by E E Everly
How had it been opened for Cystenian and not for me?
I rounded on the trees. Whirled and glared into the brush.
“Open it, you rotten punks.” I pounded on the rock. “Open it! Let me find Cystenian. Where are you, you cowards? How could you do this and leave me like this?”
I screamed into the air as I dropped onto the spongy moss. I was a Scottish warrior lamenting over the murder of my loved one. If I were more dramatic, I might rend my shirt, but I happened to like this one.
I felt no magic. The air didn’t stir. I didn’t feel heaviness in my limbs from the push and pull of a spell.
What now? I scanned the area. A bubbling stream. A rounded, mossy mound. A secluded glen surrounded by brush and trees. The cliff reached far above.
I was truly alone.
And I was doubting my sanity.
I found a suitable stone from the stream and scratched my name and Cystenian’s name together on the boulder. I scraped until our names were deeper than a surface scratch. Proof that would last forever, until the rock eroded away.
My fingertips were raw when I finished.
Somehow I found my way home. I didn’t fly up the cliff. I didn’t have the energy. I followed the stream until it came out at a road, the same road that wound up the hillside to my neighborhood.
The hike took hours.
Once home, I drank a glass of orange juice and collapsed onto my bed.
NINE
I didn’t tell my mother. I left for college as scheduled. I had a lot of time to mull things over while I drove. Like how to tell Mom. How I would answer people’s questions. Mom would figure out the truth as I grew larger and larger, or once I started puking, but I would not let this mess up my first semester. I could finish at least that much schooling before I had my baby.
I’d looked up a handy pregnancy calculator and downloaded the app to my phone. I knew my exact date of conception so that made things easy. Due the end of April. Perfect. I might be able to squeeze in a couple of J-term classes. Take the summer off and then resume school in the fall with my child in daycare.
I was being awfully levelheaded about this, but that’s the way I was.
I knew what Mom would say, but I wasn’t considering other options. I could never give up Cystenian’s child. The baby would surely have the same abilities we shared.
I hoped.
Is that how this magic works? Was it inherited?
He’d said I was a Daughter of Light.
“So I harness light?” I asked no one in particular. I was nearly at the college. “How’s that possible?” Whatever I could do entailed heat and light and flame, that much I knew.
“How did I get my powers?” I sipped on a soda as I drummed the steering wheel. Mom didn’t possess the same gifts, I was sure of it. That wasn’t something a person kept from their grown child. If she did possess magic, she would have told me, in case my powers manifested when I hit puberty.
Wasn’t that how it worked in movies?
At least Mom never acted in an extraordinary manner that I knew of. She hadn’t stood up to my dad when he was pounding on her. I tried to imagine her lighting him on fire.
It would serve him right.
I must have inherited my abilities from my deadbeat dad. Was he like Cystenian? An emrys?
This did not thrill me.
My father was not the typical deadbeat. He was not a drunk. He had a job, but he was power hungry and abusive. He threw my mother around and left her with black and blue bruises all over.
I remember the day when the divorce was finalized, over two years ago, even though they’d separated when I was five. He’d stared at Mom from across the table, with his smug face. I wanted to wring his neck. I hated the sight of him, but finally our attachment to him was over. I don’t know why Mom had held on for so long.
I didn’t need any more drama in my life with my blossoming pregnancy. Survival was my game, keeping my secret until I came home for my first weekend. Mom had insisted I stay the first couple of weekends, go to parties, and make friends.
Parties. Yeah, right. No alcohol would be entering this body. Sheesh. So much for freshman year.
Had Mom worried about my emotional state after my magical seduction? The day after it happened, she asked me if I needed to talk to someone. I told her she was the only person I needed. That was comfort enough for me and had satisfied my mother. She did give me a huge, bone-crushing hug though.
I arrived at college and found my dorm room without a problem. I didn’t have much gear. I would gradually bring up whatever else I needed whenever I came home.
I had one roommate. Chloe. That was a blessing. Her chest of drawers was covered with hair care products and irons to tame her waist-length dark locks. She was polite so far and had helped me carry up my bags.
I sighed as I set my laptop up on my desk. Determined to be responsible and take care of myself, I found the number of a local OB/GYN. My first appointment was five weeks out, so I surfed the internet, looking for answers about baby questions. I could start puking anytime—it usually started around weeks seven and eight. Right when I would head home for the weekend.
Perfect.
As I continued my internet search, Chloe’s eyes were on me. “Starting research early?” She moved across the room with long, graceful legs. She could have been a dancer.
She was coming to look at my screen. I didn’t care. She’d find out soon enough.
Her hair swished across my shoulder as she leaned in. “Mmmhmm, girl. Research.” She nodded and patted my shoulder. “This is going to be a tough semester for you. Get the saltines and ginger ale. Keep a puke bucket next to your bed.”
“What?”
“I know all about this. My sister just had her first baby.” She walked over to her side of the room, opened her closet, and rifled through her clothes. “Not going to be much fun to party with, little girl. You are pale. I hope you’re not feeling sick yet.” She smiled. “I guess you can be my designated driver.”
I frowned.
