by Pati Nagle
Caeran’s eyes narrowed. “So.”
“Will you tell the others?” Madóran asked him. “I need some time alone.”
The kettle began to sing. I hurried over to it, splashed some hot water into the teapot and swished it around.
“Very well,” Caeran said.
“I would like everyone to gather in the hall before dusk. We must all be together when Gehmanin comes.”
“All right.”
I emptied the water from the teapot, put in the strainer, and measured out tea as I’d seen Madóran do earlier. He turned and watched me pour boiling water into the pot.
“Go on, grab your alone time. We’ll be all right.”
Madóran set his phone in the nicho and left by the west door. I glanced up at Caeran.
“Progress, I think.”
He smiled, though he still looked worried. He came over and slid his arms around my waist. A warm glow started in my stomach and crept up my chest.
“Um. I should keep an eye on the tea.”
“It needs a few minutes.”
He kissed me. I forgot about the tea, Madóran, the alben, everything. Only Caeran filled my awareness. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed against him, wanting more, wanting everything, here, now.
After a while he drew back. Smiling softly, he brushed a hand across my hair.
“The tea should be ready.”
I took a long breath. “Tease.”
Slightly dizzy, I turned back to the counter and lifted the strainer from the teapot. Looked like tea, smelled like tea. I put the pot on the tray, refilled the milk pitcher, and carried it to the front room, Caeran opening doors ahead of me.
A couple of people had left. The rest looked up as we came in. I poured tea while Caeran passed along Madóran’s request. The discussion picked up where it had left off, and Caeran had the unenviable task of defending Madóran’s plan, with which he didn’t fully agree.
Wanting to recharge my phone, I grabbed my firewood bin from the corner and slipped out, hurrying along the portal to my room. I put the bin by the fireplace, unearthed the phone from my pack, then as an afterthought picked up my clothes from yesterday and headed for the kitchen via the laundry room.
This doing laundry every day sucked. I had to get some more clothes.
Tomorrow. If Madóran’s plan worked, I could go to Las Vegas tomorrow. Or back to Albuquerque, maybe.
That seemed strange—I felt weirdly distant from home and school. But I had to go back to school. More than ever, now.
I headed for my room, but stopped when I opened the door to the portal. Madóran was standing by the fountain again. This time his arms were at his sides, and he must have been there a while, because the birds were playing in the water as if he didn’t exist. Sunlight sparkled on the ripples and filled the courtyard with blinding brightness, making it a well of light.
I tried to step through the door slowly, but wasn’t slow enough. The sudden thrumming of dozens of wings penetrated the glass wall as the birds swirled up and away. Madóran turned to look at me.
“Sorry,” I mouthed.
He smiled, shook his head slightly, and beckoned to me. It felt odd, going out into the area where I assumed he’d been praying or meditating or something like that. The snow grumbled under my sneakers as I joined him by the fountain.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I said.
“Nor have you. I was just thinking of you, in fact.”
“Me?”
“Yes. It is generous of you to pledge yourself to researching a cure for the alben’s curse, but I am not sure it would be right of me to promise Gehmanin that you will do this.”
I clamped down on a flare of impatience. My stubborn streak was handy at times, but also could get me in trouble.
“I will do this. Never mind Gehmanin, this is the most exciting job I can imagine! I can’t wait to get started.”
He gazed at me thoughtfully. “You do have an aptitude for healing.”
“And I’m grateful to you for helping me find it.” On impulse, I added, “May I be your apprentice?”
Madóran’s brows rose. “Curanderismo is a different path than western medicine.”
I nodded. “Especially your brand. I’d still like to learn from you.”
“We shall see.” He seemed pleased by the request.
“Can I help with anything now? Fixing lunch?”
He glanced toward the kitchen as if he’d forgotten about the food thing. “Ah, yes. You can indeed help, but I wish to look in on Savhoran first.”
“May I come with you?”
