The island was a lush emerald in the sun. Large enough to be considered a continent, the country boasted one great blue desert and a saw-toothed range of mountains. All around it danced the shimmering sea, beneath which basked the cash crop of Meladon, nori. Guarding and tending the valued plants were the Zaells, powerful water-dwelling dragons and their human companions.

These companions were second in rank only to the royal family whose ancestors had settled on Nydor and had claimed the island as their first colony. To outsiders, Meladon's culture was technologically backward and its people hopelessly uneducated. There were many that didn't believe the people of Meladon deserved to be sitting on the pot of gold that was the nori. What use could such simple folk have for a drug that enhanced physical stamina and mental aptitude? A concentrated dose could keep a body going at full capacity for days longer than under normal circumstances. There were even rumors that the plant had magical properties. Unfortunately, the precious plants wouldn't grow anywhere else in the galaxy. No one was stupid enough to try to invade the island, not with an army of formidable dragons on their side. Most traders settled for buying the plant fairly and then selling it at greatly inflated prices.

To someone who grew up on the island, Meladon was rich and complex society of talented artists and erudite philosophers. They weren't afraid of technology, but they saw no reason to embrace it either. The young, who opposed this view, would, from time to time take off to the greater continents. Invariably they would return, unwilling to endure the large, crowded cities, incorporating whatever they learned into their daily lives. It was a simple existence, a large closely-knit community, with very few outsiders, usually immigrants from the continents. There were even fewer who became outcast after holding a place of honor among the people of Meladon. There was only one who maintained her rank, even as she was set apart from her fellowmen.

On the eve of Tamas, the traditional celebration of the harvest, two young women wound their way through the hilly forest by the Eastern Shore. The elder of the two, was quiet, her silver streaked bronze hair bursting from the confines of her cape. There was an inherent sadness in her eyes, and if one cared to look closer, a serpentine range of scars along her arms that peeked through the generous folds of her tunic. Ayn smiled complacently at the chatter of the younger; who wore the same coarse apricot uniform of the sorcerer's apprentices. Though she rarely responded, and usually with barely a nod or wordless grunt, Tessa kept right on talking. Ayn envied her youthful exuberance. She was only two cycles older than the girl was but she felt like a crone, compared to her. One who had seen too much sadness, one who had lost too much.

Tessa was excited. It wasn't just about the evening celebrations. Another dragon was giving birth under the quiet waters. The girl was anxiously hoping to be selected as a companion. Ayn was certain she had a good chance. Tessa was strong and her deceptively soft, feminine curves hid muscles of steel that had been developed through intense secret training and physical labor. Not only that, her friendly, rounded face masked a wealth of wisdom that went far beyond her fourteen years. She was being considerate of Ayn so she refrained from mentioning the one thing that was uppermost in her thoughts. The mate of Ayn's dragon had already given birth and the girl hoped with all of her heart to be selected for one of Nealla's three offspring. Ayn's arm shot out unconsciously to steady Tessa as she almost tripped over a vine that was hidden under the soft carpet of leaves. She bent down to pick up a particularly large russet leaf, when she heard the pounding on the ground. There were riders coming. She should have heard them sooner but she hadn't been paying attention. Master Denier would have been appalled, she thought in amusement. For someone with her experience to be taken by surprise even in such a trivial instance, was unthinkable.

She smiled at the mental image of the bright-eyed old man who was her teacher. He had taken her under his wing as a student of the advanced magical arts after her tragedy. He once said it was his intent to give her a new sense of purpose, a reason for living.

The riders swept by, on a path cut into the hillside and below where Ayn and Tessa walked. Ayn frowned curiously at them. Their tunics were unusual, a blend of sturdy green and gold. She'd never seen anything like it before. Tessa was saying something

"… The king's entourage."

Ayn blinked. "You mean those riders?"

Tessa looked back and raised a brow at Ayn. The men she saw were sailors from the merchant ships. They were dressed in drab, but serviceable clothing. There was nothing extraordinary about the group, except the horses they rode, magnificent chestnut creatures rented from the local innkeeper. She smiled politely but said nothing. Ayn tended to act strangely sometimes.


Ayn chanced to look back at the same instant that the leader of the group turned his head backward. He had dark eyes and dark hair streaming down the sides of his face. His sharp eyes met hers, judging it seemed, assessing. She stifled the sudden feeling that she could be punished simply for staring. She averted her gaze, unable to bear that harsh stare. The moment was significant somehow. What it did to her insides, that sense of recognition… it was the first emotion that had managed to penetrate the wall of numbness that had surrounded her since Bilal had died.

Later, when she was sitting among the other companions around the fire, she saw the riders again. One of them, a young and flashy, yellow haired sort amused himself by regaling the young girls with clown like antics and stories. Just as she saw Tessa waving at her from her far left, her vision wavered. She found herself sitting before that one, with the long hair and tercel's eyes. Everything was so far away; she could only see blurs of motion, skirts whirling in dance around the fire. The flames hissed and crackled angrily. His hand touched her cheek but she couldn't bring herself to meet his stare. His hand was warm and throbbing with the electric hum of his pulse. She closed her eyes, feeling his breath on her lips, smelling the sweetly intoxicating wine he had drunk. He kissed her, not tenderly or with cruelty but with a steadiness that took possession of her. With a certainty that said she was his for all time. She marveled at that. This stranger had come to her home, making her want things that it had never occurred to her to want before.

"Ayn!"