She waved her hands. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I got your back. I’ll keep your hair out of your face while you puke.”
“Thanks. You don’t want to ditch me for another roommate?”
“Nope. I’m not that kind of girl. We all have our issues.” She held a teal sweater against her chest and pointed to it.
“Looks lovely.”
“Come with me down to the quad. You can do your research later. We’re going out tonight before you can’t do it anymore.”
I thanked my lucky stars I had such an understanding roommate. She was a dream, introducing me to several nice people, and we hung out on campus together. Chloe and I even shared the same biology class.
I took on a heavy schedule, taking the maximum amount of classes to occupy my mind. When I wasn’t studying or helping Chloe pick out outfits—she had already attached herself to a guy who was in our bio class—I was thinking about Cystenian and my gift.
One evening, nearing the end of my first two weeks at school, I caught myself reminiscing—about flying. I was in the shower. Fortunately, the bathroom was empty. Mostly because students were either in study groups or headed out to party for the night. I thought about how easy flying had been for me once my wings had erupted. When would I ever have the chance? I saturated myself in the feel that had come over me both times. I hummed as I stood under the water. The heat felt so good, as nearly as good as the heat from my wings.
As the heat from Cystenian’s body.
I could still feel him. Still see his eyes as he looked into mine. Still see the pain on his face as we shared a moment that shouldn’t have been possible.
Because he was an alien. A myth from another world. A fleeting fancy.
My body became hotter. I tried not to think about Cystenian. I tried not to think about flying. I tried not to think about the next eight months, but as the water beat against me, pounding me as hard as my emotions, the room filled with steam.<
br />
Suddenly feeling overheated, I hurriedly rinsed the soapy lather out of my hair. I gasped and threw my hands over my stomach. Was I going to cook my baby? This would not do. I couldn’t think of flying and of Cystenian, not when it flamed the fire within me. I needed to locate a thermometer. Just how hot was I?
You are so dumb. You don’t know anything about this. My brain asked, Do you mean about having a baby or about being an emrys?
My initial thoughts slipped away. Obviously, Daughters of Light had babies all the time; I’m sure they didn’t worry about roasting their children. Right?
The intensity of the heat and the humidity in the room caused me to sway. Acid rose in my stomach, and I clamped my hand over my mouth. This was it. I knew it would come.
I jumped out of the shower, streaked across the bathroom to the nearest stall, bent over the toilet, and heaved. There went the Salisbury steak I’d had for dinner.
I will never eat that again.
Wrung out and shaky, I dragged myself to the sink and washed my mouth out. I grabbed my towel, barely able to wrap it around my body with trembling hands, and slunk to my room.
Our mini fridge was stocked with ginger ale. Chloe had bought the essentials she thought I’d need. Bless her. I grabbed one and popped the tab. The refreshing coldness washed away the extra heat that had made me feel so woozy.
That was just the first time. How bad can it get?
Chloe was true to her word. When I puked early the next morning, she didn’t flinch or roll over and ignore me. She slipped quietly out of bed and gathered my hair into a ponytail holder. Then she rubbed my back until I was finished. She didn’t complain about how early it was or the fact that she’d stayed out super late the night before. She even took the bag out of the can, tied it up, and took it across the hall to the trash.
I didn’t curse Cystenian through any of this, but my heart did break, knowing he might never find out he’d fathered a child.
TEN
I puked, right as I pulled into the driveway. My car had scarcely rolled to a stop. I’d thrown the door open and didn’t have time even to take off the seatbelt.
The cat was out of the bag or, I should say, the puke was on the ground.
Mom must have seen me from the front window. She carried a dish towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other as I stumbled out of the car, avoiding my vomit.
She dabbed at my mouth and lifted my chin. “Child, what am I going to do with you? How long have you not been telling me?”
“Sixteen days now. I found out right before I left for school. I had hoped to wait to tell you until you saw that I was getting fat. Even then I thought I could blame it on the freshman fifteen.”
Mom lifted my bag of dirty laundry from the back seat. I sipped my water and followed her into the house.
“What are your plans?” She crossed the kitchen, opened the door to the laundry room, and started separating my lights and darks.
I leaned against the doorframe and let her. I just couldn’t summon any strength.
The air held a tinge of puke. I squeezed my lips together and swallowed. Had the smell clung to me? I pulled at strands of my hair, checking for clumps of vomit. Look what I’ve been reduced to. I also vowed to follow Chloe’s example and keep a ponytail holder on my wrist at all times.
Mom looked pointedly at me when I didn’t answer.
“What?”
“Your plans.” She added detergent and started the machine.
“You know I’m keeping the baby.”
“I figured. No use arguing my point?”
“Nope. None.” Why would I give up Cystenian’s child? I couldn’t unleash another unaware flamethrower on this world.
What if he lights his crib on fire?
My legs threatened to give out on me. I wobbled to a kitchen chair.
Mom took my position against the doorframe as she studied my face. “Fine. But are you able to keep up with your classes?”
“Yes. Chloe—you know, I told you about her—has been a great help. Holds my hair when I vomit. Makes excuses when I’m not feeling well.”
