by SM Reine
Directly inside the door stood a low desk, crafted of the same heavy, dark wood as the baseboards. A bowl of river stones and a candle were its only ornaments.
Behind it, a young Caucasian man with a shaved head and orange robes sat in a folding chair. The way his eyes lit up in wide-eyed eagerness told me he was probably human.
“Can I help you, sisters?” He looked at me first. Spotting Chandre then, he did a double-take, and grinned. “Sister Chandre! India has missed you, my friend!”
I raised an eyebrow in Chandre’s direction, fighting a smile.
Ignoring me, she bowed to the human, her hands at prayer position.
“Hello, James, and peace. We have an audience with the Teacher.”
James beamed. “Lucky you! Shall I call ahead?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “But thank you.”
I stared at her, mouth open in disbelief.
Chandre called humans “worms” most of the time, when she wasn’t ordering them around like robots programmed to do her bidding. She gave me a cold look, motioning for me to follow her up the stairs. I bowed awkwardly to cousin James right before I did. The whole bowing thing was pretty weird to me still.
Once we’d climbed a few steps, Chandre spoke under her breath through gritted teeth.
“We are in a construct now. I would appreciate if you kept your thoughts civil.”
“Sure,” I said agreeably.
I felt her irritation through the construct and smiled.
At the top of the stairs stood an opening in the wall covered with a tapestry of yet another sprawling blue and gold sun, bisected by a white sword. Grasping one edge of the heavy cloth, Chandre slipped through the opening she created and vanished.
After a bare hesitation, I followed.
I straightened inside a low-ceilinged room covered in bamboo mats.
Open windows revealed a dramatic view of the Himalayas and a tree-filled valley housing the rest of Seertown, covered over in prayer flags like a roosting flock of brightly colored birds. Against the wall, a handful of collar-less seers wore Western clothes, talking silently amongst themselves and gesturing with their hands.
Closer to me and the door, another group of seers stood in a loose ring, wearing sand-colored robes. The man from the framed picture stood in the middle.
He turned as I dropped the tapestry behind me, staring at me. His eyes shone a piercing black, utterly still, yet carrying so much light I found it difficult to hold his gaze.
Without waiting, he crossed the ten or twelve feet to the door.
I took in his angular, unlined face, a little taken aback by his height. I didn’t move until he pulled me in his arms, lifting me off the floor. Squeezing me tightly and then letting go, he laughed aloud at my strangled sound, his teeth straight and white, dark eyes bright with tears as he drank in my face.
“You are here at last!” he said in perfect English, patting my shoulder in an awkward overflow of emotion. “I am very, very pleased! Very pleased!”
I could only nod, stunned by his tears.
“You are welcome here,” he said. “Most welcome!”
I felt my face warm, fumbled with something to say that wouldn’t be completely inappropriate...
And heard a derisive snort.
I turned my head towards the sound.
Amongst the seers wearing Western clothing and sitting by the wall, a male in a black T-shirt with shoulders like a gymnast watched me with Vash, his full mouth curled in an ironic frown. I felt his light on me and flinched. My cheeks flushed at what lived in that single, darting probe. Feeling my reaction, that same male gave me a sideways smile, glancing at the two seers sitting beside him, who stopped staring at me long enough to smile with him.
The first one’s light stayed by me though.
I felt him explore, felt a flicker of surprise from him at what he found, but couldn’t interpret its meaning. When I met his gaze the second time, his chocolate-brown eyes shifted away. He nodded to Chandre in passing as she sat among them, and the moment ended.
Glancing up at Vash, I saw a hint of a smile in his black eyes.
“You must be very tired,” he said kindly.
“You have no idea,” I said.
That night I curled up on a foam mattress on the floor.
A sheet lay over me, covered in sheep and cow skins, soft and warm and smelling comfortingly of animal. Through the wooden slats of the windows over where I lay, I could see mountains framed by moonlight and white clouds, stars just visible at the edges of the moon’s glow. Monkeys called to one another occasionally in the trees, screeched and scuffled over the roofs, their black paws scoring the bamboo.
Mostly, though, it was quiet.
Lying there in the dark, feeling crippled me, more than I’d had to contend with in what felt like months. Maybe being in the home of a bunch of monks, stationary at last––and sober for a change––I should have expected for things to come crashing down on me. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d been stripped naked with a paring knife and left to feel every breeze and drop of sweat over my open wounds.
The construct exuded a simple warmth that worsened the feeling. Even the Himalayas amplified it, until something inside me started to unclench, so quickly and effortlessly that I couldn’t pull back the threads.
By the time the monkeys’ footsteps receded, the middle of my chest throbbed as it had on those cold shores in Alaska.
I couldn’t breathe, but my mind remained dead silent.
The moon rose, and I was still awake, despite being exhausted. I lay there and watched as the valley filled with a soft, penetrating light.
Somewhere in that silence, I started to cry.
Once I started, it was difficult to stop.
...yet somehow, I am asleep.
I find him easier this time.
He seems almost to be waiting for me.
