“I know I will never understand you. I know that what separates us is a chasm equal to the land and the air. But ...” Whispers said by Leander with such tenderness, but what did he expect from her? What could she promise that was not impossible to uphold?
She wanted to understand Leander. With her gaze on his, he stepped closer, wanting to show her how he cared, but not knowing how to except with words of truth.
“Let me protect you from harm. Each time you leave it is if I lay exposed and the thought of losing you crushes me.”
Shaking her head in negation, her hair fell back from her shoulders. Her heart caved, for she wanted him. But he could not save Dio’s daughter, and Nyx knew he could not save her. Therefore, she had to push him away, for she feared that if he failed another under his protection, the loss would destroy him. “You cannot keep me safe, you cannot shelter me from the outside. For that is when life ends, when fear overrides and hope is no longer possible.”
“You cannot keep me safe,” she repeated, chiding herself for the words but unable to stop their flow. She had to separate herself from him for he blurred things even more than fear could. If she was to turn, if she was to be a Chaot, she could not allow him to be close to her. She did not want to hurt him. She had to push him away. She had to protect him. “I am not yours to save.”
Leander nodded somberly in acceptance. He was a soldier, and his deepest instinct was to safeguard what was important to him. Normally it had been to preserve what the world government deemed primary, but for the first time he found something of his own will that he desired to protect, for the first time since losing Dio’s daughter. Nyx’s bitter denial of his affections roused rejection in his heart. Only the truth came; she had no use in lying whether in viciousness or in a well-intentioned equivocation. She did not want him, he believed. And so Leander started toward where Hector headed off, no longer able to converse without showing his true emotions, his hurt. He motioned for her to follow in silent gesture. Dio stayed in the rear. Megaira moved ahead to share the location-based positions, eyeing Nyx on her way.
“Come night,” Megaira said under her breathe as she walked past. Though truly Nyx did not care about nor fear her threats.
They continued for hours. Sweat dripped down their faces, washing away the dust and dirt of the cave. And in the passing of every minute with no symptoms, Nyx knew she must be in the clear. She began to wonder if she should have said those things to Leander, wishing to protect him from her. The tension thickened between the two and an unrequited desire brewed to a boil in her. Finally after miles of silence, steps were heard from behind. Leander stopped, aiming his weapon towards the oncoming movement with one arm and putting his other in front of her. The inherent tendency to protect surfaced in him, even after their prior interchange. But instead of the grotesque glimpse of the infected, Dio came into view.
“Hey, how come you guys have all the fun when I’m back here covering your asses?” A jolly voice bolstered out. Leander holstered his gun, saying nothing in reply. Looking to Nyx then Leander, Dio could guess at the heartbreak stirring in his commander. He could also probably guess what Leander, and even Nyx herself, could not: she cared for him, despite her words.
Another tremor whispered in the trees, this time in front of them. Again, Leander removed his gun, only again to have a false alarm as Hector came to view this time.
“A waterfall is ahead,” Hector said, looking to the three. His somber gaze was heavy upon her, almost as if no emotion brewed in him. She had believed something had stirred between herself and Hector at the cave: comradeship, fellowship, kinship. The wall dividing the warrior from Nyx crumpled as a friendship budded. She hoped it was not already lost. She searched his face, remembering the feel of her hand taking his as they fled from the underground. Remembering how he said her name after the horror that confronted them. If only she could see the common threads that interlaced them. But Hector stood solid, emotion could not be allowed on the battlefront, as he continued. “It will be a good place to set up camp for night is coming.”
In the darkness they shall hunt, when light no longer can prevail.
Silence. Now it was three that Dio looked between, trying to think of a way to lighten the mood. Finally, he spoke, humor being one human trait that often outlasted the strongest adversary to atrocity. “Sounds good. It will be nice to take a swim as well. Not that the dirt takes away any of your allure, sweet nymph,” Dio said in jest as he half bowed to her but then immediately turned his gesture to Hector. “And especially none of yours.”
Nyx smiled in return understanding that wit served to say what never could be. The remorse will always be there, underneath the layers of humor; however, Dio would always be there for her as well, even with the gap between their beliefs. Standing to the side of Hector, she interloped her hand through his uncompromising arm. She felt him tense underneath her touch; not fueled by desire like she had felt from Leander, but rather uncertainty in the face of friendship. Or maybe he was still uncertain of her prognosis.
“My guardian from the likes of the satyr,” she said, smiling to Dio. “Hector, you will protect me from this drunken goatman, will you not?”
“Of course, milady.”
Dio laughed at the seriousness of Hector’s reply amidst the humor of the conversation. Tightening her clasp on him, she moved with the warrior away from the others. Leander’s expression remained hard regardless of the humor, his heart still unsettled. She saw this too, and knew she had to give him space. Therefore, she followed Hector to the fountain he had discovered. First the thundering song of the waterfall came to their ears, followed soon after by the visage. The brilliance of Hector’s discovery laid hidden in tangles of green, only for the worthy to find.
“You surely can find diamonds in coal, my savior,” she said to Hector mesmerized by the beauty before them. But his attention was not on the water, it was on the one at his side.