His face darkened with concern as he nodded. He turned to the fountain again and closed his eyes. I held still, watching the water, keeping my thoughts as quiet as possible. My skin tingled a little, and I could almost imagine a glow surrounding the fountain, but it might have just been the sunlight.
After a moment Madóran headed for the north door into the portal, and I followed. Savhoran’s room was warm, with a fire softly crackling. I went to it and added another piece of wood while Madóran looked at Savhoran.
He was restless, still fevered. I watched Madóran change the dressings on his throat, wincing at the sight of the cauterized wound. It was angry red, and seeping a little in a couple of places. Madóran gently covered it with fresh gauze, then held his hands above it.
I did some yoga breathing and pictured white light around them both. Madóran looked up and beckoned me to the table. He moved his hands to a couple of inches above Savhoran’s temples, then gestured to me. I placed my hands in the air where he’d shown me, and Madóran returned his hands to the throat.
A deep hum—not a sound, but a sensation—filled me as I stood there. I concentrated on visualizing light. My hands grew warm.
Let it happen. Just let it all happen. Observe.
“Blue,” Madóran whispered.
“What?”
“You are thinking white. Make it blue.”
OK. Blue it is. I pictured the sky after sunset, the glowing blue that was one of my favorite colors. I closed my eyes and tried to hold the color in my thoughts, going back to the glowing sky whenever my mind strayed.
“A little lighter.”
Obediently I pictured the sky closer to dawn. Not yet pink, but more on the light side than the dark.
The occasional crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room besides our breathing. I tried to sync my breaths with Madóran’s, but his were awfully slow. I needed more practice.
Blue. Just blue.
I counted my heartbeats to time my breathing, and also to avoid mental meandering. Repetition was good for focus. I lost all sense of time passing: inhale, two, three, four, hold, two, three, four, exhale …
Something shifted and I opened my eyes. Madóran had stepped back.
“Enough for now,” he said.
Savhoran was lying still, no longer fretful. His face looked peaceful. I exhaled, relieved, and tiptoed out of the room after Madóran.
“Why blue?” I asked as we headed for the kitchen.
“Have you ever seen a glacier?”
“On TV. Not in person.”
“Did you see images of crevices and deep holes?”
“Yeah.”
Madóran opened the kitchen door and paused to look back at me. “What color were they?”
“Kind of turquoise.”
He nodded. “Blue is the heart of ice. A good counter to burns.”
“Oh. OK.”
Under Madóran’s direction, I chopped and measured and fetched things for another stew. He put some of the beans to soak in a huge pot, then started making bread.
“How soon do we run out of food?” I asked as I attacked an onion.
He paused to look at me, eyes narrowing in amusement. “I can call to the village for supplies. My credit is good.”
“Wouldn’t that be putting someone in danger, having them come here?”
“Not in daylight. Not today. Gehmanin will do
nothing rash before dusk.”
“Grocery run today then? You’ve got six eggs left.”
“I will call after everyone is fed.”
This took a while. At home my cooking tended to start with a box or a can. Madóran’s way was undeniably tastier, and probably healthier and less expensive, but it was slow. I watched, trying to learn. He began to explain what he was doing, telling me why the onions went in first, then the garlic, then spices.
“Each flavor is layered upon the others,” he said, stirring the pot and waving the aroma toward his face. I leaned closer to smell, got a snootful of red chile, and sneezed.
“Good chile,” I said, wiping my watering eyes. “Don’t tell me—you grew it.”
He smiled. “No. I have a client who comes up from Chimayo. He pays me in chile.”
“Well, it’s good stuff.” I grabbed a napkin from the stack on the counter and wiped my face.
Madóran picked up another napkin and poured a small mound of the red chile powder into it, then twisted it up into a makeshift pouch. “Take some home with you.”
“Thanks.”
I could feel myself blushing as I accepted the gift. Madóran was so generous, on top of being patient. I’d have to learn to cook from scratch, if only to do justice to his kindness.
