by Kade Cook
The right turn of the car takes them onto a long driveway that looks as if it is snow-covered. It is the middle of summer, so truly that was not the case, but the road stands out clear as day due to what Gabrian assumes are millions and millions of deliberately set white pebbles and stones upon the top of darkened earth beneath, covering all of it. The car slows just long enough for Broghen to reach into his pocket and press a button on a key chain then promptly return it to its hiding spot. A large metal bar lifts before the car and they proceed toward the homestead of the Elder of Isa.
Gabrian leans her head out the window a little more to get a better look.
The daffodil-crested entrance is followed with young pink and white rosebushes lined all the way down the driveway and up to the house which is large but not ridiculously big. It is modestly covered with weathered wooden shingles, much like houses along the Maine coast line. The appearance of an upper level—walled in on adjacent sides by mostly glass panes—gives way to the panoramic view of the ocean behind it. The house curves around to the right where the white-stoned drive ends and is replaced with a paved surface. On their immediate left is a shed, a building that seems to be filled with lawn equipment and yard tools. They slowly pass it by and stop in front of the red door—the entryway of Ashen’s home.
Once the car stops, Gabrian jumps out and closes the back door behind her as the others slowly peel themselves out of the bug’s innards. Noticing her reflection in the window, she is horrified. Hanging her head out of the window may have kept her from suffering in the car but it didn’t do much for her appearance. Her long, dark tangles of hair are exactly that, tangles—a wild mess of them.
Hearing new and more refined thoughts catch her mind’s attention, she knows that her new mentor is on her way out to greet them this very moment. Gabrian struggles to calm her chaotic mess of hair but not being able to win against nature’s elaborate touches to her mop, she pulls the long dark strands together and twists them hastily to the top of her head, tying them loosely with the band worn religiously around her left wrist. She will deal with untangling them later. Glancing down at her bent reflection one more time, she hears the latch on the front door click, somewhat satisfied with the captured mess above her head and turns to greet her host.
Gabrian strains her eyes, trying to recognize the tall and undeniable beauty that stands within the arches of her abode. Instead of the expected exquisite, well-groomed attire that she had become accustomed to of the well-respected Elder of Isa, she is greeted with a bright cheery grin, accompanied by a pair of loose jean overalls, a messy collaboration of white braided tassels all tied back with a pastel blue bandana, and an aura that seems more like a white snowy blizzard that haphazardly flows in no real direction.
The sight of the woman sends a painful lurch through Gabrian’s chest—not because of what she looks like but because of who she resembles. Even though the colour of the hair is light, not dark, and the skin resembles milk chocolate rather than the smooth colour of caramel, the look of the tumbled down relaxed-fit clothing of an artistic mind tears at Gabrian’s soul. Her arms ache, longing to reach out and hold her but she wills them to remain still. The mirage of her mother fades behind the wetness forming across the lower lid of her sight and the sweet welcoming words from a less familiar voice reaches out.
“Sorry I wasn’t able to meet you when you hit town. I had some work I needed to finish up but I am glad to see Broghen managed to get you all here in one piece,” she teases, giving the large mountain of a man a quick wink and wrinkles up the bridge of her nose at him, lightly draping her fingers over his bicep as she steps by him.
Gabrian’s eyes blink rapidly, trying to push away the moment of despair. She pulls herself back from the saddened daydream of missing her mother and stumbles forward toward her approaching host wearing a forced smile. “Yes, he did. Thank you for sending him.”
“But I am not quite sure the car is as appreciative of his deliverance,” Shane spits out, leaning on his arms atop of the green bug. “I think we may have to get the shocks checked before we head back to Maine.”
“Hey now, is that any way to talk about the man who is cooking you lunch?” Broghen chuckles, stepping up on his toes, and sweeps his arm across the top of the roof, cuffing the side of Shane’s head.
“All right you two, enough horseplay for now. You can mess around later,” Ashen scolds, walking to the front of the car. “Let’s get the luggage inside before you tear this poor girl’s vehicle apart.”
