by Kade Cook
She pulls her hand away, examining the skin for a cut as the sensation turns into more of a warm tingle to bleed down through her digit and extend into the palm of her hand before entering her wrist. It’s the kind of warmth felt when bitterly cold hands are then exposed to the loving heat of a crackling fire within a stone hearth. She smiles at the strange feeling, enjoying the oddity of it, but suddenly nearly jumps out of her skin at a loud frantic voice shrieking her name.
“Gabrian, wait! Be careful! Don’t touch that.”
She clutches her hand tightly to her chest and jerks herself sideways to watch the screaming figure emerge from within the foliage, rushing toward her from across the large earthen house camouflaged within his own green hue.
Gabrian turns to the red alluring bloom at her side and realizes he must be talking about it. “Oh, the flower, sorry. It is so beautiful. I just wanted to touch it.” Gabrian makes a little distance between her and the bright red vixen. “Don’t worry, I didn’t break anything. I was careful not to disturb any of your plants.”
“I don’t care about the plants.”
Kaleb stares at her strangely and his eye drops to her hand as he reaches her side. He grabs her hand and extends it outward to get a better view. Gabrian doesn’t resist his demanding action. She watches him with close eyes as he inspects her fingers thoroughly but with a gentle firmness, flipping it over, back and forth, as if searching for something.
“Are you feeling all right? Are you in pain?” Kaleb’s voice pleads to her, lifting his eyes to measure her honesty.
Kaleb’s precarious behaviour makes Gabrian stare at him blankly. “Kaleb, I am fine.” She gently pulls back her hand, retrieving control of her extremity, and edges the corners of her lips upward to lighten the moment. “What are you doing?”
“You are sure that you are okay?” he asks again, letting the muscles in his face relax so that his lips curve from the pressed straight line.
Gabrian guesses his worry cloud must be lifting as the greenish aura illuminating around him settles and changes from a dark forest colour into a lighter shade of lime.
“Kaleb, relax. I am fine.” Gabrian flexes and waves her fingers sporadically in the air in front of her face. “…See?”
Kaleb checks the validity in Gabrian’s gaze once more then shifts to the side and nears the plant, inspecting it, and scratches the back of his neck simultaneously. “Huh, interesting,” he says, turning to march toward the barricade of pallets. He leaps effortlessly over them in a hazed state, seemingly forgetting that Gabrian is there.
She follows behind, leaping the barricade with the same ease as her comrade but with less concern for the plants and more about what is going on in Kaleb’s head. “What’s interesting?” she retorts, following him through the multitudes of large plants as he heads straight ahead on a mission of sorts.
“Hmmm? What?” Kaleb’s mind whirls a million miles an hour and he barely acknowledges her words.
“What is so interesting? You said it a second ago before wandering off.” Gabrian catches up to her friend and lightly tugs on the worn cotton sleeve of his white dress shirt flowing freely on the air currents as he strides across the earthen floor. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
Kaleb halts without warning, causing Gabrian to nearly stumble into him. His arms rush out to catch her before she does and his hazel eyes focus on her blue. “Truthfully?”
“Truthfully.”
“Well, truthfully you should be screaming and writhing around in complete and utter pain.”
Gabrian’s jaw drops and her eyes widen at his revelation. Kaleb begins moving forward again, leaving her in her stupefied state.
“Ah, what?” Remaining still for a moment, scrunching her face, Gabrian calls out to him, “Why?” she questions, blinking her eyes as if to recalibrate her brain and rushes forward to catch up with him.
“From touching the blossom of that flower.” Kaleb puckers his lips to the side, lost in thought as he continues his trek through the green maze of plants, his eyes searching for something within.
“Seriously?” Gabrian’s hands graze through her twisted locks, trying to keep up.
“Yes, seriously,” he admits to her over his shoulder, face still twisted. “The oils should have seared your flesh.”
“Really?” Gabrian halts her chase, nearly tripping over the image of it now playing in her mind. “Then why didn’t it burn me?”