That breathless gasp got her attention. The next thing she knew, she was standing with Tessa, away from the others. How had she gotten there? She was unfamiliar with the concept of mind invasion but something of the sort must have happened to her. Why?

She looked down to find a ceremonial stone ring was in her palm. It was broken. She must have done that while she'd been unaware of her surroundings. Tessa knelt beside her, trembling in shock and betrayal. The ring had been given to the girl to signify candidacy for companionship to the new dragons. Bilal's children. Because Ayn outranked Tessa and deference would be shown her by Bilal's offspring, she could oppose the selection.

"You never gave me any reason to believe that you'd challenge my claim," Tessa whispered in a barely audible voice.

Ayn closed her palm around the pieces. She could feel it changing--becoming whole again against her skin.

She touched Tessa's shoulder. "I think you misunderstood." She placed the restored ring in the girl's palm. "I've no intention of challenging your candidacy."

Tessa returned her smile and nodded, her palm closing in on the tiny object. Her teary eyes nonetheless, remained wary. Ayn stood abruptly and left her there. She walked toward the seashore. She touched her fingers lightly to her lips. She was inexplicably disconsolate, standing there with her heart all shivering and achy. That man. Had he even been there? Where had he gone?

The dark liquid expanse rolled and surged without warning. She caught a flash of sinuous iridescence tumbling over and back down into the depths. A sea dragon's mind touched hers. Nealla. Bilal's mate circled the coastline.

Ayn, are you well?

Her concern was touching. Zaells usually didn't concern themselves with anyone other than their companions, even those of their mates.

I'm fine, thanks for asking.

Nealla surged once more. What do you think of the new candidates? The females have chosen but there are two candidates for the male, Tael.

Ayn's eyes widened. She was actually asking for her input. Did Nealla hold her in such high esteem?

Nealla made an amused sound, nearly a grunt. Of course, I think highly of you Ayn. I always will.

Thank you. I hadn't realized. I think Tessa is the best choice, however biased that may seem.

Nealla gave that the equivalent of a mental nod. Excellent. She was my choice, as well.

A flock of blue cranes rose up into the air. Indigo and mysterious in the night-light, they glided toward their nests in the sylvan hills. There were many, she knew, that would not return to the seashore the next day or ever after. Something inside them knew whenever it was time to retreat into the dark hills and wait for death Afterward their bodies nourished the thick grass that hid their young from predators and protected their eggs from being trampled. Ayn didn't have a death wish but like the birds, she knew that it was time to leave Meladon. Master Denier had shown her star maps and charts of countless other worlds teeming with unique cultures. If she made the journey to the Eastern continent, she was certain she could make it to the stars. She would find a way.

She hugged her arms to her shoulders, as the laughter and singing from the Tamas celebration reached her reluctant ears. She hadn't shared this secret wish with anyone, not Tessa, or even Master Denier. They would try to keep her on the island, out of danger of causing harm to herself. Most people thought that the loss of Bilal had driven her mad… which it had in the beginning. It had been months since she wanted to die and yet she still felt as if there was a piece of her that was missing. Perhaps, she could find it among the stars.

"Goodbye," she said out loud to the memory of her friend.

A low keening sound came from beneath the sea. The waters thrashed and parted as Nealla's scaly face emerged. The dragon stilled, her saltwater breath whistling in the air. Her dark eyes glittered from the distance. After a long moment, she lowered her great body back into the water. Ayn felt the sea dragon shift away and toward the horizon where her nest was.

God-speed Ayn.

The words came to her like a warm embrace, wrapping around her. To her far left the merchant ship bobbed silently, the warm breeze tugging at its moorings. Ayn took a path she expected to be deserted on a night like Tamas. She had to get to retrieve her things and get onto the ship before its crew returned from the festival.

The old man shucked off his outer robe and went to sit by the window of his workshop. Even in the hills, surrounded by grassland and wildlife, he could still hear the constant, lulling whisper of the sea. He stared thoughtfully into the semi-darkness. The three moons were full and fat in the sky. They showered rainbow beams of light onto the treetops. He frowned, his weathered face crinkling in the soft light, as if pondering a particularly difficult problem. In his hand, he cradled something that had been left on his worktable for him to find. He barely acknowledged the sound of the younger man entering the room. He had already surreptitiously called to him during the festival. He was honorable enough, but there was cold violence in him that unnerved the old man. The long hair that softened the sharp angles of the man's face was a disguise, a thing that allowed him to come to Meladon without being recognized. He was long dead to his people and it suited his purpose to remain that way. He looked down at the little carving in his hands. Ayn had constructed the totem with great care, and a fine hand. She had dressed it in traveling robes, and tied a tiny knot of a bundle to its chest. She had cut pieces of her own clothing and locks of her own hair to fashion her goodbye. It was a message more eloquent than words.

He smiled reluctantly, wondering whether she had harbored suspicions of the arrangement he'd made on her behalf. He couldn't think of anything else that would suddenly prompt her to leave in secret. In any case, her actions proved him right. He'd been halfway afraid that she wouldn't want to leave Nydor, but she had already taken the first step without even knowing what lay ahead.

He smiled at the stranger who stood impatiently with his arms folded, scowling at him. "I trust you had a good reason for summoning me, old man."

The veiled attempt at intimidation wasn't lost on the old man. He returned his visitor's scowl. "Is that any way to speak to your father, boy?"

The young man went to the window, looking down at the doll in the man's hand. A flash of recognition went through him. That lightning streaked hair! He averted his eyes from the thing and ignored the sudden racing of his heart.

"So Father, what can I do for you?"