“Yes, dear,” the two men echo simultaneously while Shane leans over the hood and swipes Broghen across the ears in retaliation.
“We will let you all get settled in and cleaned up, and then we shall sit down and get some food in you.” Ashen grabs at whatever suitcases she can reach from within the trunk and strides toward the house. “I am sure you all must be starving.”
Gabrian’s pupils flare in response to her words. The thoughts of some raw flesh does sound appealing to her and it might help drown out the constant gnawing inside her skull that keeps telling her she needs to feed. She nods in concurrence and grabs the small blue plaid suitcase filled ridiculously full of her clothes in absence of knowing how long she will be here. Marching around the side of the car, she pulls free her maroon-coloured backpack from the backseat and heads toward the open front door, following Ashen’s lead.
The inside of the house is modest, decorated with abstract art and small bits of ancient Nordic sculptures accompanied by simple yet comfortable furniture. Everything is open and unconstrained by barriers and walls—even the kitchen is visible except for the large island that hovers within arms-length of the three main cooking appliances. A large tan L-shaped couch sits in the center of the room, overlooking the backside of the house made entirely of large glass panes. It exposes a majestic blue wall of water that looms halfway up the sky in the distance like a serene but moody overlord, one that could swallow them up without mercy at any moment. But it is a most stunning view of peril device as far as the eye could see.
Gabrian idles with her luggage in hand, hypnotized by the water’s luring beauty.
Ashen’s voice breaks through the silent trance as she returns from the hallway to the left. “I wasn’t sure of the sleeping arrangements so I am going to leave that up to you guys,” she says sheepishly, biting her fingers and looking around as if she has misplaced something. “I only have one spare room on the main floor but there is an open loft upstairs I use as my library. It has a large pull out couch that is quite comfortable as well as a large chaise, so...”
“That sounds perfect.” Gabrian jumps at the offer, thinking that it will be the best place for her. Isolating herself away from everyone else might be the most logical choice, just in case she might need a moment of solidarity.
“Excellent choice. I find myself drifting up there more times than not and on occasion greeted by the morning sun after having fallen asleep reading deep into the night,” she explains, making her way up the spiral brass stairwell that leads to Gabrian’s new room.
Cresting the top of the stairs, Gabrian’s sullen face lightens as warm golden rays shimmer down from the opening in the skylight above them. Everywhere she looks, it is light and open—life revolving around her from every direction—except for two support walls that shut out the sun, but still the solidity of them lights up the room just the same with their vast collection of worlds created and contained by the bindings of the covers that hold them securely within the books. It is indeed perfect, and she drops her bags in the center of it all, staking her claim to the room.
“So, I will let you get settled while I see to the others and to the food. Broghen is a master at cooking but he gets carried away sometimes when we have guests.”
Gabrian’s heart strings pull at her again in the all too similar gestures of her host but in appreciation. It makes her mouth curl upward in response to the woman’s aloof gentleness, not like she was expecting from an Elder. She guesses that everyone w
ears two faces when the world calls for it and her dance into the world of ice might not be as chilling as she once thought it would be.
Ashen moves toward the spiral staircase to begin her descent, pausing just for a moment. “I forgot to tell you there is a small stand-up shower just to the far corner behind the bookshelf. It’s nothing fancy but it works and there should be everything you need in there. If not, just let me know.”
“Oh, great. Thank you,” she eyes Ashen with a gentle gaze and continues with a lump in her throat, “thanks for doing this for me.”
Ashen’s blasé demeanor sweetens and her eyes twinkle to reflect a ray of sun streaming in above her. “Gabrian, we all need a little help understanding things sometimes. And the way I see it, not taking advantage of a chance to help someone is a wasted opportunity to witness one of life’s precious miracles.”
Gabrian bites the top of her bottom lip and nods her head as the words sink in.
