by Sacha Black
“Charlie, please,” I say, gripping his barky arms, “you have to save him.”
Charlie nods; he cracks his feet, severing his connection to the roots so he can move and places his hand over the ground. Several roots fly up from the earth, matting together to form a stretcher, which slides under Trey and then rises until it hovers in the air. Three roots join the stretcher to the ground, and as Charlie moves, so too, do the roots, swapping and knitting back together as new ones join and old branches part, making the stretcher appear like a flying carpet.
Charlie is the chief medical Dryad and was my parents’ doctor. He's treated my family my entire life. If anyone can save Trey, it's him.
"You need to take this," Charlie says. His hand buckles and cracks as it reforms in the shape of a wooden flask. I take it, but the sound of his wrist breaking off makes me nauseous. His palm and fingers regrow in seconds, but the queasy sensation in my gut doesn't leave.
“Fill it with lake water. I hope you remember basic sorcery,” he says. Gather three heads of the Icarus plant, two Farnbush stems, a dozen Izzenberries, and five Jinxbur petals. Got it?”
"Icarus, Farnbush, Izzenberries, and Jinxbur," I repeat.
“Good, there’s a cabin about three hundred meters up on the right side of the lake. Meet me there.”
"Okay," I say, and take one final look at Trey before tearing myself away and sprinting to the lake shore. Behind me, the snap, rustle, and whoosh of Charlie and Trey racing across the undergrowth toward the cabin urges me on. I fill the flask, pick the roots and stems, and then have a minor panic when I can't remember what Jinxbur looks like. A quick CogTracker search shows me an image, and I gather the rest of the items Charlie wanted. Once I have everything, I sprint, as hard as I can, around the waterside toward the cabin.
Memories of the nights Trey and I spent here staring up at twinkling skies, hand in hand, rush into focus. Tears prickle my eyes as I remember our first kiss. Barely able to catch my breath, I force myself to run faster, until, finally, I reach the cabin, panting and sweating. I wrench open the door, to find Charlie bent over Trey. His brow is wrinkled.
“Don’t you give up on me, Charlie, don’t you let him die. Do you hear me?” I shout.
“I’m trying, Eden. I’m trying. Pass me the water and the berries.”
Trey is lying on a wooden bed, the fabric beneath him an alarming shade of red. Charlie's hands work fast, multiple branches twisting and undulating over Trey's body until Charlie looks more like he has six hands and not two. He waves his root-like palm over Trey's wound, a shimmering light emanating from his palm. In response, Trey's muscle and sinew knit together. Charlie takes the Izzenberries I picked and crushes them against the Jinxbur. He reaches for a silvery powder in a jar on a shelf above the bed and pours the two into the flask of lake water, adding the Farnbush and Icarus. Then he shakes it and undoes the lid pouring some of the liquid into the wound.
Trey’s body jolts upright. He lets out a cry that makes my skin crawl, before he drops back again, unconscious.
“Good,” Charlie says, “that’s very good.”
“Is it?” I wonder how any cry like that can be a good thing.
Charlie continues to wave his hand over Trey's ribs until there are three long red, weeping wounds stitched together. He chooses three root-locks on his head and plucks a selection of leaves from them, crushing some of the silver-berry powder mixture in. Once the leaves have matted into a gauze, he applies it to Trey’s ribs and ushers me closer.
“Up you get,” he says.
“Up?”
“Yes, up. On the bed. You need to keep pressure applied to the gauze.”
“Umm, okay. Is he going to be okay?”
Charlie glances up at me, “I hope so.”
"Hope?" my chest tightens. My gaze hovers between Charlie and Trey. I thought if I got Charlie here, everything would be okay. His breathing has normalized, his color is returning – I don’t understand how Charlie can only ‘hope so.'
“We will know more in the next hour,” Charlie says, patting my forearm. “He will be unconscious for the time being so he can heal properly. When he comes to, he will be sore.”
“And if he doesn’t come to?”
“If an hour passes and he doesn’t become conscious, then you need to summon me again. This time, use the tree lines,” he says, nodding to a wooden CogTracker shaped device hanging on the cabin wall.