The old man shot his estranged son a sly look. "I've a candidate for your little band of mercenaries."

The son raised a brow. So, he knew about the Guild. Well, that shouldn't have come as such a surprise.

"Why this one? I've seen her eyes. Isn't she a Zeall's companion?"

"Her dragon died."

He snorted. "And she lived? Are you trying to foist an emotional cripple on me?"

"She's past that. Now that Ayn has reclaimed her will to live, she has discovered her own thirst for adventure. At this very moment, she is stowed away aboard your ship, thinking to journey to the Eastern Continent."

"Is that right?"

The old man grinned, "She has an adventurer's spirit. Life on Meladon would never satisfy her. Bilal... he was the only thing that kept her spirit anchored to this place. Besides, she's gifted. Just like you."

The younger man already knew that. After all, he was certain she'd seen through his glamour, when he had ridden through the woods. A loud trumpet sounded from the dock. The glass merchant ship was ready to set sail. He rested his hand on the old man's shoulder for a brief moment. Their eyes met, with an understanding that went beyond the distance that kept the lives of father and son separated. "Be well, Father." He murmured in farewell. Long after he left the room, the master magician could hear the hooves of his son's horse thundering down the sides of the mountain.

"God-speed, Nathaniel." He whispered into the night.

Ayn woke with a scream. The large hand that clamped over her mouth stifled it. Her eyes widened when she saw that it was him. That man from the woods knelt over her.

For some strange reason, he was irritated with her. "What are you doing here?"

She ignored the question. "How did you find me?"

Had her glamour failed? Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling. She wondered if the ship had set sail yet. She would just die of shame if she failed before she even got started. She glared up at her dubious attacker, who seemed to be amused. He smiled showing a neat row of teeth. He seemed to be under the impression that she was supposed to be reassured by it. He answered the question that she hadn't asked.

"Your glamour didn't fail."

Her eyes widened, "Then how?"

He stood abruptly and reached out his hand solicitously to help her up. "The old fashioned way."

His cryptic statement went unexplained. Her heart hammered in her chest. He didn't seem like the sort who was given to explaining himself to anyone. Why was he there? She clutched her tiny bundle to her chest and stood.

He raised a questioning brow. "Do you always travel lightly?"

Her eyes shot to his and darted away. Her grip on her belongings tightened. She resented the sudden need to explain herself. "These are all the things that matter to me."

"Of course," he nodded politely, "you wouldn't happen to have a change of clothing in there would you?"

"Why?"

"For one thing, you can't stay here."

She scowled at him. She had been intimidated right up until that moment. She was a former companion for goodness sake! She could stand up to just about anyone, even if that one was rough and beautiful in every way that made her weak. "What is it to you?"

He shrugged off her belligerence. "Everything."

That didn't answer her question or satisfy her curiosity, but it silenced her. What did he mean by that? Again he stared at her and she couldn't shake the feeling that her worth was being met and measured. She shifted uncomfortably and tried to shove her way past him.

He grabbed her arm in an iron grip. "I need a way to get you out of here without drawing attention to you."

She tried to yank her arm away, her eyes blazing. "You don't have to sneak me anywhere."

Denier's son was impressed. The former companion was stronger than she looked. Muscles bunched and strained under his grip. He really was having a hard time holding on to her. With proper training, she could become a formidable fighter.

He ignored the part of him that wanted more. "Do you even know where you are?"

She looked at him as if he was a simpleton. "Last time I checked, a ship headed for the eastern continent." Her attempt at sarcasm was lost on him. He stood blocking her way with his arms folded, unmoving and implacable. She got the distinct impression that he'd try to shove her into a sack and haul her away if she didn't willingly go with him.

"My interest is in your safety, Ayn."

So he knew who she was But who was he? He eyes said that he was a dangerous man. Yet, he seemed familiar somehow, and not just because her blood leapt at his touch. Not because his skin burned hers…

"Fine," she conceded by casting another glamour on herself.

As a last ditch show of defiance, she made herself appear to be dressed as he was. He eyed her critically. It seemed that she hadn't simply changed the manner in which she was perceived, but actually altered the substructure of matter around her body.

"Interesting talent. It'll do."

Still grasping her arm, he hurried out of the cargo hold and along the dark passageway. His sense of urgency seemed to have imprinted itself on her and once he released her arm, she picked up the pace. Instinct warred with her sense of caution. He was a complete stranger, a potentially vicious one, but she didn't think he had any intention of harming her. Her lips pursed into a thin line. He was going to explain himself soon, whether or not it went against his temperament. He shoved a scarred wooden door open and stepped inside ahead of her. The room was badly lit, but she could make out the shadowed features of the men who had ridden with him. They looked up in surprise at her. They yellow haired one, looked to Ayn's companion with a silent question. He shook his head and propelled her into another room, closing the door.

She reverted to her original self and whirled on him, "That's enough! Who are you? What do you want?"

"You."

"Your cryptic answers don't tell me anything. Tell me why you came after me or I'll leave right now."

He studied her in that unnerving way of his for a moment. She was like a tiny ball of kindling, waiting to be lit, so alive. "All right. But first…" he stepped up to her, reached out and switched on a light. Behind her, there was a frayed tapestry. He pulled that down, gesturing toward the window. She looked outside and was lost in what she saw. There was only darkness and many tiny pinpoints of lights. The vastness of it was staggering.

"Raiders…" she murmured thinking of old stories told to Meladon children, to keep them from approaching the merchant ships.