He is alone here, as he always is. Just like every time before, I feel him, but I can’t quite reach where he is. He floats like a corpse surrounded by gray curtains, and we touch one another through the morphing fabric, fighting to get closer, but we can’t.
Before I understand where we are, we are kissing, like we are most of these nights.
I feel him more once we start, but it’s not enough...it’s never enough. Our mouths are careful, hands and fingers deliberate through the same thin fabric. When I slide into his light this time it is fast, a slow groan before he opens, letting me nearer than usual, until I almost feel him, until he seems almost real. He is pulling on me then, asking me, but I can’t...
I can’t give him what he wants.
A kind of desperation grips me. He wants to give me things, too. He tries, in his own way. Images and sensations weave into his light, his legs between mine, his weight on me, until it feels like he’s inside me, like we are...
But it will only make things worse when he leaves.
I’m tired of this. Tired of fighting and losing him. Tired of looking and never being sought. He left me. He left me before he left. He enters me now like a thief, because I’m all he has.
He pauses, raising his head.
...and the man with the chocolate-brown eyes stares back, only now he isn’t smiling.
Lowering his head, he kisses me without hesitation, picking up where Revik left off. It feels different, and not only because I don’t know him. The curtain evaporates, revealing warm light...a different body, less-cautious hands, unambiguous intent.
His arms and chest are larger, his hands smaller, his lips fuller, his tongue thicker. The way he kisses is different. He doesn’t wait for me to ask, barely waits for my answer. His hand slides into the crook of my knee, fingers caressing my thigh as he pulls my leg around his waist. He is inside me, and I hear him groan. He kisses me again...
I feel him breathing hard in the dark, in another room, naked under rough skins, and I know suddenly that it’s not all a dream.
Somewhere, Revik watches.
I know it’s not real, that he’s not here anymore.
He’s dead...I know that.
Yet somehow, it still feels like a betrayal.
23
CHALLENGE
I got up before dawn.
When I left the empty sleeping quarters and wandered outside into new light, the man with the chocolate-colored eyes was the first person I saw. He sat on a wooden step, smoking a hiri, one of the seer cigarettes, a cup of chai resting by his thigh.
I’d spent the night in a sort of cottage, one of many rimming a wide courtyard just below Vash’s main house. Most of the complex lived in a hill directly beneath the main entrance through which I’d entered the day before. Before me now, the courtyard spread out on a large clearing of grass and dirt below the largest of those street-facing buildings. In the center stood a circle of flat white rocks surrounded by crab grass and white-painted stone cairns. Paths dotted with smaller shrines and shade trees radiated outwards. Even in the dawn chill, milling seers littered those same paths, talking in a mixture of languages and hand gestures.
I wondered why they bothered to speak aloud at all, and why there were so many more men than women...then noticed the man with the brown eyes staring at me.
Watching those eyes linger on my bare feet, I made up my mind.
I approached him deliberately, walking straight up to where he sat on the wooden stoop. He didn’t stand up when I reached him, and I didn’t sit, but we eyed one another silently.
Unwillings, a voice said in my mind.
I jumped a little. “What?”
You wondered why there are no women. They are sold faster. A bigger market for unwillings. You should know that, Esteemed Bridge.
He took a drag of the seer cigarette, blowing out a perfect smoke ring as he waited for me to catch up. His smile turned wry.
And we speak for the same reason all beings speak, Esteemed Bridge. To be heard.
“Do you speak English?” I said. “Aloud, I mean.”
His lips slid upwards in a perceptible smile. “Yes.”
He had an accent, but I couldn’t place it beyond Asian.
He studied my face, right before his brown eyes flickered down over the thin cotton pants I wore, pausing again on my bare feet.
“Did you...” His smile widened. “...Sleep well, Esteemed Bridge?”
I folded my arms tighter. I motioned towards his sidearm, visible under his jacket. “I take it you’re not a complete pacifist?”
“Does this offend you, Esteemed Bridge?”
I ignored his smile. “You know how to fight, then? Mulei?”
He smiled again, nodding once. “Yes.”
“Could you teach me?”
I glanced over my shoulder at the other seers in the courtyard. It hadn’t escaped my notice that a number of them stood closer to us than they had a few seconds earlier, that they continued to inch closer to listen to me and the brown-eyed seer talk. Feeling my jaw tighten a little, I looked back at the smoking seer, shifting my weight on my feet.
“...I need lessons,” I added.
Curiosity flared in his eyes, just visible beneath the amusement. “Why me?”
I sighed, then answered honestly. “You seem like you’d like to hit me. I figured I’d try harder.”
The male seer stared at me. Then he burst into a genuine laugh. He stood up, and while he wasn’t as tall as Revik, I stepped back in alarm.
His smile widened. “Yes,” he said. “I would like to hit you, Bridge. But I need to know if you are worth teaching, first.” He flipped the jacket off his muscular shoulders, exposing a worn gray shirt that stretched over his chest.
When he caught my stare, his smile grew into a grin.
“What do I get, if I put you down?” His eyes flickered down over my body again. He gestured towards it vaguely. “Will you let me take care of that thing of yours? The problem your Rook mate left you?”
I didn’t ask what he meant.