He smiled, then went back to stirring the stew. “Now we add broth. Will you hand me a ladle from that drawer?”
I stuffed the chile into my pocket and grabbed the ladle. More layers went in: cabbage, zucchini, and finally the beans. By the time Madóran sent me to the front room to inform the crew that lunch was served, it was mid-afternoon.
Caeran, Nathrin and Mirali were the only ones there. Mirali offered to go round up the others while the two guys followed me to the kitchen. Caeran and I took our lunch out onto the portal again and sat together watching the birds.
“Discussion over?” I asked.
“We have reached the point where we must agree to disagree.”
“How can you stand arguing so much?”
“It is what we do instead of fighting.”
I chewed a bite of bread while that sank in. His people had been around a very long time. It made sense that they had worked out compromises, ways of living that didn’t involve conking each other on the head. Especially since they didn’t have a lot of heads to spare.
All at once I felt part of a very young and primitive tribe. Why did Caeran even bother with me?
He reached over and laid his hand on mine, sending a shiver through me. My appetite vanished.
“I don’t suppose you’d consider …”
No, but I would like to stay with you until dusk.
Sold. What do we do, play pinochle?
Would you sing to me again?
Oh, lordy. I’m not that good.
He smiled, eyes shining. I love your voice.
Bironan and Lomen came out of the kitchen, glanced at us as they walked past, and continued around the portal toward the library. When they’d gone, I looked at Caeran.
“Not here.”
He raised his chin and his eyes went distant, then he picked up our plates and grabbed my hand. We went to the kitchen, where Nathrin and Mirali were talking with Madóran and Faranin at the table. Depositing our plates by the sink, Caeran led me on through the entryway into the front room. For the first time I could remember, it was empty.
Caeran dropped my hand and went to a bookcase in the far corner. A black guitar case that I hadn’t noticed before leaned against it. Caeran brought it to the fire.
“Can you play?”
I glared at him. “You peeked.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I only suspected. You sing so well, I thought you must have a general gift for music.”
“Even if I did, which I don’t, that wouldn’t mean I could automatically play any instrument. That’s the sort of thing you people do.”
Caeran laid the guitar case on the floor and unlatched it. “Only because we have had longer to acquire a multitude of skills. You are thinking of Madóran.”
“Of course I’m thinking of Madóran. He’s freaking amazing. And how about you—can you play? Better than I can, I bet.”
“No. I have never been especially skilled at music. I play the flute a little, that is all.”
He lifted the lid, revealing a guitar that looked surprisingly plain. I’d expected beautiful wood, filigree work and inlay, maybe Madóran’s carving. Instead it just looked old.
I lifted it out, looking for a maker’s mark or some other clue to its origin. There was nothing. Sitting on a hassock, I settled it in my lap and ran my thumb across the strings. It was in perfect tune, so Madóran must play or at least take good care of it. The tone was warm and mellow.
Caeran sat on the banco, watching me expectantly. I glanced at him.
“I’m not very good.”
He just smiled.
I strummed a couple of chords, feeling self-conscious. I hadn’t played much in the last couple of years. My guitar was at home, at my folks’ house. I knew a few bits of fingerstyle that I’d picked up from listening to CDs, but nothing really showy. Most of what I knew were folk songs that my mom sang to us when we were kids.
There was the song about a logger who stirred his coffee with his thumb. I wasn’t sure I could remember all the words, though, and it was a silly song anyway.
I sang “Shenandoah,” because I could remember it, and because it was easy. It also fit my mood—the yearning. A note I’d been fond of in my miserable teens. It still resonated for me, so that singing it was actually comforting. I zoned off into the music, forgetting everything, even Caeran.
As quietly as I played and sang, it wasn’t quiet enough. When I reached the end of the song and looked up, there were others in the room: Madóran and the three I’d seen with him in the kitchen, watching me along with Caeran.