The ghost ships that would come disguised as merchantmen and took children, who were never to be found ever after. She used to love those stories, the idea of being taken away into the unknown. Her hand reached out to touch the transparent barrier.

She stared in awe. "Stars. This is a starship?"

"Right."

"It's a serious breach of protocol," she mused. "If the authorities on Meladon found out that the seaports are harboring off-worlders…"

The dark haired man smiled. "The royal family is aware. They understand the economic value of the nori. It's a very valuable product on other worlds. One that people pay a lot of money to acquire."

Ayn's eyes widened. It really was a clever little scam. The old king was more ingenuous than she expected. He'd found a way to exponentially increase his family's profits and market the Meladon cash crop, while appearing not to contaminate their local culture. Where anyone else would have been appalled, Ayn was impressed. She suppressed a tiny smile, wondering if the Zaells knew. There wasn't much that escaped their notice.

"How often does this happen?"

"Once a year, right in time for the Tamas harvest."

She wondered how long it had been happening. Years? Decades? That's probably where the old stories originated. A precautionary measure to keep children from stowing away on starships. She felt more than a little foolish. Still, it was what she wanted, wasn't it? She just hadn't expected her future to be thrust at her with such immediacy.

"I don't even know your name," she said suddenly.

He dipped his head slightly; "My name is Nathaniel."

It was a name from the Old World, one that implied mystery and darkness. It suited him. She liked it.

"My father had a strange sense of humor."

"Well, Nathaniel, what's your part in all of this?"

"None," he shrugged. "I came for you."

That got her attention. Though she had to admit that some innate part of her danced with inexplicable joy upon hearing it, she knew his meaning was different.

"Why do you keep saying that? It makes no sense."

"Your teacher sent me a message. He said that there was a student of his, who could be of use to me."

"How?"

"Your talents. Your strength."

"That explains nothing."

The marks on her arm caught his eye. Without asking, Nathaniel pulled up the edges of her sleeve. He sucked in his breath sharply at the sight of the cruel scars. He looked at her questioningly, but she shook her head and pulled the material back over her arm. He didn't have to be told. Those wounds hadn't been inflicted by anyone, or anything. She wouldn't have survived that kind of torture. Those must have been the wounds sustained by her Zaell. She had tried to transfer its injuries to herself, to exchange her life for its own. It took considerable magical talents to be able to do that. He wondered what the extent of damage she'd done to herself was.

"Where does it end? The scar."

"It doesn't."

Her eyes met his. It would be unfortunate if it repelled him but she wasn't ashamed.

"That was a foolish thing to do. You could have died."

She glanced at him sharply and went back to studying the stars as they raced by. She wondered what lay beyond the darkness.

-- END

Fern emerged from the desert under the cover of a million stars. The scorching surface of the Tenere clung stubbornly to her boots and the peppery scent of the indigo people was forever fused into her skin. Fern didn’t mind. She'd been a wanderer who'd stumbled into nomads. They'd been kind to her and had given her a home. Though she was tempted to turn tail and run back to the Tuareg, she kept going. A friend had extracted this promise from her--that Fern should go back out into the world and find the thing that she'd been running from.

She boarded a plane in Tunisia, feeling pitifully lost as the craft took to the skies. Her feet hadn't left the ground in three years and she could feel her whole body dangling, all the way up in the air. She concentrated on that, thinking how much it was like being born. The thought of birth brought back thoughts of other people being born. Her friend, Tanelher Bailah had lain dying as she gave birth to her son. There was another thought--another tragic birth. She refused to think of that place. There was too much pain and regret waiting there.

The cab turned away from the main road, entering an eerily silent neighborhood full of well-manicured lawns and unfortunate trees that had been mercilessly shoved into a tight, military formation. Tucked way behind this collective of architectural farces, was a tiny house beside the sea. It was Fern's, the house she'd filled up with wind chimes and whale song after the silence had become too much to bear.

Someone had taken care of her yard. There were roses blooming by the wrought iron gate and the grass had been trimmed recently. She wondered idly at that. Who would even bother? As she entered the living room, Fern was greeted by an assortment of sounds. There were small, delicate glass creations and large, resonant cylinders of metal that tolled like the bells of an ancient church. She smiled, caught in an unexpected rush of genuine pleasure. She'd missed the wind chime songs.

It was nightfall before Fern ventured outside the house once again. It was a humble little shoreline layered by grainy pebbles, barely any sand. She stood at the water’s edge gazing out into the quiet horizon. There was a moment years before, when she'd knelt by this same shoreline, watching her daughter’s ashes float away into endless blue. She'd been utterly consumed by grief and loneliness.

A warm zephyr blew off the ocean, pressing gently against her cheek. Her daughter was out there and everywhere, roaming the ocean. It was where she'd been conceived. It was where she belonged. Fern smiled thinking of Tanelher Bailah, who had understood Fern’s need to roam the earth. She'd tried to tell her, that she was still alive… that Fern hadn’t died with her daughter.

“Once you've lived in the desert, you're always thirsty,” she'd said. "Thirsty for water, for knowledge. Thirsty for love."

She took the pathway from the beach to the back of her house, thinking of a man she'd loved once. Did he know? She wondered. Did he know that he'd fathered her child?



Isaac had been an artist once. At twenty-one he'd been one of the more popular bohemian expressionists that the art world seemed to crave so much. A prodigy, he had a gift for bringing out the divine aspect of seemingly ordinary subjects. When he was twenty five, no canvas that he touched wanted to come alive anymore. He'd found himself back in the town that he'd grown up. While wandering the Salvador Dali museum, he'd stopped by one special painting. Dream caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomegranate a Second before Awakening.