“No,” I said. Thinking, I added, “You’ve got two minutes. If I’m still standing, you’ll teach me. You’ll also stay the hell out of my head at night.”
I hesitated, then figured what the hell.
“...Everything else has to be negotiated separately. Clear?”
His eyes lit up at my words, but he only nodded, stubbing out the hiri with the toe of one threadbare yellow sneaker.
“Okay.” He stepped towards me, bouncing a bit on his heels. “I accept.”
“What’s your name?” I said, when he began to circle me.
“Maygar.” He glanced up from where he’d been looking at my body again. “I should tell you. I was assigned a new job today, Bridge.”
“And what was that, Maygar?”
He darted forward, moving so fast I didn’t see anything but a shadowed blur before my vision went red, then abruptly white. I reeled back, fighting to recover from a solid left cross to my right cheek. I ducked as he went for me again, then kicked out, catching him in the stomach hard enough to push him back with the ball of my foot.
He laughed, but gave me the ground.
When he got closer again, I looked for an opening...any opening.
“...I’m your new bodyguard,” he said, winking.
He darted forward again, even as it occurred to me that I’d just made a really big mistake.
“More tea?” Vash said, raising the dented pot.
I sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. My face hurt. My arms, hands and legs were bruised, too, and even my tailbone where it perched on a bamboo mat. Two seers had brought in a platter covered with tea, cream, honey and a plateful of small sandwiches, laying everything out on a dark red cloth spread between me and the ancient seer.
I fought the impulse to touch my face in places I could feel the flesh rising. I wanted ice, but hadn’t asked for that either.
Looking out at the rain falling lightly over the mountains, I glanced reluctantly at the seers sitting around us in a symmetrical ring.
Against the far wall sat Maygar and his friends. Amusement showed on more than one face. I felt their lights flicker around mine like curious moths, woven through with faint flavors of sexuality. When I caught Maygar’s gaze unintentionally, he winked at me, kissing the air before tapping his temple with a forefinger.
Tonight, he whispered in my mind.
Taking a mouthful of cucumber sandwich, I chewed, gripping a tea cup in my other hand. More than anything, I wished it held coffee.
Vash laughed, startling me.
“Of course! You are American now!”
He glanced at another seer, who rose at once and disappeared through a cloth-covered doorway.
“Is this Indian breakfast?” I said.
His lips twitched in humor. “Elevenses, perhaps.”
Fans rotated overhead with round, leaf-like blades, pushing cool, rain-smelling air through the room.
Vash patted my knee. “How do you like India, dear friend?”
“I like the cows.” I looked around at the smooth-faced seers, avoiding Maygar’s corner. “Am I a prisoner here?”
Vash swept his smile away. “Not at all.” His voice grew troubled. “Do you wish to leave?” Leaning closer, he asked in barely a whisper, “...Or perhaps you would like some ice?”
I glanced around at the expressionless seers. “I want to find my brother,” I said, reddening. I plowed on. “And my friend, Cass. They’re missing.”
“Are you so sure they are not dead?”
He didn’t say it to mock me, or to screw with me, I could tell. Even so, my jaw seemed to stick in my sandwich. Setting my tea cup down on the tray, I forced myself to swallow what was left in my mouth. I cleared my throat, looking directly into Vash’s eyes.
“No. I need to know for sure, though. Maybe that’s stupid, but—”
“Ah.” Vash’s dark eyes grew thoughtful. “I was not implying that.” He paused. “Do they have meaning, these numbers? The ones I see around you now?”
I glanced away from Maygar
, looking up at Vash.
“What?” Watching Vash’s nearly black eyes stare intently over my head, I felt my chest constrict, even though I saw nothing but curiosity in his gaze. “No. Well...I don’t think so.” I paused, then tried to be more honest. “Really, I have no idea.”
“Ah,” Vash said. “Pity.”
He smiled at me, and his long, white face erupted in fine wrinkles. “Your husband mentioned to me that your prescience often expresses itself in your art.” He paused, as if waiting. “Is that true, Esteemed Bridge...?”
“My...” I repeated numbly.
“...Husband, yes. Dehgoies Revik.”
He smiled again as I fumbled for a facial expression. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d misunderstood me on purpose.
His eyes grew kind.
“Of necessity, we spoke often of your latent abilities,” he said, patting my knee affectionately. “Truthfully, we often argued about this, too. He had difficulty understanding why you were not pulled for training sooner.” Noting my bewilderment, he smiled wider. “Ah. This surprises you! Yes. Revik was not always the most forthcoming man.”
Before I could answer, the seer with the bare feet reentered the room, holding a steaming cup that smelled deliciously of dark roast coffee. He set it down by my bent knee, bowing to me with one raised palm, like a salute.
“Thanks,” I said to him, and then to Vash, meaning it. Taking another sniff of the coffee, I raised the paper cup and sipped carefully. “I draw pyramids,” I told him. “Chandre tells me it’s a depiction of the Rooks’ network. You want me to go get them?”
Vash continued to study my eyes. “Perhaps later.”
For a long moment, we just listened to the rain. I sipped more coffee.
Eventually, I cleared my throat.