“I’m not sure,” the Eorden Elder hums, pausing briefly to look through a collection of herbs, scratching his head.
She holds up her hand and glances at it, rubbing her fingers together. “It did tingle a bit on my fingertips at first but it became quite enjoyable after that.”
Kaleb’s pace falters briefly with Gabrian’s confession but he continues forward. “For whatever reason, the oils in the petal and leaves have an extreme effect on people—a certain Boragen people.” Kaleb glances down at her oddly and rubs the bridge of his bronze-coloured nose before slowing his pace and halting in front of a large, cedar, desk-like table secured to the back of his edifice topped with a cabinet housed with what seems like a thousand drawers. He reaches under the table and pulls out a high wooden stool then takes a seat, resting the weight of his body upon it. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes. “Peculiar.”
Sighing loudly, Kaleb reaches across the desk and tugs at one of the drawers. He takes out a packet of herbs and measures three generous pinches, dropping them into a bag made of folded parchment. Sealing its edges with a mastered technique he turns to look up at Gabrian, extending his gift out to her.
“I am assuming that you are here to get more sleeping tinctures by the looks of those violet circles you are sporting under your eyes.”
Gabrian raises her hand and touches the tender skin just beneath her eyelid reflexively. She swivels slightly to the left and her eyes search for the bright red flower for a moment before she returns her gaze to her friend, dropping her hand.
“Actually, I was wondering if you had anything that might be a little bit stronger.”
“Stronger?”
“Yes, knock me out cold stronger.”
“Are you not sleeping at all?” Folding his arms across his chest, he squints as if trying to read her then spins back around to his magical medicine desk and begins riffling through the drawers in search for something else.
“I am sleeping, I think.” Gabrian slides over and rests her backside against the edge of Kaleb’s work area before running her hands through her hair, scrunching it at the top. “I just need something to stop me from dreaming.”
Kaleb freezes his movements and his eyes peek to where she leans. Moving his attention forward again, he continues his search. “That would be an unhealthy choice. You of all people know you need to dream in order to keep your mind and spirit in sync.”
Gabrian becomes silent and bites at the edge of her bottom lip, not sure what to say. “I know.”
She is strangled with an overwhelming feeling, one that rips through her and urges her to tell Kaleb about all of the anxiety she’s had and how she struggles to identify what is real and what is not, especially after the strange morning with Theo. She hears Ethan’s words whisper in her ears—about trusting Kaleb—and it begins to gnaw at her soul to share everything with him.
He watches her for a moment as she fights an internal conflict, noticing the slight tremble in her lips as she remains unusually quiet. Not wanting to press her, Kaleb gets up and moves to a section of the greenhouse filled with plants covered with flowers of blue and yellow then begins gently exfoliating the blossoms from their mother’s body and placing them into a bag.
Gabrian exhales loudly, partially disgruntled with herself for passing up the opportunity to share but mostly in relief of his obvious choice to drop the discussion and let her off the hook. She sits quietly and watches as he works away, doing what he does best. His beautiful jade-coloured aura flickers and swirls about him in a
careless caress then something changes—a shift—another colour dimly hovers through the green hue. It shifts between gold and bronze. She has never heard of it being mentioned or seen a colour like this before today and finds herself intrigued with this new find.
Kaleb turns his head and peeks over his shoulder, catching Gabrian observing him, and the edges of his tanned cheeks fold and wrinkle with his boyish grin. “Maybe the trick is not to erase your ability to dream but to slow them down to allow your mind to deal in a logical, more lucid way. It might help with the fear.”
Gabrian readjusts her focus from his majestic-coloured aura to his eyes and gasps. “You can do that?”
“With a little help, yes.” His head bounces, making his messy dark hair fall playfully in his eyes, and pivots to mirror her image before shaking the satchel in his hand, now full of blossoms. He crosses the distance between them and extends his hand out—offering his gift to her. “You will have to let me know how it turns out.”