“Okay,” I say, as I clamber up the bed and straddle Trey, placing my hands over the gauze as Charlie pulls his away.
Fear grips my entire body like a vice. Trey has to survive. He has too.
“Hey,” Charlie says, frowning at me. He touches my arm, “Trey’s strong. He’s lucky he’s a Fallon.”
The vice loosens a fraction, and I lean down and pop a kiss on Charlie’s cheek. "Thank you," I say, "thank you for traveling like that and saving him. I know it's dangerous for you."
He nods, and gives me a soft smile. “It was an honor,” he says, and then the door clicks shut, leaving me alone straddling a half-naked, unconscious Trey.
The next hour crawls by in a slew of anxiety, tears, and occasionally relief when Trey radiates a brief wave of emotion out, and I think he might wake up this time. With each wave, I close my eyes, savoring the knowledge that he's alive and getting closer to consciousness.
He slips into a slow steady breathing pattern. I torture myself, re-running the fight in my mind over and over again, picking out my mistakes, trying to figure out how I could have stopped Victor attacking Trey, until I’m so confused and anxious I want to scream.
I take a deep breath and focus on my surroundings instead. Hanging from the ceiling is a candlelit chandelier made of antlers that seem to sparkle. The bed we're lying in is enormous, much bigger than Trey's in Siren City. Four living tree trunks make the corners of the bed; they pierce the cabin floor and impale the ceiling, then a mesh of thick branches just off to make the base frame. The cabin seems to be built around the trees themselves. The walls are woven from living branches and twigs. Like everything in the Ancient Forest, it's connected, one part of a sentient whole. Silver silk drapes hang at each corner of the bed and in the left-hand corner of the room is a door to what I assume is the bathroom. On the right is another room, which I think is to the kitchen. Despite the horrific circumstances, the cabin is seriously romantic.
Trey’s bare chest rises and falls, his muscles twitching and contracting as he flits through a listless healing sleep. I tear my eyes away from the ridges and dips of his abs, choosing to look at the walls and branches instead. I don’t know why I'm struggling to look at him; it's not like his string vests ever cover his body. But even though we're alone, and no one's looking, and I’m Bound to him, I still blush.
After straddling him for almost forty-five minutes, applying pressure, my back aches so much I can't take it anymore. Holding my hand on his ribs, I slump down onto his chest and roll next to him, nuzzling in under his arm. I hope the wound is almost healed now, but he's not awake, and I don't want to take the risk, so I push a little more pressure on my hand. I rest my other one against the bare skin of his stomach, which makes my cheeks glow. I scold myself for finding him so attractive at such an inappropriate moment. But my clothes are torn, bloody, and hanging half off; he's practically naked, and we're alone for miles in a beautiful cabin next to the Pink Lake…The lake where we shared our first kiss.
A hand comes up and strokes my wavy bloodied hair away from my face. "Almost déjà vu," he says, smiling. "Last time you were in the bed, and I was looking after you."
"You're awake," I say, and before I know what I'm doing, I'm crying all over again, my body shaking with relief. "Thank the Balance. Thank the Balance," I keep saying to myself.
“Eden,” he says, bringing my chin up, “It’s okay. I’m fine. Look at me.” He frowns, “What happened to your face?”
“My face?” I let go of his gauze and wipe my hand over my cheek. Crispy flakes of blood peel aw
ay from my nose and mouth. “Oh, that. Yeah, I'm fine. It was nothing. A little overexertion is all."
“Are you sure?” he says, pulling my face this way and that to check me.
“Trey, you nearly died. I had a nosebleed. It was nothing.”
“Okay, good. Because I want a shower,” he says, pushing himself up.
“Careful, you still have a few minutes left before Charlie said you’d be fully healed.”
“I’m already healed,” he says, grimacing as he pulls the leafy gauze off his ribs, “three more scars to add to my collection.” He laughs. But I don’t laugh because he nearly lost his life, and I haven’t quite recovered yet.
