by Tia Fanning
“I received your letter,” he murmured in our people’s tongue.
Could everybody read my mind?
The sound of my native language reminded me that I once lived in another world, in another time, as another Katia.
Memories of Stoyan assaulted me and I bowed my head again, no longer able to face him. There was too much between us. Too much past and too much pain. It hadn’t been my intention to hurt him.
“I see shame besets you. You should be ashamed,” he remarked.
Indignation swept over my emotional turmoil. “Do not talk to me in such a way. I am not a child anymore,” I replied in English. “And who are you to judge me? You have no right.”
I would not— would not— speak in my people’s tongue. After all, I wasn’t that person anymore.
He gave an empty laugh. “Oh, Katia, but I do have the right,” he flung back in perfect English. “I am your husband.”
I shook my head. “No, we were only engaged.”
“And one of the elders stood in your place for the matrimonial ceremony. I assure you, we are legally married.”
I looked at his hand. He wore a ring.
“That’s bullshit,” I spat.
Crap like this reminded me why I had no regrets leaving my old life behind. That way of life was simply archaic.
“It is the way of our people, so you know I speak the truth. You can run, you can try to fool yourself, but it still does not change who you are, nor make you any less my wife.”
Was I supposed to just accept this on his word alone? Was I to cry tears of shame because I dishonored my husband? Did he expect me to beg for his forgiveness? Well, it’d be a cold day in hell before any of that happened.
“I am less your wife then you believe. Our union has never been consummated. By the rules of our people, the ceremony has not been completed.”
“We will take care of that small detail soon enough.”
I gasped and jumped to my feet. “No. You will not touch me.”
Why had he come here? Why couldn’t he just let it go?
I saw his body tense. “You ran away from me for no reason. Now that I found you, you would deny me what is mine?”
Mine? No reason?
“You were the one who left first. You left when I was ten. You were the one who wasn’t there when I needed you. What kind of a protector are you? Did you think a few letters by mail and a yearly two-week visit would hold me until you returned for our marriage ceremony?”
“Enough!” he commanded.
“No, it’s not enough!”
I was so overwhelmed by emotion, my whole body shook. The tears my lashes had managed to keep in check spilled forth.
I turned away from him. “I was the one who lost my best friend when you went away. My only friend. I was the one who was lonely for six years. And when great-grandma died, I was the one alone in the world. You were not there! I was obviously meant to be alone, so alone is how I went into my new life.”
“You knew I would come to you if you needed me. You should have sent a letter and waited. Or you should have had someone in the village make a trip to town and phone me. There is no excuse for your actions.”
I swung back around and pointed at the door. “Get out!”
Stoyan didn’t move.
Hell, I should’ve just let the friggin ghost in. Death would have been much easier to deal with.
Taking a calming breath, I brushed the water off my cheeks. “Leave. I don’t want you. I don’t need you. You’re not my husband. I don’t care if our marriage was arranged before my birth. Just leave.”
Stoyan shook his head. “You are a healer of the lost, and I am your protector,” he stated softly. “We are destined. I love you. I know you love me. This is not something you can run from.”
If my world shattered the moment he appeared, then his declarations were pounding those fragments to dust. It was too much. If he stayed any longer, there’d be nothing left of me.
Screw it. If he wouldn’t leave, then I would.
“Fuck destiny, fuck your love, and fuck you.” I spun around to walk away.
“Katia—”
Black dots formed in my dizzy eyes and I fell to my knees. Stoyan was at my side instantly, gathering me in his strong arms. He still smelled the way I remembered. Woodsy, spicy, intoxicating. His embrace was familiar and comforting, as if twelve long years hadn’t passed since I’d last seen him.
Like he’d always been in my life.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t been there. He had only just arrived.
I began to sob and tied to push him away. “No, Stoyan. When I needed you, you weren’t there. So I left. I am lost to you now.”
“Sleep, my love. I will take care of you.”
He ran his fingers across my forehead and started murmuring in that ancient language again.
No, no, no…
Chapter Three
I dreamt of wandering through a darkened forest for what seemed like endless hours. Finally, I spotted firelight flickering through the trees and bushes.
A scream of pain pierced the air as I stumbled out into a small dirt village filled with assorted stone huts and wooden shacks.
I know this place… Oh, God. I’m home.
Moaning drew my attention. Near the fire lay a young woman in the throes of labor, her face contorted with pain. At the base of the woman’s parted legs sat middle-aged woman surrounded by pots of steaming water and blankets. In her hand, she held a sponge.
The village midwife. Roxelana was her name.
Then I noticed my great-grandma. She was on her knees, holding the young woman’s hand. With her free hand, great-grandma dipped a rag into a bowl, then dabbed it on the young woman’s brow.
No. Please, not this.
I didn’t want to watch my mother depart from the world.
Though my mind protested, even demanded that I turn around and leave, or better yet, wake up from this horrible nightmare, my feet moved forward of their own accord, drawing me closer to the scene.
My mother screamed again.