“A personal favorite of mine,” the woman had said from behind him.

He'd taken one look at her. I want to paint you. His heart had said. “I want to paint you,” he'd said.

She'd been taken aback by his words, so much that she nervously stepped away. “No.” she said. Simply.

For a moment it had seemed like she'd walk away but then she'd stood silently beside him, gazing intently at the Dream caused by the Flight of a bee... That day had stretched out into weeks and months.

Fern picked up her coffee mug, eying the steaming contents fondly. It had been so long. The sadness that had dogged her for so long hadn't gone but it had trickled down into a tiny, loving spot in her heart. She drifted through the room of wind chimes and the back door, down the beaten pathway to the water. The golden rays of the summer sun rained down on her shoulders. She called Chloe.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Was all the woman said about Fern’s disappearance. She didn’t bother to ask. “The last manuscript was accepted by Durant,” and there was more. “After you left, an old friend had come looking for you.”

She didn’t say what Fern knew she must have figured out. She only faxed over an address for a downtown clubhouse. “Maybe you should pay him a visit. He came looking for you, Fern.”

It was the next day, but Fern still hadn’t gotten over the shock. he'd come looking… she'd never expected--it was an affair, nothing more. I left when I started loving him too much. Isn't that the way it works? But the thought still struck at something deep inside. He'd come looking for her. I’ll see him one more time, she thought. Tonight.



Isaac saw her the moment she crossed the threshold. He drank in every detail, her short, wild hair. She wore well-worn leather boots and striped skirt of Indian silk. her rumpled shirt clung to her bronzed flesh in odd places, as if she didn’t quite know how to be fashionable or care. She was dark, soft and goddess-like in the muted blue light. She didn’t seem to belong in this moment, like some divine being that had fallen into the human world and didn’t quite know how to get back to her own. Even though he realized that she was different--a stranger to him now, his hands that had gone unused for much too long began to ache for a canvas and brushes. His fingertips began longing for clay and stone. In another lifetime he'd have said what was in his heart. I want to paint you. He would have said. Instead, he stood before her wordlessly, touched by the surprise with which she greeted him.

Fern saw him coming and faltered and froze. He was so dark and larger than life. She turned away abruptly, but not before the faint scent of potent maleness, sandalwood and spice drifted toward her, driving a sudden rush of heat to her womb.

“Wait,” he entreated.

Fern turned around studying the hard contours of his face. She thought of her African and Asian ancestors. He was like a warrior prince. The next two hours were an odd blur of memory and barely spoken words. Once again, this completely magnetic spirit was eclipsing her own. Although it seemed such an ordinary, even mundane thing, she couldn’t recall sitting over coffee with anyone but him before. The long moments of silence seemed much too precious to be broken. She wondered if he understood that she was a little frightened of finding him again. Her hands shook a little.

Isaac felt as if he'd brought a piece of Anchorage back to St. Petersburg with him-the cold magic that had brought them both here. He was afraid to move, to speak… afraid to breathe, lest she'd vanish again. He saw her hands trembling, felt her leaving even as she sat there and without thinking he took her hands within his own.


“Why did you leave?”

Fern steadied her breath and looked at her hands, which he held firmly cradled within his own. They were not hands to flaunt. They were not graceful or well manicured. They were ordinary hands that wouldn’t impress anyone. No one cares about such things in the Tenere. She drew her hands away.

“Fern?”

She didn’t answer. Looking down at her hands, she marveled at how they still felt the weight of his touch. She remembered suddenly looking down at her hands, once before, thinking that there were bound to be more beautiful hands in the world. she'd never be polished and sophisticated, never fit into his world. Even though she'd lived her life in the strangest ways, she knew she was painfully ordinary. How could someone like Isaac bring himself to love something ordinary? she'd always assumed she'd spend her days alone. When she began to want too much, she left.

“Look at me,” she murmured. “I’m so painfully ordinary and you're so gifted at turning ordinary things into beautiful things. I might have been afraid that you’d have to make me into something beautiful to be able to love me.”

He said nothing for a very long time, just stared at her in something akin to disbelief.

Fern stood abruptly. There was never doubt in her heart that she loved Isaac, never the absence and here he was. “Walk with me?”

Resentment flared in his eyes for a moment but he smiled and said yes. They walked in silence. He didn’t ask where she was going.

Isaac made coffee as Fern roamed about his house. On her way up the stairs, she stopped to study a charcoal sketch on the wall. It was of his brother. The framed paper was yellowed with age. She entered the doorway to his studio. The entire second floor that used strewn with paints and half-finished canvases had been transformed. The room was immaculate. At the center was a large bed and to one small corner a worktable, was an unfinished sculpture. She moved over to the half-carved horse that struggled to be born out of stone. It was a most beautiful thing. She moved to the old fashioned window overlooking the bay. It was a lonely space that seemed as if it had been abandoned for years. What had happened to his art?

Isaac stood at the foot of the stairs waiting for Fern to come down. He'd heard her footsteps form the kitchen, pictured her circling the room. He idly wondered what she'd discovered. He watched her expression as she emerged from the second floor. He tensely waited for her to ask the question that everyone else had asked. Why did you stop painting? Those words never failed to infuriate him, partly because he didn’t have an answer.

The question never came. She took the mug that he offered and smiled slightly. “So, who are you now?”

