by A. R. Cook
The sphinx tilted her head up, blinking wearily at the Turquoise. It was as if she did not understand, or maybe she had lost any hope of salvation so did not believe him. He put her down on the cushion, kneeling beside her. He held the stone in both hands, and gently laid it on her stomach, since that was where her pain stemmed from.
There was a long silence, as David realized he had no idea what to do. The stone did not appear to be doing anything, so he put his hands back over it and concentrated hard, focusing his thoughts into directing the stone to banish the Shade. Acacia lifted her head to watch his meditation, but she furrowed her brow. After several minutes of this, to no effect, David reached back into his knowledge of folklore to figure out what to do. He tried commanding the stone in Spanish, English, Latin, Japanese, and every language he could recall from his studies. He tried an impromptu spell in rhyme, he tried placing the stone on various areas of Acacia’s body, and he turned the stone over and over in his hands to find any secret, any hidden symbol or crack that would indicate what should be done. Nothing.
David couldn’t understand. Had Ptesan-Wi tricked him, and given him a false Singing Turquoise so he would not find the real one? But this stone did have powers, given that it had protected his hand from being severed. Was there a special trick he had to do first? Out of desperation, he tried smashing it open on the floor, as if the secret was buried inside of it, but the stone was unbreakable. He clenched his teeth in frustration, resting his head in his hands as he tightened his fist on the stone.
He felt Acacia’s paw touch his knee. She was looking at him, a sad smile on her face. “Nullus Metus,” she whispered. She reached over, taking his hand with the stone and placing it down on the cushion beside him. She managed to crawl so she could put her head in his lap, and she sighed a very faint purr before shutting her eyes.
“Do not fall asleep!” David pleaded. “Please, Acacia … give me a second to figure this out. I could go back and find Ptesan-Wi again, and ask her how to make this work. I need a little more time, that’s all. Acacia …”
He cradled the sphinx in his arms, looking into that wild but beautiful face. She looked so frayed; she hardly seemed beastly in any way now. He brushed her hair away from her face. “I tried. I really did. But I must have misunderstood the oracle. I just … I don’t know what else I can do. I’m sorry. There must be something I missed, something …”
Acacia reached up, softly turning his face to look at her. Her eyes glowed that soothing, welcoming shine, an invitation to sleep.
“Wait, I …” David started. The hypnosis was already having its effect. Before he could argue, he slumped backwards onto the cushion, the sphinx held in his arms, as his mind crossed onto the plane where they could be together for one last time.
Catarina’s face lit up as David showed her the patch of violets in the garden. “They’re beautiful, David.” She knelt down, inhaling the flowers’ fragrance. They were taking a stroll on his family’s estate, since she had decided they could have their lessons outside that day, given the warmth and sunshine. This was a well deserved respite.
“I know you like them.” David beamed. He had especially asked his mother to have the violets planted in the garden that year, for Catarina. While it was a romantic cliché to give a girl flowers, he did not have the funds to do anything more impressive. Catarina enjoyed the simple things, and he knew she liked violets. When the violets would fully bloom, he’d have a bouquet cut so Catarina could take them home.
“I do like them, very much. Have I ever told you why?”
David thought about it. “Is purple your favorite color? You wear purple often.”
“It is one of my favorites. But, actually … you’ll find this silly. It’s the violet’s name.”
“That’s not silly. Violet is a nice name.”
“Not that, exactly. It’s because violets are in the viola family of flowers, like my favorite instrument. Every time I see a violet, I hear beautiful music.”
“I know what you mean.” He, too, always heard beautiful music when he saw the most beautiful being in the world.
“All of this flower talk, it must bore you.”
“No. Nothing you talk about bores me.”
“You’re a sweet man, David. Let’s return to your lesson.” She held his hand for a brief moment as they turned to head back towards the patio, but that moment uplifted David as nothing had before in his entire life. It was also the first time someone had called him a man, and not a boy. He wouldn’t have traded that moment for all the wealth or all the fame in the world.