The elders came out from their homes, each making his or her way toward the fire. They gathered a few feet behind my great-grandma. Some I recognized immediately, as familiar fixtures from my youth.
The oldest of the group, a woman with straw white hair that matched milky white eyes, scuttled forth. “Marija, will this be the birth of the girl in your vision?” she croaked.
My great-grandmother laid her hand upon my mother’s stomach. “Yes, it is she.”
“Grandmother, I cannot do this,” my mother cried.
“You can, my child. You are doing well,” my great-grandmother soothed.
My mother tossed her head side to side. “Your daughter… my mother… she is here to take me to heaven. Grandmother, she is so pretty. She is calling for me to come with her.”
Great-grandmother looked at the group of elders.
Hammu, with his tuft of grey hair and leather skin, nodded. “Your granddaughter speaks the truth. Your daughter is among us.”
Great-grandma turned back and brought my mother’s hand to her lips. “Not— not yet, my child, my Anya,” she stuttered as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Give me this baby first, so when you leave, I will not grow old alone.”
Nodding vigorously, my mother bundled her fist tighter around the blanket that covered her body and pushed again, her eyes squeezing shut in the effort.
“The baby comes now,” Roxelana said.
Another old woman came forth from the group of elders. Safira put her hand on my great-grandmother’s shoulder. “Marija, you knew this day would come. You read it in the cards. Be strong for Anya and let her go.”
My mother gave a wrenching scream before her exhausted body went limp, leaving only her chest heaving as she gasped for air. The midwife moved with swift hands. Moments later, baby wails seeped into the night.
Roxelana stood and carried the small crying bundle, kneeling beside my great-grandma
. Just as she was about to hand the baby over to my mother, the milky-eyed woman stayed the midwife’s arm.
“No, the child is special, she mustn’t…” the elder trailed off.
Sadly nodding her understanding, Roxelana pulled the baby close and turned to my mother. “You have a beautiful daughter, Anya. She is small, but she is strong. She will live.”
My mother didn’t reach out for me. “Beautiful,” she whispered as her eyelids shuttered closed.
“Anya?” my great-grandmother’s voice cracked.
My mother opened her eyes slightly. “May I go now, grandmother?”
My great-grandmother bit her lip and whimpered.
Safira gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Marija…”
Firm resolve formed on great-grandma’s face. Grasping my mother’s hand tighter, she leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her head. She drew a shaky breath as she lifted up.
“Yes, Anya, if you must, you can go. I will miss you.” She smoothed my mother’s hair as she swallowed her grief. “I love you so much. I am proud of you.”
“Do not be sad,” my mother murmured, giving a faint smile. “I will see you again soon. I love you. And my baby, Katia…” her voice faded away and her eyes fell closed. Her chest stilled.
There was a moment of heavy silence.
My great-grandmother began shaking. “Anya, oh, my little Anya,” she wept, collapsing over my mother’s body.
Hammu came upon the woman. “Anya’s spirit has departed. Have peace, for it was a beautiful reunion between mother and daughter.”
I, my adult self, took no comfort in his words. I crumpled onto the ground, crying so hard I could not find air. Why did I have to see this? Why must I be reminded that I was the bringer of my mother’s death?
Strong arms wrapped around my body and started rocking me.
“Shh, Katia. It is not your fault, my love,” Stoyan murmured.
“How are you here,” I stammered into his shirt, burying myself in his warm scent.
“I came to you.”
His concern made me cry even more. “I can’t take this. Why must I endure this dream? Why won’t I wake up?”
“It is not a dream. It is a vision from the past,” he whispered in my ear. “Listen…”
“Marija, take her,” I heard Roxelana urged in a broken voice. “See what Anya has given you.”
I lifted my head up in time to see my great-grandmother cradle the baby to her chest. The elders gathered close.
“She is a healer,” one elder claimed as she laid her hand upon the small bundle.
“And a powerful one,” said another, caressing the baby’s cheek. “The signs are all here. If her eyes turn—”
“They will,” my great-grandma spoke up. “She will be a healer of the mind. She will save the lost ones.”
A collective murmuring went through the group. The two elders moved back so the others could place their hands on the baby.
“Not only will the lost come to her, but she will be able to see the unsettled, perhaps even the fallen,” Hammu stated.
“Yes, she is powerful, but her gifts came at a great price,” said the milky-eyed woman.
Another man with a peppered mane and long beard stepped forth and placed his hand on the infant. “Hmmm, her soul is free. The departed can snatch it from her body. She must never touch the dead in any form. And she must also beware the fallen, for they too will want to claim her.”
Gasps of horror filled the air.
“There is more,” continued the milky-eyed woman, prying open the baby’s hand and frowning.
“No, no, please. Do not say she has moon madness,” my great-grandma whispered, shaking her head.
“No, but she carries the scent of the shifters. She must stay away from those inflicted. They will see her as a mate.”
“So much for a child,” Safira mumbled, caressing the baby’s hair. “She will need a protector.”
“But who? Those of us left are much too old,” the bearded man asked.