“I run a restaurant, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She gave him an oddly searching look. “That's your place? Your talent translated there as well.” Moving to sip her coffee, she stopped and sniffed the brew. A vague frown of puzzlement passed over her face. “Scottish brandy?”

“Yes.”

“Very nice.”

“Will you stay?”

She thought of her house. “Maybe,” she said. “For a little while.”

Somewhere between morning and later that night, Fern lay halfway between waking and dreaming. She touched the skin of that man she loved and suddenly became desperate. She wanted to keep this night. It was still a little unbelievable that this amazing human being had loved her… still wanted her. She thought about leaving, imagined herself asleep on a slow bus, somewhere between St. Petersburg and the North Pole.

She slipped out of bed and roamed about his silent house once more. There was a fishbowl on the floor in a corner of his kitchen. She remembered the first time she'd seen that empty bowl. He once bought a beautiful blue fish at a flea market once, he'd told her. It had died of loneliness, he’d supposed. She smiled, remembering. He’d kept the bowl for years, in honor of the fish. She wanted to love Isaac. What was she running from? Tanelher Bailah was right. The past was dead… not Fern. I don’t want to die of loneliness, she thought suddenly. She went back up the room that was so full of him.


Isaac watched as she paused at the threshold, amazed at how the light burned her hair to a dark gold. How it flew out in wild disarray into the light, streaming form the window. His hands began that old aching once again. He wanted to paint her. He wanted to keep her. Isaac reached out and held her hand within his own. For the very first time since they had met again, she really smiled and he was blinded by the brilliance. He didn’t know how he'd ever lived without the subtle scent of lavender and jasmine clinging to human skin.

Nothing, he thought, could be more extraordinary.

Sometimes she dreamed of a child, dark and shining as she stood, haloed against an endless twilight. Sometimes, she took the form of a hundred wizened old women; stoop- shouldered and gray haired, surrounded by a long dead expanse. Sometimes a hot, howling wind would ride upon the skies for days and years, mourning the grand cities and oceans that had once filled the sphere. From time to time, a single coherent and accusing thought would whisper across endless bone yards of ancient trees.

She was alone. Always alone. 

A mask lay on the ebony bedside table; a white unbroken line, like a fine-boned china-doll blessed with grace and catty eyes. Beside the mask were one white rose petal and one, red that had fallen from the onyx vase above, a rosary and a riding crop. Across the room, a clock glowed ghostly green. Quiet had descended hours earlier - the kind that only sneaks in from under the door when the eyes close and the heart slows.

Reina was suffocating. A shadow fell over her.  The vision grew until it became a roar in her head. Paralyzed and terrified, she struggled against the weight of its cruel and bony fingers on her arms. She screamed, but there was no sound. Her heart slowed.  The hag grew smaller and smaller, seeming further and further away as she finally surrendered.

She found herself inside a strange memory.  She'd been six years old and kneeling over a puddle of murky water. It had rained that morning and the hem of her white church dress was caked with red mud. Her fingers gave a gentle push at the side of a paper boat she had built with awkward care. There was a ripple on the surface of the puddle, then two and more. They expanded into foamy waves. The paper boat capsized as the sky darkened. She gazed up past the side of a mountain that was gnarled like an old man. Dawn broke across the sky in glittering shards. The morning star winked at her from behind the mountain. A wolf was singing near her ear. It filled her with a sense of unease. It arrested her heart.

Someone was knocking at her window. She was halfway to her door when she woke up. She stood there trembling as a key turned in the lock and the door flew open. Her brother hurried in with a brown paper bag in the crook of one arm.
"I'm late. Sorry."
"It's okay, Max." she smiled and moved to touch his arm, but he edged away and went into the kitchen. She frowned at his retreating back and followed him. He set the bag down on the counter and stared at her. Still keeping his distance, she noticed.
"How bad was it?"
"Same as always," she shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant. What the hell was he trying to hide?
He pulled a Styrofoam cup from the bag and pushed it toward her. "You're bouncing back quicker these days. You were less shaky than usual when I came in the door."
She turned to him abruptly. "What's that?"
Max looked down at the cup he'd set in front of her. "Coffee."
“What's in the bag, Max?"
His fingers closed over the edges of the bag. He pulled it closer to his side of the counter.
“I'm hungry enough to fight you for it."
"Okay," He grinned and shoved the bag toward her.
Reina crowed with delight. "Raspberry scones!"

She popped a piece into her mouth and moved to the window. The cute guy who worked in the deli downstairs always showed up about now. It was a little ritual of hers to watch him walk down the street. She lifted the blinds and glanced at her brother. "So, is this what you're hiding from me today?"
He tensed for just a fraction of a second, but then he smiled. "Well, you do have a tendency to ruin a surprise."
She glanced over at him. "You know, you left your car unlocked."
"Am I going to get robbed?"
"Not today."
The sunlight was blinding. She hummed under her breath as the deli guy vanished around the corner.  She frowned and looked askance at her brother. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He seemed so tired.
"Katrin left you?" Her revelation caught him off guard.
"I don't want to talk about that right now." He said it quietly, almost making her sorry she'd asked.
They must have fought about her again - because Reina was so dependent on Max. Because so much of his time revolved around keeping her safe.
"I'm sorry," she began...
"Don't worry about it. Listen, I've got to get to work. When's your next appointment at the institute?" He chucked her chin playfully as he passed her by, for no other reason than that he knew how much she hated it.
She grimaced. "Thursday."
"I'll give you a ride, okay?"
"Thanks." She called out to him as he went out.