Gabrian lifts her hand. It trembles as she graciously accepts his magical gift, eager for sleep. Once more she longs to let everything out about her dreams and her resurfacing cravings, but she remains silent except to extend her gratitude. “I will. Thank you, Kaleb. This means more than you know.” Clutching the satchel tight, she turns to go.
“We all have secrets, Gabrian,” he says, settling himself back down upon his stool with his back to her.
His words stop Gabrian in her tracks, and she glances back at him over her shoulder like a child.
“The trick is to find someone who is worthy enough to entrust knowing them.” His tanned face turns just slightly, enabling her to see the gold flecks sparkle in his eyes, and she knows the sincerity in his words.
She nods quickly and heads toward the exit, eyeing the fiery blossom on her way through the living edifice.
All the way home, Kaleb’s words linger through her thoughts. Maybe he is right—maybe all she needs is to trust someone and let them in on her crazy so that she can hear all of it out loud and find the truth hidden between the lies.
11
THE WHITE SHED
Leaving Gabrian’s side always leaves a hollow ache inside Shane’s chest but he knows if he were to overstep his boundaries, and truly become her shadow, it would be bad. So, instead of lurking inside the shadows of her office while she attends to her life, he decides it is time to return home.
After taking care of his badly neglected chores, he marches down the dirt path he calls a driveway and stops at the white shed snuggled in the thickets halfway between the greenhouse and his cabin. Instead of pressing the latch on the entrance and entering straight away, he knocks ever so lightly upon the paint-chipped door.
Nothing happens, so he leans his head in closer to listen but still the door is still unmoved. Raising his hand to knock once more, he hears movement inside—one firm step mingled with a slow scuffing noise, continuously repeated until it is just on the other side of the door.
The sound of metal grating across metal signals the lock on the other side being undone. The latch knob wiggles below and the door slowly creaks open but no more than a crack. Behind the opening, a shadowy figure slips into the dim light, peering with one beady eye at the tall dark Shadow Walker before them. There is a low grunt from behind the door as the space in the frame increases and in its birth, stands a crooked-shaped little creature.
“It’s only me, Madorrah.”
The fleshy puff of creased skin around her forehead wrinkles as she strains to look him in the eye as if to measure the level of his honesty. She raises a boney hand to shield her emerald eyes from the light of day and get a clearer look at the visitor. Not able to see him as she would like, she reaches out and grabs hold of his green cotton shirt, balling it tightly in her arthritis-riddled hand, and tugs roughly on it, pulling him down to her level. Nearly two feet below Shane’s height, he bends willingly to meet her physical demand.
Peering deep into his eyes, she studies something within them—a mark, a clue that ensures his identity. Finding what she is looking for, her intense stare softens and a warm, near toothless smile, spreads across her lips. She hobbles backwards into the blind of the door and halls on the latch as she slides sideways to widen the opening to her abode, allowing only enough room for Shane’s large body to slip inside and leave the rest of the world out.
Stepping forward, Shane is surrounded by three walls decorated with gardening tools, planters, and a few watering cans that would deceive any untrained eye into seeing nothing more than a tool shed—everything, except for the fourth wall that is partly hidden by a solar blanket hanging clear from the rafters to the floor. Behind the large shawl are panes of thick glass that line the southern wall. This allows for sunlight to breech the darkened room and fuel warmth into the building—providing food for the overflowing bits of odd vegetation littered along the floor in clay earthen pots.
Now within the reaches of the door, Shane turns and presses against the wooden barrier—dragging it across the scared path as it has so many times before. He slides the large metal bar across the wooden frame, securing it into the reinforced chamber on the other side. Shane chuckles to himself wondering how on earth the little woman manages to do this all by herself after he is gone.
With only mere fragments of light piercing through the darkness of the room from the windows beyond, Shane enters Madorrah’s world of darkness. Catching movement to his right, he steps forward to follow behind his peculiar friend as she descends into the lower level of the workshop. Shane tiptoes past piles of hoarded tools that have probably been collected for centuries by the little soul. His heart aches as he watches her struggle with difficulty to move, but he sucks back his pity quickly, trying to retrieve it before she sees him.