My great-grandmother smiled softly. “Fate has already chosen. I have seen him too. He is young, but powerful enough. It will be Stylianos’ son, Stoyan.”
“But they are no longer of us!” one of the men from the group exclaimed. “You must choose someone else.”
The milky-eyed woman waved her hand, “No, Marija is right. Her destiny has been set, her protector chosen. Stylianos may have left us as all the young ones have, but his heart is still here. He will accept his responsibility and has taught his son the same.”
“It is true,” agreed Hammu. “Does not Stoyan come to us in the summer to learn our ways? Does not Stylianos keep to our traditions? Fate knows what is right.”
“He will keep you safe, Katia, if you but let him,” my great-grandma told the baby. “You two will share a great love of each other, but you will be stubborn, like my Anya. I can see this. You will push him away, but destiny is not always so easily abandoned.”
* * * *
I opened my wet, swollen eyes to darkness, a sob still on my lips. Despite the horrible events I’d just witnessed in my vision dream, I felt an odd sense comfort, something I hadn’t felt in a very long time—warm and safe, loved and protected.
Then I realized why.
Stoyan’s arm was draped over my side, his fingers splayed across my stomach. His head was next to mine on my pillow, his hot breath caressing my neck.
What made him think it was okay to join me in my bed and invade my dream?
He drew me closer to him.
I stiffened in his arms, not because it was natural reaction, but because I felt like I should. Like this action would communicate how offended I was at his intrusion into my life.
Stoyan gave a soft chuckle in my ear. “Oh Katia, you are stubborn. Will you fight us forever?”
“If I must,” I replied quietly.
“I’ve waited most of my life to hold you like this.”
I scrunched my nose. “What do you mean? When I was child, you held me often.”
“True, but I did so the way a brother would hold his sister. Now, I hold you the way a man does his wife.”
I let out a skeptical snort. “Do you know how sick that sounds? If you thought me like a sister, then this moment should feel incestuous to you.”
Stoyan stroked the hair at my temples. “No, this moment feels right. You were but a child when we met. How else should I have acted?”
I really didn’t know how to respond. I mean, ours had been a strange relationship from the get-go. He had been my betrothed since I was six months old, he only eight years old.
For my time growing up with Stoyan, he never did anything unwarranted, never touched in ways he shouldn’t, never acted out of order. If anything, he always stood by me, supported me, and even took a beating for me once. He treated me, I suppose, as a brother would his baby sister. But when his feelings evolved into something more than platonic, I couldn’t say.
“Do you remember when you where fourteen and we had that snow fight?” he asked.
I felt my cheeks grow warm. How could I forget that day? It was one of the most humiliating experiences of my life.
“I don’t want to remember.”
Stoyan blew out a heavy breath. “I thought you would have gotten over it by now. Did you not forgive me?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I want to remember.”
However, the memory played in my head anyway. Stoyan had come to visit me during his Christmas break. I was so fascinated by him, so in love, so hopeful for us. We went walking in the forest. Somehow, we ended up in a snowball fight. He tackled me and we tumbled down a snow embankment. I landed on top of him. With labored breath, I stared into his eyes. He was quite a handsome man, but what possessed me to kiss him, I don’t know.
“You were so horrified, you practically threw me off you,” I muttered.
“It was never like that, Katia. I was a twenty-one year-old man, and you were a fourteen year-old girl.”
&nb
sp; “Yeah, I remember you saying that then, too,” I replied bitterly.
“You were so beautiful and so mature for your age. I almost forgot how young you were. After I pushed you off me, you stood up and dusted the snow from yourself. You stared me down and stated that if we were to be married one day, and if I loved you and you loved me, we should be able to kiss now.”
“I know.”
“Do you remember my reply?” he murmured in my ear.
Thinking back on it now, I realized it was the most beautiful thing someone could ever say.
Rolling over onto my back, I looked at Stoyan’s face. Though shadowed, the moonlight that filtered in through the blinds glittered in his eyes.
I gazed into the sparkles. “You said that real love is worth waiting for. That I was worth waiting for.”
He leaned in and placed a soft kissed my forehead. “And you still are.”
Hot tears welled up and spilled over.
“I wish you were so moved by those words back then,” he chuckled as he wiped the moisture from under my eyes.
I giggled. “I didn’t talk to you for a whole week.”
“Not until Christmas morning and you opened my gift.”
“Makeup. I hadn’t seen makeup in real life before. And you signed the card, ‘to the young woman of my heart’. I instantly forgave you.”
“Was it the makeup or the card that made you so forgiving?”
“A little both,” I said with a sniffle and a smile. “We never did get to kiss… well, a mutually intended kiss.”
Stoyan tensed. “I was waiting for you to turn eighteen. I never wanted it to be said that I took advantage of you or coerced you in anyway. I wanted the decision of intimacy to be made by you, with the clear conscience of an adult. But that day never came—”
“Because I left when I was sixteen,” I finished.
“That you did,” he whispered as he turned his head.
He was angry again.
Not thinking, I placed my palm on his cheek. “I am twenty-eight now. Am I old enough for that kiss?”
What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?