Once Max left, Reina slipped into her daily routine. She had a long shower, watered her plants and went for a long walk. On the way home she stopped at the flower shop and bought another orchid. She whiled the rest of the day away reading a book that she'd found at the laundromat a week before.  When it was time for her nighttime routine, she took her pills for headaches, pills for sleeping and the pills that kept her legs useless while she slept. She fell asleep wondering why she had bought that ugly orchid. It wasn't even the one that she'd wanted.

She dreamed again she was a little girl, that day she had played hooky from church. She was six years old and kneeling over a puddle of water. It had rained that morning and the hem of her white church dress was caked with red mud. Her fingers gave that gentle push at the side of a paper boat. Ripples expanded across the surface of the puddle. The paper boat capsized. The sky darkened. An old woman in a faded red shawl was sitting beside her. Her crooked, bare feet sank into Reina's mud puddle. She stared through intent, hard black eyes.
"Well?" she demanded, "Aren't you ready yet?"
Terrified, Reina backed away but the woman and her foul breath followed. She seemed to be expecting an answer.
"Ready for what?" Reina asked, hating the scared tremor in her voice.
"I don't understand!" she gasped, just stammering the first thing that came to mind.
The hag grabbed at her arms in exasperation. The long skeletal fingers cut painfully into her skin. As cruel as steel, they were not at all the hands of an old woman. They weren't human. Those malevolent eyes held her paralyzed. Reina's heart ran wild with panic.
"I want to wake up now," she whimpered.
The old woman backed away. And suddenly, they were in the present. Reina's cautious eyes followed her as she paced the length of the kitchen.
"Who will take my place?" the woman asked mournfully. "Who will hear it when the thunderbird returns?"

Sullen, she reached over to the kitchen counter and broke off a piece of the new orchid and sniffed it. "I wasn't going to hurt you," she grumbled.
Reina didn't believe her but her breath had steadied and her heart had stopped its crazed hammering.
"Dreams lie." She tried for a sneer but could only muster up a shaky half frown.
The crone tossed the flower to the floor in anger. For a moment, it seemed she would lunge at Reina again. Instead she sighed and shrugged. "So wake up then."

Reina found herself alone in her bed. The air conditioning had filled the apartment with sweet orchid scents. An inexplicable sense of loss crept over her. She was filled with an insatiable wanting she couldn't identify. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was somewhere she was supposed to be, or should have been a long time ago. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a very long time.
By the time Max came around to wake her, Reina was rushing to pack. She didn't notice his shocked and confused expression. She was far too agitated.
Finally, she took notice of her brother, who was simply standing there and staring at her as if she'd grown a second head.
"When did I first start having the dreams?"
Her question took him by surprise. He didn't see what relevance it could possibly have to whatever it was she thought she was doing. He decided to tread carefully and was slow to answer.
"I think it was about a week before Mom's accident. Why are you asking me this?"
Her eyes flew to his. She smiled in an attempt to reassure him, but her excitement was still palpable. "I started having visions right around then too right?"
"No," he said. "They came after…"
That gave her pause. "The dreams came first?"
She turned to Max. "Why would they would just stop for five years and then suddenly come back to haunt me? It doesn't make sense does it? They weren't supposed to be nightmares. I think the old woman is real."
She paused in her task of struggling to close up an engorged backpack. "That's why my dreams seemed so real. It makes sense doesn't it? Anyway, the way I see it is the first time she came to me it was to help me, but it didn't work."
As she went back to tugging at the bag's zipper her thoughts took another turn. "Or, maybe it did work. We were supposed to be with her that day, you know - Mom. But I had gotten my dress all muddy, and we had to stay home with Dad.
Her brother sighed.  "Reina, not this again!  It's not your fault. Would it have been better if we'd gone to church and died with her?"
"I know," she said. "It's been six years, I might be too late but I have to find it. Help me with this thing will you?"

He was already gripping the sides of the bag together when he came to his senses. "No, Reina. Look at me. What the hell are you thinking?"
Her heart sank. She was really hoping they could have skipped this bit.
"Max, I can't spend the rest of my life letting you take care of me like this."
Her life really was pitiful, as it was, spending no more than three hours a day outdoors. Any more than that and all the sensations drifting into her would start driving her insane. She couldn't see herself spending the rest of her life like that, hiding away from what was inside of her.
"I know I'm the reason Katrin left you. I don't blame her. I wouldn't want that sort of responsibility either. Caring for a grown woman."
He  grabbed at her arm roughly. He needed to do something. Have her sedated and taken to the psychiatric ward again. Something…
Reina jerked his hand away, glaring at him accusingly. "Don't you dare even think about it. I would rather die!" she yelled and, showing her fury, shoved him.
But he grabbed at her arms and wouldn't let go.
"You're my sister. I have to take care of you. That's the way it works! Now, I don't care what Katrin wants. She has no say in this!"
"But I do. Dammit, Max I'm not an invalid!"
He paled at the determined light in her eyes. He tightened his grip.
"So what? You're going to run away just to prove you can take care of yourself? Chasing after some phantom proves that you're sound in mind? You need help. You need my help."
His wounded mockery stung. Her eyes smarted.
"Why do we always end up right back at this place?  Yesterday, everything was fine. What happened to make you want to ruin everything again? We have a good life, don't we? I take good care of you, don't I?"

