room." She pointed to random objects. "Jax's brush. Jax's bed. Jax's books."