David returned from the memory, still feeling the pangs of sadness and the blissful joy that reliving that moment gave him. He knew Acacia had especially selected for him to remember that time. She had sorted through his thoughts and brought it into full clarity. Why? What had been so special about that? Had she always been picking through his memories every time that they connected in dreams? Oddly, it embarrassed him that Acacia knew about Catarina. Not that there was any reason why he should be embarrassed, but Acacia must have known how painful it was for him to think of her …
You shouldn’t be sad. That was a nice memory.
David was in his family garden again, but not in the memory. He was his current sixteen-year-old self, although his wounds were gone, and his clothes were clean and pressed. Down the stone pathway walked the human form of Acacia, wearing a crisp white summer dress trimmed with a peach sash at the waist and pinkish lacing at the hem of the skirt and edges of the sleeves. She smiled at him, but even in this place of dreams, the smile was faded with fatigue and infirmity.
“That’s an unusual choice of dress for you,” David noted.
Acacia looked down at her dress. I wanted to know what it was like, to live in the world you come from. This is an awfully cumbersome thing to wear.
David walked over to her. “Why are you creating all of this? Why did you just show me that memory of … her?”
I recall the first time I tried to pull out one of your memories, back when you tried to leave the caravan. You’ve worked so hard on burying your thoughts about that woman, because all you ever focus on is the pain of loss. You allow that to overpower all the years of cheer and friendship that you felt learning from her. You mourned for the loss of your happiness, rather than rejoice in the awakening of hers. I wanted to remind you, for that one painful memory, you’ve got hundreds, thousands more of good, joyful ones. Both joyful and painful memories teach us something for the better. It’s like when a musician plays a gorgeous song, and plays one sour note. Should that one bad note ruin the rest of the song? Or should he keep playing right on through to the end, and remember the next time he plays, he needs to pay more attention to play it perfectly?
David was quiet while he took in her words. He shook his head. “Pain stamps a much more lasting scar in your mind than joy.”
I didn’t say it doesn’t hurt. Trust me, I know, she admitted. Loss isn’t foreign to me. And it won’t be the last time you will feel that way. You will face it all your life. But that doesn’t mean you have to hide from living your life, by becoming buried in lessons and work, with no time for being yourself. The answer you’re looking for is not written in a book, or hidden in the moral of a fable.
“What answer? I don’t even know the question.”
Acacia touched the tip of his nose with her finger. Remember, the answer is in the world around you. In the people you’ll meet, and the people you’ll part from. Don’t try to make your goodbyes permanent.
“Why …” He wanted to ask more, but he realized that Acacia was giving her last few moments to him, to give him a lesson she knew was important. It meant as much to her as to him that he take her words to heart. This was her parting gift, the last piece of her special wisdom that she could pass on. “Thank you,” he replied.
Acacia sat down on an iron-wrought bench next to a flower bed. I know you wanted to ask why I was telling you all of that. A sphinx can only hope that she�
�s fulfilled her purpose, that she’s enlightened someone before she becomes the desert sand. But I was also hoping, for that small piece of advice, you could return the favor.
David waited, unable to imagine what he could do for her now.
I don’t have much time, she said, but I would like you to play me that song you wrote. The one you were going to play for her. The one you never got to show anyone.
“I … it’s been a while …”
I know if I asked you to play it in the waking world, your mind would be inhibited by lack of memory and practice. But here, in your dream, I can help piece together your memories of when you originally wrote it. You can remember it as if you just freshly composed it. You can show me how it would have sounded in your most ideal way, any way your mind can design. I would like that.
“Why would you want to hear that?”
It’s all I really want, at this moment.