This had been building up for a while, the sheer frustration that he'd never voiced before.  His own doubts about her sanity.  There was resentment there too.  She made things difficult.  Every time there'd been some sense of normalcy within reach, she'd turned eveything upside down.  His eyes were a little wild and mean. It was a side of him she hadn't experienced before but should have known was always there. He was getting red in the face with fury, it poured out of him in waves into her. He was a big guy. He stood two feet taller and weighed almost twice as much as she did. She hadn't been troubled by that before. For the barest instant she feared for her life as his grip tightened, bruising her arms. Shaken, she whispered, "Max, you're hurting me."
He let go abruptly and backed away shakily.
"Jesus… Reina. I'm sorry." He moved away to sit down in a chair across the room.

She hefted her bag unto her back. For a moment she considered staying out of striking distance, but she went to him. She knelt before him, an amazing feat, since she felt like there was a ton of bricks on her back. His face was averted. She touched his cheek, her palm coming away soaked with tears.
"It's okay. I think I understand. Don't worry. I'm going to be fine, I promise. So are you."
She kissed him, lingering perhaps a little longer than a sister should but she needed to see, if only to reassure herself... Katrin still loved him. He was going to be all right.
A horn sounded outside.
"My cab's here."
She sighed when he wouldn't look at her. Her arms still hurt like hell but she managed to get herself on her feet and to the door.
"Don't hate yourself for this Max," She murmured, "I couldn't stand it if you did."
With a backward glance and a halfhearted wave she slipped out the door. She wondered if she would ever see her brother again.
It was still dark as the greyhound bus pulled out of the depot. The sleeping town was smoky and mysterious like a painted woman. She loved those moments when it was still dark, before the sun scrubbed away all the falsehoods - before you couldn't help but notice the nakedness, the sagging breasts and curved belly. She didn't know where she was going. But for the first time in years, she closed her eyes and slept peacefully.  She slept for hours. When she dreamed, it was of herself as a child staring across that puddle and into the eyes of an old woman with kind eyes and a motherly smile.

"We have to do this, you know." The old woman whispered conspiratorially. "We are the Gatherer. We are the arms and legs of the earth. We collect the forgotten things. We are the spirit. We are the heart."

A week later, Reina found the mountain from her dream - the one with the morning star behind it. Events were a whirlwind in her memory. The greyhound bus, like a clumsy beetle had trundled past wastelands and wetlands. She'd been entranced by gloomy swamps and lazy acres of drooping mangrove. She'd been bored to near death on the endless highways. Had laughed like an idiot when she saw her first honest to god tumbleweed rolling down a hapless Arizona street. Had sent Max a postcard from every city she visited. And now, farther from civilization than she’d ever been, had simply started walking when the car she'd rented two days earlier wheezed and died in the middle of Nowhere, USA.

She didn't stop until she was finally standing in a spot where the earth smelled different, cleaner and more vibrant. The gritty dust hung heavy on her tongue but she didn't care. She drank in the silence. There was no more chaos. No more of the alleyways and barely civilized multitudes and their troubles crowding in on her mind. Out here, she could even hear the earthworms under her feet. A flash of movement on the mountain slope caught her eye. She glimpsed a sliver of red weaving through the trees. The old woman?  Abandoning logic, Reina gave chase. The earth crumbled beneath the toes of her sneakers. It was dark under the canopy of trees. The sun hadn't yet come to that side of the hill. That didn't bother Reina. She kept up the chase till she came to the mouth of a cave. Undaunted, she ducked into the dark opening. She laughed like a child who'd just found the most amazing treasure.
She called out, "Are you here?"

There was only silence. Her words reverberated along the cave walls. She fumbled around in her backpack for a tiny flashlight. She shone it around, a little confused by what she was looking at. There were bones everywhere. A chill ran up and down her spine. There were bones hanging from the walls in baskets made from twigs and bones tied together like marionette puppets with gossamer strings. She wildly cast the light about the ground to find partially reassembled skeletons of small woodland animals. There were even bones stacked neatly in perfect little cubes. Bits and pieces of Reina's distress escaped form her lips. A ragged sigh. A strangled moan.

Something in another corner caught her eye. The outline of the old woman curled up asleep on the ground. For the moment, she decided to forget about the bones. She walked toward the sleeping figure.
"There you are," she murmured. "It's taken just about forever, but I finally got here."
As she knelt to wake the woman, the sun dipped low along the hill and filled the cave with crimson light. Reina found herself touching the bones of someone who must have died almost a decade ago. She was too late. Six years too late, was her immediate guess. She smoothed the frayed edges of the red shawl and let the tears come. When she had cried her fill she took a good look around at all the dead things. They weren't so frightening anymore. In fact they seemed to make perfect sense, if one's vocation was to preserve the forgotten things in the world. She almost laughed out loud at the sight of a red and black plaid coffee thermos, covered in cobwebs. The cave was cool and dry. It had probably been as good a place as any to live in.
"Well, I'm here," she murmured again to the dead woman's bones.
The light turned golden and started to fade. She went to sit at the mouth of the cave. It wasn't so bad, she had to admit. Her head wasn't full of voices anymore. That was good. There was a gray wolf with piercing black eyes standing outside, watching her. No room left for surprise, she simply sat and glared.
"Problem?"
The wolf stared drolly at her then hunkered down on its haunches with a resigned growl.
"Thanks, I guess," she whispered softly as an afterthought.  
Ever so softly she began to sing a wordless, timeless song. It was for the old woman, and for her bones. It was a song for herself, the girl who had finally just found herself... for what it was worth.

The road home is long and winding. It's not endless. It is never that.

© Tonya R. Moore | Editorial Credit: Clayton Bye, May 2009.