The three claw wounds have knitted back together leaving neat red scars over his ribs which, even as I stare at them, are fading to white.
“Okay. But slowly.”
He leans on me as I help him down from the bed; his legs wobble at first, but he adjusts himself, and after a couple of steps, he doesn't need my arm anymore. I watch him for a few more steps, but he seems fine, so I set about removing the bloodstained covers and throwing some new blankets on the bed. When I'm done, the patter-patter-splash of the shower running fills the bedroom. I turn around realizing the bathroom door is wide open, and Trey is staring at me, "Would you like to join me?"
I glance around the room as if he's summoning someone else. "But you're injured," I say, acutely aware that we're alone, in a romantic cabin, next to the Pink Lake and that my breath is suddenly very short.
“Then I guess I need a nurse to help me shower,” he says, his eyes glimmering at me. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I bite my lip, trying to control the explosion of butterflies in my stomach. I take two tentative steps forward, then a third, then I'm in the bathroom, and this time he shuts the door behind me. The thought of what we're about to do, and where his hands are going to touch, makes my skin tingle with electricity and my brain go into overdrive.
He peels off the remnants of my bloodstained t-shirt, leaving me in my bra. Then he stares into my eyes as if checking for permission, or perhaps he’s reading my emotions. If he is, he’ll know how much I want him. How much I want this. But he’ll also see the conflict.
His hands reach for my fatigues and he unbuckles them, making them fall to the ground. He unfastens his trousers, and they fall away too, discarded. We stand in our underwear, our clothing abandoned in a pile by our feet. He pauses, looks at me, and I nod. So he pulls me into his arms, reaches behind me, and unhooks my bra. I slip off my underwear, and so does he. We're naked, bruised, and covered in blood, but all I can think is how beautiful his body is and how grateful I am he's alive. He steps into the shower and reaches back to pull me in with him.
The warm water soaks away the dirt and blood while we rotate in and out of the water in silence. Our eyes roam each other’s skin, learning where the bumps and dips curve around our bodies, the scars that mark our skin, and exploring the parts we haven’t seen yet. He pulls a loofah off the shower shelf and pours liquid soap onto it. He lathers my arms, stomach, and eventually my chest and then hands me the loofah so I can do the same.
I thought I'd feel awkward being naked. But the softness in his eyes, and the warmth he's radiating makes the anxiety wash away with the dirt.
"You're beautiful," he says, and then his lips are on mine, our skin and bodies gliding together under the warm soapy shower. His arms slide around my waist pulling me in close so that my kiss never leaves his mouth.
I remember his wound and pull away, “Wait. Stop. Seriously, Trey, are your ribs okay? I don’t want to do any more damage.”
He leans into my neck, smiling and kissing me, “Does it look like they’re bothering me?”
It doesn’t. So I shut up and kiss him back. He gathers me into his arms and carries me out of the shower, grabbing towels and wrapping them around us, putting us in a fluffy cocoon. As he lays me on the bed, I get a pang of nerves that fill my stomach with a hundred bubbling knots.
His eyes widen. “Are you okay?” he asks, sensing my nerves.
“Of course,” I nod, pressing my lips shut. Liar.
His eyebrows pinch. We both know I’m lying. Bloody Siren abilities.
“We don’t have to…”
“No. It’s not that. I want to.” Truth.
“Then…What?”
“Just…” Pink dapples my cheeks.
"Don't leave me," I choke out. Tears sting my eyes all over again, but I force them back down. Now is not the time for tears.
"Leave you?" he's almost laughing, "Eden, we're Bound, and I'm madly in love with you. Why on earth would I…"
I reach out and touch his ribs, making him falter.
“Oh,” he says.
“I thought…”
“Your dreams?”
I nod. "I thought that was it. Especially after the sky this morning. I thought... Just don’t leave me."
“We all die eventually,” he says.
"I know. But I've lost so many people already. I can't lose you; I've only just got you. I want to keep you for a while."
He grins and places a soft kiss on my hand, pulling me closer and dropping petal-like caresses all the way up my arm, over my shoulder, and up my neck until his forehead rests on mine, "You can keep me for all the lifetimes."