David paused, and he concentrated as he could gradually feel tidbits of his composition flow back into his thoughts, scattered traces of memory knitting themselves back together. He recalled all the hours he poured into meticulously dotting each note on the manuscript paper, replaying each bar of music until he had polished it into a gem, crafting the melodies as his bow caressed each string to produce its rich tone. The song reconstructed itself back into its original tapestry, and when it was completed, he saw that a beautiful viola was waiting patiently in his hands.
Acacia smiled up at him, folding her hands in her lap. She really did look quite beautiful, although David had become accustomed to the wild feline features that made her unique. He honestly wished that this was not the last request of a dying friend. Acacia could sense his sadness, but she gestured at him with both hands. Please play, she urged.
As soon as David laid the bow to the viola, coaxing forth the first note he had brought to life in a long time, the dreamscape around them reacted to his music. At first, he barely noticed it. He was caught up in the memory of his long-lost song, surprised at himself that he had composed something so intricate and grand. Soon, it dawned on him that the dream surrounding him was contributing, that a choir of soft strings and woodwinds was whispering in accompaniment to his melody. Each note of his song produced a color, a splash of light that enhanced the spectrum of the garden, until the garden was shifting into something far more fantastic. The orchestra that David was imagining blossomed to include brass and percussion, while his viola sang out proudly. The story of the song came to life in vibrant imagery: a young warrior with sword in hand, quested across forests and deserts and oceans, riding on the backs of stallions, sailing on a great dragon-headed Viking ship, and flying through the air in a chariot pulled by bronze-feathered eagles. He swam through dark waters, guided by bioluminescent fish that glowed blue and green and yellow. He scaled mountains with caves of gold and jewels guarded by goblins. He fought giants who rose out of the earth in a mass of moss and stone, and defeated fierce rival knights with horned helmets. At the end of this orchestral quest, waiting for the young warrior on a grassy shore under a small birch tree overlooking a shimmering sea, was a dark-haired woman in a flowing lavender dress. But as the music reached the last few bars of the song, the dress faded into white, and the woman’s hazel eyes deepened in color to a golden-rimmed green …
David woke up.
The lingering strands of music resonated in his mind, but his brain adjusted as he remembered where he truly was. He looked at the interior of the wagon, and felt the softness of the cushion under him. He was holding Acacia in his arms, who had not awoken with him. She was still, her head against his chest, her frail body snuggled close to him. He palmed the cool Turquoise in his hand, quietly cursing this useless hunk of rock for having given him a false hope—
Although, had it always been carved to look like a coiled-up sleeping lizard? He swore it had been perfectly smooth before.
Acacia let out a long, deep sigh.
“Acacia?” David sat up, cradling her. “Acacia, are you all right?”
The sphinx slowly blinked her eyes open, and coughed lightly. She looked hazily around the room. She very weakly said, “Bellus.” Beautiful.
Her eyes opened up wide. She placed her paw on her stomach, wrinkling her forehead. She took a deep breath, and then very tentatively said something, not in Latin, but in the ancient Egyptian with which she had summoned the desert winds. Her lips did not pale, nor her flesh wither. With each word, her skin regained more of its tan hue, her hair its soft dark brown ochre. She spoke a few hesitant words of French … then German, then Spanish, then what sounded like Chinese, and Russian. Her caution erupted into joy as she snapped her body up straight, and with renewed energy she jumped up, jabbering in a string of various languages, laughing and speaking more rapidly by the second. David sat there, mystified, until Acacia grabbed him by his arms and lifted him to his feet. She was giggling like he had never heard; her eyes bright as suns.
“You wonderful, brilliant man!” she cried, grasping David by his wrists and swinging him about. The young man noticed then that there was no more pain in his right shoulder, and as Acacia swung him about, the bandage dropped down and he could no longer see any trace of a wound.
“It’s gone! I’m free!” She nuzzled her face into his roughly, unable to control her strength. “I’m free! I … I’m fine,” she said, calming herself down at seeing David’s startled reaction. “I’m fine. Thank you, you’ve freed me from that awful thing.” She nuzzled David’s face again, more gently this time. She, too, saw that his injury had vanished. “And managed to help yourself, in one stone’s throw, so to speak.”