But it is too late. Madorrah glares sharply at him over her shoulder, a warning that her decrepit appearance is not to be pitied. It is to be respected.
Having been alive for more centuries than Shane was aware of, she may wear a disfigured body, but Madorrah’s eyes and mind have survived through the battle-torn years of wars fought long before his existence. She believes that life on earth is too precious to be wasted in the Veil and refuses to go inward long enough to heal—too much time would pass—her heart longs to exist on the cusp of this Earth’s Dimension. So, her seemingly tattered appearance is of her own doing. But in doing so it leaves her a bit vulnerable—an easier target for those who would use her for what she is.
Freedom for Madorrah is a gamble—a gamble she is willing to chance—and she vows to fight until the death if it were ever to be compromised.
Gathering his thoughts and setting his mind back to the task at hand, Shane rubs at his cheek, trying to find the right words to use to ask for what he’s come for.
“You haven’t been by to visit in a spell.”
“I know. I’ve been…”
“Cured?” She snorts at him, picking through the clutter on the wall beside her.
“What?”
“Of your incessant sulking.”
His face twists, trying to figure out the logic in her ramblings.
“The girl, she has cured you.” Madorrah gives him a toothy grin, her smile revealing more hidden lines—the scarred flesh given to her by life. Her green eyes lighten even in the darkness, softening the torn edges of her half-healed wounds.
“I don’t, nor have I ever sulked.”
“Pfft. Uh-huh,” she says, edging to the center of the shed.
“How would you know, crazy old woman?”
She slows her already sloth-like crawl to a dead stop and looks back at him with a raised brow. “Yes, a bit crazy I am. And you might want to keep that in mind the next time you try to use your green-eyed trickery to convince me into doing your bidding.”
“My bidding?”
She motions to a big container filled with oddities, and Shane follows out her intended silent instructions by picking it up and following behind her. “I might secure myself within the wall
s of my humble life, but lest you forget, young Schaeduwe, I still dwell on the precipice of the Veil walls. And the walls have ears—they whisper things to me about all of the secrets within.”
Shane’s lip curls upward at the old crooked woman’s sharp-tongued wisdom and carries the tools willingly.
“So now shall we play another game or do you want to tell me what you have come for?”
His eyes widen, knowing that Madorrah probably already knows and is just toying with his emotions.
She bends low, slumping onto her knees with a grunt and a huff. Slipping her fingers under a loose floorboard and into a metal ring hidden beneath, Madorrah pulls with both hands. There is a crack and a loud snap, followed by the slow scrape as the trap door obeys, revealing the gap below.
Madorrah’s eyes dart toward her young friend while he watches in disbelief as she slides forward and disappears into the hole without a sound. Shane edges closer and sets the box upon the earthen floor, looking down into the darkness that swallowed her up.
“Are you coming or are you just going to stand there all day holding that box?”
Lowering his body and slipping his legs down into the hole, Shane chuckles, hesitating for a moment, and follows the voice below, hoping he doesn’t get stuck this time.
12
DOWN, DOWN WE GO
Within the warm holds of Madorrah’s underground home, Shane smells the undeniable scent of fresh baked stone bread and root soup—her specialty—awakening a growl of wanting beneath his ribs with the hope she may offer to share. Adjusting quickly to the dimly lit room, he slips his foot forward, trying not to step on anything important. With the box of tools his host insists he carry still safely tucked under his arm, he begins to wander deeper into her world.
Each step takes him past hand-carved furniture—chairs made of willow branches, twisted meticulously around each other to support pressure against the bends and a table of stone jutted out and upward from the ground beneath, worn down at the sides from years of constant use. The walls are peppered with strange yet abstract drawings from a time when her hands were not so damaged. Staring at the art, his foot catches on a loose stone in the floor—one of many that had been collected, shaped, then leveled into the earthen path to form a mural of what Shane assumes is part of a vision she interprets the outside world as. The stones had crept their way partly up the wall to complete the picture’s flow.