I smile, and he lays me down on the pillows, kissing me, slow, gentle, and loving. He moves down my neck and over my chest, making a soft moan escape as his lips brush over my breasts. Then his hand slides down my leg. He kisses me again, his hands brushing against my stomach and thighs, leaving warm trails of essence and energy in his wake. Somewhere in the jumble of our bodies, we end up under the covers. The remaining piece of his Siren guard drops, and I'm hit with wave after wave of his emotions; the intensity makes me gasp, the longing, the urgency. I pull him up toward my mouth, our lips skimming each other in hot wet kisses.
“I’m ready,” I whisper into his ear, as my fingers thread through locks of his hair.
"I love you," he says, and then he's inside me.
I bite down on my lip. For a moment, it hurts. Not unbearable but not what I was expecting either. Eventually, our bodies move as one, the pain disappearing, replaced with sensations I've not felt before. We create a rhythm, sliding together, like the waves and the ocean: two parts of the same whole.
I smile into his kiss, feeling complete, happy, loved. He is mine, and I am his… In all our lifetimes.
Twenty-Six
‘Long has the debate raged over the differences between Mermaids and Sirens. Let me put this debate to bed. Mermaids and Sirens are not the same, neither in physicality nor power.
Simply, Sirens can manipulate and control (emphasis mine) a single emotion (exception – a Siren Fallon). A Siren will, by force, remove a person’s free will over control of said emotion.
Mermaids, however, have the power of seduction. They will call and woo the mind to them until a person is desperate to give control of themselves over to the Mermaid. Both are highly dangerous and extremely proficient in the art of manipulation and control.’
Professor Vindros, Excerpt - Essays of the Lost Race, 1908
I lie there, wrapped in Trey’s strong arms, drifting in and out of fitful sleep. I’m safe, warm, loved, yet there’s an unrelenting nag in my gut that something is wrong. Fear is spreading through my system like a virus. A parasite filling my cells and consuming my body. Right now, at this moment, everything is perfect, and yet outside this cabin, everything else is falling apart. Nyx is still missing, Trutinor is sick, and I'm terrified my dreams are coming true.
I know what happens when I close my eyes: Trey dies. No matter what he or Sheridan say to reassure me, I’m living with these nightmares.
I lean over and grab my CogTracker. In the mayhem of capturing Victor, I never told Arden about my dreams and the connection to the maroon streak in the sky. The time reads 2AM. I decide to send Arden a CogMail anyway.
From: [email protected]
Subject: We need to
talk
To: [email protected]
Arden,
In the chaos of yesterday, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you properly. But I think we have a problem. I’ve been having quite intense nightmares, visions if you like, of Trutinor ending up in one of two ways:
* * *
Either it dies, like literally the world crumbles and decays, or it ends up in this strange whitewashed world where everyone’s silent and zombie-like. In all my dreams, Trey dies.
* * *
I went to see a dream Keeper. Initially, she said because I’m not a scryer, I can’t be using scrying abilities to predict or see the future. But since then she’s found a case of two twins who predicted the Siren-Mermaid War.
* * *
I’m concerned; I’ve been feeling anomalies in the wind, then there were the dead plants, and the maroon Imbalance streak in the sky. Jacobs said eczema, but I think this is much more serious. What if Trutinor really is dying?
* * *
Is there any news on Nyx? Has Victor been questioned? Is he in Datch? Can you send me his prison cell information? We'll come to Datch first thing in the morning.
* * *
E x
I put my CogTracker down, but Trey must sense I'm awake because he pulls me in tight. I snuggle into the crook of his neck, listening to the soft thud of his heartbeat and the rhythmic lull of his breathing. After a while, it pulls me into the darkness of sleep.
We’re naked, in bed, his hands caressing my skin, his mouth moving over my neck and shoulder, electric sparks flickering off my skin and onto his lips where our bodies meet. I let out a soft moan as he rolls me over and on top of him. Our bodies moving in sync together.