“But … but how?” David was thrilled to see Acacia alive and well, and above that speaking without any pain. “I mean, the stone wasn’t doing anything before …”
“The Singing Turquoise is a healing stone,” Acacia said. “But the power is not in the stone itself. It can only channel the power of the one who holds it. That strength came from you, David. It was all you. Your special voice.” She chuckled. “My, it feels strange to be speaking a modern tongue again.”
“My special voice?” It had only now clicked for him. “The oracle … ‘The violet plucked will release his special voice.’ It wasn’t talking about a literal violet … violets are in the viola family. That’s why you showed me that memory of Catarina. It meant the viola! ‘Plucked’ meant plucking the viola’s strings, not picking a flower. You figured that out a long time ago.”
Acacia smirked, releasing David’s wrists. “A sphinx does not reveal her secrets.”
“Of course, that was why you had all those instruments in your nest! You were looking for the right instrument to cure you.”
Acacia tilted her head at him. “You were snooping around in my bed?”
David blushed. “No, not exactly … Tanuki was burrowing in your bed … I mean, it’s a nice bed and all, but he thought it was kind of lumpy … wait, that’s not quite …” Acacia put a paw to his lips. David let out his breath. “I find it hard to imagine that you’ve never found a musician who could help you before now.”
“You mean find a musician who wouldn’t lose his mind at seeing a living, breathing sphinx? Or one who was foolish enough to seek out an ancient spirit to get the Singing Stone?” She grinned while raising an eyebrow at him. “It couldn’t be just anyone, you know. It had to be someone who wasn’t afraid. Someone who was meant to free me.”
David smiled from ear to ear. “So you’re going to be all right now?”
“Yes, yes … I’m still a little weak,” she admitted, “but I’ll get my strength back. I like that I can talk to you when we’re awake,” she added, and she started laughing again until she could barely breathe. “I like that I can talk! And I like that I can laugh! And I like …” She cut herself off. She was staring directly into David’s eyes.
“I like it too,” David said, and then he dropped his gaze. “We should let the others know that you’re all right.”
“Yes, we shou
ld.” Acacia did not move. “Or, we can let them have a little more quality time with Nico. Before I shred him to bits.” She flexed her claws. “David, I am so terribly sorry I put you through all of this.”
“It was nothing,” David casually replied, with a wave of his hand. “It’s what we valiant types do.” He paused, but his curiosity got the better of him. “Why did you ask me to play you my song? Wouldn’t any song have done?”
Acacia bit her lip. “I really did want to hear you play it, no matter what might have happened. Honestly, I didn’t know that the Singing Turquoise could channel your music in a dream. I’m sure Hypnos had a hand in it.” Her smile crumbled, and she crossed her arms as her face became serious. “You need to go home now.”
David was taken aback by the abrupt statement. “But … Gullin said there are rules about seeing the other side of the Curtain—”
Acacia shook her head. “It wouldn’t be the first time my bloodline has forgone the ‘rules.’ We can make an exception. Most likely you’ll wake up tomorrow and convince yourself you imagined it all.”
“Do you want me to go home?” David hoped she would give some explanation for her decision.
“It’s not a matter of want.”
“What about the whole ‘engagement’? I gave you a name. You accepted it.”
“I told you, it’s not binding. I release you from any misunderstood promises.”
David couldn’t help but feel dejected by her sudden turn of coldness. “I do have my apprenticeship in Paris. And my parents will be worried if they find out how long I’ve been gone. But we don’t have to hurry back so soon. I’ll invent a story for my absence. Maybe you could show me more through the Curtain …”
“No. I’ll get Yofune to take you to a safe place outside of Paris. I will give you some money to complete your trip. I will arrange for the belongings you left behind to be returned to you.” She turned and walked to the door of the wagon.