Mom frowned, and I noticed the creases in her forehead. She hadn’t had that many before. Plus, there were a few more gray hairs than I remembered.
I held my hands up. “Kidding, Mom, kidding. I’m fine. You have some crackers around this joint?” I pulled an anti-nausea pregnancy lollipop from my pocket and stuck it into my mouth.
I should have sucked on the lollipop while I was driving.
ELEVEN
School became routine. Driving home became routine. Puking was less dramatic. I was coping. I had yet to have my first obstetrics appointment, and the two-month anniversary of my encounter—I no longer referred to it as sexual assault—was approaching. The day happened to fall on a weekend I was home.
I decided to visit the boulder that was supposedly the portal in hopes that the gateway would be open. I figured out the easiest way to get there by looking at a map. It’d require some hiking, but I was not jumping off the cliff in my condition. Twice had been enough. I wanted no accidents. No chances that my wings wouldn’t ignite.
The stream followed the cliff for miles and crossed the road that wound up the mountain. No other road was closer to my boulder and the little fae-filled grotto. The best way in would be to park on the edge of the road and follow the stream. The hike from the road would most likely take me forty minutes.
The air was crisp. Leaves on the trees were changing color. The yearly festival celebrating the change of the seasons was approaching. Tourists and crafters would swamp the little town that we lived near. Festival games and rides would draw children. I hoped no other hikers were in my part of the woods.
I brought plenty of water and wore sturdy boots. I moved through the woods as quietly as I could. No leaves crunched. The undergrowth was soft and green still. I listened for the giggling fae, wondering what plan of attack I would use if I heard one. How could I defend myself? What was their weakness? Their eyes were on me. I knew they were even if I couldn’t hear the fae. I just had that eerie feeling, but the sensation lacked the heaviness of the magic that had coerced Cystenian and me into having sex.
The forest was too quiet. The chirping birds, silent. I hadn’t seen a chipmunk in the past ten minutes.
I reached the boulder with our names carved in it. I was tired, but not overly weary. I had plenty of energy despite being two months into puke city.
Nervously, I put my hand to the boulder’s uneven surface.
Dare I hope?
My blood pressure dropped.
I swayed.
Nothing.
I should have known.
I pressed myself against the rock, wrapping my arms across it, smoothing my cheek to its gray surface. Its coolness comforted me and stopped me from fainting. How can it not be open? Does it ever open? Will it ever open? How?
I looked around for some token to let me know Cystenian had been there looking for me. Some scrap of fabric, a scratch on a tree. I studied the rock. No new markings. If he had been there, I would have known. I’d feel him. I was sure of it.
Where are you? What part of the universe are you even in?
I attempted to hold in my disappointment. I sat on the moss-covered mound next to the rock, the same place I had fallen in my previous anguished lament.
I will do this again and again. Every single month until I find a way to open it. Maybe I’ll bring a jackhammer and blast the rock to pieces.
Yeah, Anerah, right.
Reluctantly, I hiked back to my car and drove to the house. Mom looked as if she wanted to ask me what was up, but I talked to her about school, the only thing I could, because boys were out of the question. Telling her about Cystenian would be a waste of time. She’d never believe me.
Every time I went on my weekend hikes, I was met with disappointment. The blasted portal was always closed. The fae lingered but never made their presence known. I counted myself lucky that they di
dn’t want to include me in any other spells.
Why had they included me in the last?
At least the hiking was keeping me in shape.
A few hikes later I started bringing things.
I placed a plastic storage box on the mound. That had been the hardest thing to trek in, but I wanted something weatherproof. Inside, I put copies of my sonogram pictures, a copy of the latest pregnancy guide, my phone number and address (not that Cystenian would have a phone), and a map, with my house and the college circled on it. I left notes and cards.
All in case Cystenian stumbled through the portal and needed to find me.
I pictured him wandering the woods and town. I daydreamed about him showing up at my dorm.
Please, yes. Show up. Find me, Cystenian.
I wrote my hopes and dreams on the notes. I wrote stupid little stories about myself growing up. I told Cystenian that I wouldn’t hate him. That I would always care for him in some fashion.
Just please find me.
My little container was getting full. My treasures sat there month after month, protected from the elements with a secure lid. It even snowed on the box. Every time I came, I looked inside, hoping to see something from Cystenian in return, or the items displaced or pawed through. No one else came there. No adventurer off his trail. Nothing disturbed my box.
Maybe the fae protected my little grotto. Maybe a warding spell kept other hikers away, because how could no one have stumbled upon this place?
I guessed Cystenian had as much rotten luck with the barrier as I had. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he hadn’t tried the boulder on his side? But how could that be true? His hurt on that night had shown me that he did in fact care.
The sixth month into my pregnancy and I was sick of everything. Exhausted, out of breath, and moaning like a bloated cow, I leaned on the boulder once again.
“You stupid rock! You stupid fae! Open this portal!” I ripped open my backpack. I had another tactic. According to my research, fae liked gifts. I pulled out a box of chocolates and several pieces of fruit. I set them up on a flat rock. I lit a candle to make it pretty, to make it an offering.