“Nyx, you need no warrior nor savior. From what I have witnessed you endure fearlessly all that you come across. You run alone. And I thank the gods that the blood on you truly was your own and not Chaot, for I had thought—and feared—otherwise.”
He had believed the blood was hers. She wanted to tell him otherwise, but was worried what that would incite, and if it would lead to her becoming a lab rat.
“Yet, you still helped me escape from the cave?”
“I would have helped you escape even from the depths of the Underworld.”
Silence unleashed itself upon her, for his response was something that she had not expected. She thought he still stood behind an unbreakable barrier, but he did not. So many of those she had met had wished her to be confined in some way, even if they believed it was for her own good. But Hector was different, he saw not a fawn whose girth could not withstand life, but rather he saw her, as she had seen him. Camaraderie cemented between them.
Except one thing he erred in: If she was fearless, why did she hold onto the lie that it was her blood. She hated to hide the truth, but she could not tell him when she did not even know the whole truth herself. If no one could be immune, what was she? And if she was truly fearless, why then did she fear her feelings toward Leander?
Chapter Thirteen
Jagged stones surrounded a transparent, glistening pool of water and river. An adjacent waterfall thundered and smoothed the rocks beneath its path. Vines suffocated the girth of the waterfall while birch trees dipped in precarious angels around its shore. Nyx peeled off filth encrusted clothes without thought of proper etiquette. Seeing what she was doing, Hector turned to give her privacy and watch for the others as she undressed. When a splash was heard signaling her departure into the waters, he turned again but did not join her. Rather like a frozen gargoyle, he kept a protective watch.
“I’ll be fine,” she called out. She hated to be watched, though even more so she hated to watch Hector forgo the joys life can give. He nodded in leave, and headed back towards the others.
A
lone, she ducked her head underwater, going deeper beneath the crystal waves. She let the current seize and toss her about, wishing it to wash away the bygone of the conflicts. Lips opened, allowing water to enter and rinse her mouth from the rancid vestige of the infected blood and letting the current take it away.
The prion imposed no prison to her soul. Perhaps the pathogen was no longer contagious or able to jump from host to host. The potency of the prion may have diminished over time. Soon it would die away as the last Chaot fell. Its fate to be the same as its victims—damned.
A chance remained that immunity protected her. However, Megaira had said that no one could be resistant. Either death or transformation followed the initial exposure she had said. The chance that Nyx alone was impervious to the disease seemed unlikely. Yet she still indulged the thought as her body sank deeper into the water’s permeable cold. Maybe she was too different from the other humans, therefore, the prion could not infect her. She lived without barriers preventing her actions, and so the disease could not manifest itself, for she was already wild.
Or maybe her past sealed away the answers. She had never even asked herself why she could not remember it.
The water overtook her, pulling her further into its girth. What the tide did to her body, an epiphany did to her mind. A hypothesis formed: maybe it was possible that she had been a Chaot. That was why she had no memories before the beach. It was why she often acted solely off impulse—a remnant of what she had been. But then she was somehow cured.
It would complete the puzzle, solving why the Chaot’s blood did not affect her. Though the piece fit perfectly, explaining so much, it did not make sense to her.
Memories resurfaced of when she explored the room in the Victorian house. When she had found the child’s book, she had imposed her own memories to the faded pages. Memories of when she had once read Where the Wild Things Are. But it was not simply the visual recollection, she also unearthed a feeling. She had always been uninhibited, finding affinity with the small boy when he initially set off to explore the realm of the wild. Even as a child, she was uncontrolled and unintimidated by the ways and wariness of society. And those memories were from before the outbreaks had occurred, making her hypothesis questionable. Spirit and independence were not equivalent to the Chaot personality.
The water rippled as her head emerged, breaking through water and thoughts. Deeply she breathed in the air and looked out to see Leander dive into the pool fully clothed. He swam to her across the water in a graceful yet powerful stroke. As he closed the distance, she could see the wavering panic in his face.
“Gods, you gave me a heart attack; I thought you were drowning! You were under way too long.”
She swam near, wishing she could take away everything around, every barrier both real and emotional, to be with him. “Leander, I am sorry for before.”
“Don’t worry, Nyx. I’m just glad you are alright. You give me no rest,” he said and laughed in attempts to ease any of her guilt over what had happened between them.
“No rest for the wicked,” she said between breaths to replenish the air before diving under once more, making sure her kicks to submerge splashed Leander. No sooner had she gone under did she feel his hand grasp along her leg. His movements were playful, but she could not help but feel stirred by his caress. His grip turned firm as he tried to pull her up to him, but she managed to escape down in the netherworld of the deep, aided by the waters’ pervasiveness.
Ignoring the currents that separated them, she planned to dive deeper but the awareness of his body overpowered her. Needing air and hoping for clearness above, she kicked toward the surface. The water yielded to her emerging form; she breathed, yearning for lucidly but finding none. The pull toward Leander was stronger than any riptide, but she fought it. She faced away from him, to instead see the distant silhouettes of Hector and Megaira that were partially hidden by the trees. They were preoccupied with each other, pleasantly so. Hector had brushed the blonde hair of Megaira aside, letting his hand linger by her chin. She returned the gesture, warmth melting her cold persona. She could not find Dio, but he most likely rested amongst the forest’s splendor.