“More, please,” Caeran said.
“Um …”
“Please,” said Bironan, surprising me. Usually he looked annoyed, but now his face was softer than I’d ever seen it.
I launched into “The Water is Wide,” followed by “The Minstrel Boy.” That one got the ælven exchanging glances; apparently the war and slavery talk disturbed them. My ignorant, savage tribe was still hashing out those problems.
What was I doing here? I didn’t belong with these people. I loved being around them, but I could never fit in with them, really.
My fingers fidgeted on the strings, restless, seeking the comfort of a familiar pattern. Strumming through a sequence of chords, I looked for a song that would suit my mood but not offend my listeners. Too many of the stories were about violence and loss. Even the lumberjack song ended sadly.
A knock at the front door made me freeze for a moment. Madóran left the room. The other ælven seemed unconcerned, and after a moment I heard Madóran and someone else talking in Spanish. I caught “huevos” and “leche” and knew it was the grocery delivery.
Turning back to the music, I switched to newer songs—still old, but some of the songs from the sixties and seventies had more of a spirit of hope. I stumbled through Taylor’s “You’ve Got A Friend,” followed it with the Beatles’s “I Will,” then fell silent.
“Thank you, Lenore,” Madóran said.
I looked up and saw that all the others had gathered, everyone except Savhoran. The were all looking at me, their faces sentimental. Caeran gazed at me, openly adoring, as if he thought I’d been singing that last song just for him.
Well, I had. Too self-conscious to sing any more, I laid the guitar back in its case.
“It’s a beautiful instrument. Thanks for letting me play it.”
“You are welcome to play it whenever you wish.” Madóran looked around the room at the others. “It is time.”
Glancing at the windows, I saw that the daylight had gone golden outside, and the shadow of the hacienda was slanting long across the field. The front portal had been dark since noon, with the sun passing west toward the
back of the house.
My stomach twisted into a knot. Caeran moved closer and took my hand.
“Do we wait here?” Faranin asked.
Madóran gazed out the windows. “When the sun sets, we will go outside. Gather your cloaks.”
The ælven dispersed. Caeran and I stayed where we were, neither of us having a cloak to fetch. I thought about going and grabbing the blanket off my bed, but I didn’t want to move.
“What do we do if this doesn’t work?” I asked in a small voice.
Caeran was silent for a moment. “If he refuses, we will kill him.”
“But you can’t—Madóran promised he would be safe, coming here.”
“Not here, not now. But we will find him and kill him.”
I swallowed, thinking of Savhoran, thinking of Caeran’s wound. Gehmanin wasn’t so easy to kill.
“You’d think he’d have left, knowing that.”
“He is stubborn.”
I moved to sit beside Caeran and wrapped my arms around him, laying my head on his shoulder. He winced, and I looked up at him.
“Shouldn’t that have healed by now?”
A slight frown creased his brow. “It is not an ordinary wound.”
Terror whispered across my shoulders. I held Caeran tighter, trying to be careful of his wound. I couldn’t lose him. Not possible, and especially not in such a way.
His arms closed around me, warm and comforting. I shut out the fear, the dark thoughts, and tried to just bask in the incredible glory of him.
Caeran? Talk to me?
Saying what?
I closed my eyes, letting his presence fill me. Anything.
He didn’t give me words. I didn’t need them now. As he held me, I felt complete bliss. Keeping this was worth anything I had to face.
We both heard the door open, and looked up, but didn’t separate. Madóran came in, a dark gold cloak around his shoulders. He carried a pile of cloth which he shook out into two more cloaks, one green, one brown.
“You may need these.”
Reluctantly, we disentangled ourselves and went to accept the cloaks. I felt relief as the brown cloak settled around my shoulders, brushing the floor. Safer somehow.
“Thank you, Madóran,” Caeran said.
Our host nodded. I heard the others gathering in the entryway, and Madóran led us to join them. Caeran caught my hand.