She heard the faint sounds of the captain swimming behind her, a soft discontinuance from the waterfall. Ripples broke around her from his movement. She could not understand her own intentions, whether to follow her primal attraction or be wary. In love one loses their freedom and freedom could never be lost, for it would mean death.
She swam away.
Getting to the shore, she climbed from the falls and dressed, seeing that Hector had left new clothes for her. Rather than go to the camp, she began to walk between the trees and away from Leander, to disappear into the forests—to again feel the winds—her solace of chaos.
Only for moments did she find respite from passion, as the ferns parted and Leander hurried to her side, having had first changed into fresh clothes himself. Relief came to his face as he saw her, but only for seconds it remained. Wind brushed along her form, giving her the beauty of the wild, punishing him with what never could be his.
“Nyx, who are you?”
He asked again as he had on the playground, though this time it was not to understand her shrouded origins. This time he asked to find what made her within. Why did she run untamed when all others clutched burdens to their souls? Why she was unlike them?
“I am me,” she said with a neutral expression; no emotion, trying to distance herself. To explain her capricious will in the same rhetoric as an explanation of the course of nature would have been insane. This was the fact, as she understood it. I am me. Why question, why turn away from it?
“Yes, but tell me more,” responded Leander.
“I’m the same as you.”
“I know,” he said, smiling at her sincerity as he lessened the distance between them, “that you are not. You survived surface side when no one else did. You look upon the Chaots like no other. You desire freedom more than anything else, yet you restrict yourself in order to protect it.”
“Let me in,” he continued. “Let me understand you.”
At first her expression painted confusion at his request. If he had felt how she had and sensed what she felt, there would be no need for her to explain herself to him. One cannot define indescribable emotions to someone else. It was almost impossible for her to comprehend his inner workings, and sometimes she looked at him wondering if he was truly real. If she could not understand him, how could she ever have him understand her.
Her touch came to him and trailed down his arm. Her repression failing, her urges demanding they be fulfilled. She cupped his hand before leading him to the gradually darkening, foreboding forest that captured her joy.
“You wish to know me. My impulses, my ideas, my joy. I cannot explain it, but I can show you… perhaps.”
Looking at his face for moments, she wondered exactly how one follows impulses. Her path had always been impromptu, on instinct and not planned. The exception was with Leander. She restrained her emotions toward him, unnerved by what would come. She was unbridled, he was the bridle, together they posed ambiguity. Perhaps if she could show him her own type of freedom, he would run by her side—wild—rather than impose the threat of the tame.
“Follow your impulses. Sometimes it is best not to ask why.”
Surely he would argue that in life one must ask why in order to understand the motives and outcome. Strong but vague impulses could not rule life for one must curb the id to live safely and under order. Uncontrollable chaos leads only to death and anarchy. However, flip the coin over and life becomes another way. Life is the moment rather than the sum of all of life’s possible tangents, it is when all those tangents of the future and past coalign into one. The present, the moment you live in, chaos itself.
He did not argue. He did not pull her back for fear of what lay ahead in the unprotected forests, whether it be Chaots or something else. He silenced himself to listen and allowed himself to simply experienc
e her in an attempt to understand the unpredictable.
“Just live. Live for moments, here, with me.”
She walked further still, Leander followed.
The forest quivered with each step they took, some maple trees hardy, some on the verge of collapse. Echoes surrounded them. Sounding off tree to tree in an ever-changing symphony of tone. Soon the words lost all meaning, as the resonance, blended with the forest’s sounds, endured. Eerie, but beautiful. Was it Echo who chased them as she had once did to her Narcissus? Wishing to warn them of dangers, but in the end failing.
Trees, personified as guardians, kept watch over those that invaded the territory of nature. In such unrefined glory they stood. They leaned in upon the two travelers. They hovered over them as a canvas’s border; walls without the imposed decor of the city homes. The trees reflected the King of the Wild Things’ room, as the walls fell away, climbing with vines. These forest’s walls did not segregate as the man-made ones, but opened many more doors than they closed.
Barely audible murmurs filtered through the forests. It could have been simply the wind against the branches. Or even Chaots in their distant screams of what remained of humanity. Despite the admonition, they continued.
“I hope it is living I do with you in this moment.”
Though he smiled, clearly enjoying their time together, his hand coddled his gun in case trouble did come along.
“If you never search for trouble, life would be repetitive.”
“Maybe, but life is more preferable than death,” he answered, “to me at least. I want to grow old and grey.”
“If I grow old as you wish, laden with cobwebs and the tedious, please dust me off,” she said, as the eclipse of trees grew darker now that the sun dropped below the tree line. “For you should never run in fear of the reaper, for you then allow death to dictate your life even before your time.”
The black shadows of night consumed her form as she walked ahead, hoping to lose Leander for moments. Turning, she circled back around the captain. She stalked as a huntress. Each step absorbed her weight evenly, not intruding upon the environment.
Crashing Tides Page 14