“So, stop worrying so much, embrace your differences. It will be fun.” Ashen winks at the girl standing wrapped insecurely within her own arms. “You’ll see,” she chirps, disappearing down into the opening of the floor.
27
A SIMPLE TASK
THE SUCCULENT SMELL of flesh being charred upon an open flame wafts in through the opened windows of the loft and hits Gabrian’s nose as soon as she steps out of the small but functional shower enclosure. She lures most of the moisture from her long chocolate-coloured hair with the pink fluffy cotton towel left tucked underneath the wooden hutch just outside the bathroom. Her mouth waters when she picks up the hint of copper in the air, blood, or the remnants of what had seeped through the severed pores in the slabs of meat, still awaiting their fateful demise.
She hurries toward her plaid suitcase, retrieving her worn denim shorts and grey T-shirt, and notices a large black backpack leaning against the side of the chaise. Shane must have dumped it off while she was cleaning up then disappeared back downstairs where the festivities were, but she expected as much when she picked the room. Of course he would remain with her—where else would he stay? In a quick twist, Gabrian pulls her hair back in a straightforward ponytail, dresses, and scoots down the spiral stairs.
All the windows and doors are open and the sounds of laughter mixed with the clanging of dishes being set lingers in through them. Grabbing the reed-woven basket filled with utensils and napkins, she heads for the screen door leading toward the back of the house. Pressing gently against the wooden frame of the door, squeals of spring hinges exerting themselves alerts everyone to her presence and anyone within earshot turns to stare.
Uncomfortable with having all eyes on her, she lifts the basket and clutches it to her chest, marching past the two Schaeduwe bodies attending to the shiny smoking BBQ to her right and straight on toward Ashen who works on arranging placemats and plates atop of the wicker table on the other side of the pool—a perk she had completely missed noticing earlier on her arrival, though she wasn’t sure how. It was large, multi-dimensional, and smelled not of chlorine like the pools she had swam in as a child; the water held the distinct smell of salt like that of the ocean swaying freely in the background.
Her bare legs tingle with the warm caress of the summer sun as she steps out from beneath the house’s shade and into the direct sunlight above. It feels rejuvenating and energizing as it soaks into her skin, warming her to the bone, so the shock of a playful splash nearly trips her up as she passes by. She jolts, knocking into her host, and the jingle of silverware spilling to the cement below causes her face to flush across her cheeks.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Rachael taunts from the side of the pool. “Go get your swimmers, this water feels amazing.”
Not one for public display of flesh, though she doesn’t condemn those who do, she thinks her jean shorts and tee are quite enough. “Nah, I’m good.” She turns and sets the basket on the table beside Ashen. “I will take your word for it.”
Ashen’s tall, slender frame—tucked neatly beneath a comfortable pair of green cotton shorts and a grey tank draped with a flowy white dress shirt that waves in the breeze—leans over the table, still sorting the dinnerware. She gives Gabrian a wink and wrinkles her nose then straightens up to look over her work. Content with the arrangement, she brushes by Gabrian, patting her gently on the shoulder.
“Don’t sweat it, kiddo, we aren’t all made for the water,” she offers, standing to Gabrian’s right. “Some of us prefer a touch of ice.”
Gabrian shakes her head and grins, dropping down to the spilled utensils to gather the casualties of her clumsiness then glances at Ashen now crouching as well, helping with the operation. “Sorry, I will go wash them.”
Ashen reaches out and scoops the strays out of her hands. “We will clean them later, there is still plenty in the basket for everyone.”
“Is there anything that I can help you with?” Gabrian nods then searches the top of the table, looking for anything that might be missing from the array of colour-filled salads, fruits, condiments, and dinnerware out on display.
Shaking her head ‘no,’ her white braids swing playfully from the fringe of her blue bandana, and she glances at the table. “No, dear. Not a thing. Why don’t you have a seat and relax? I will just run these to the house. I need to get something anyway.” She jumps up from her crouch and jogs past the boys, straight into the back door of the house.
Gabrian stands and presses at the wrinkles in her shorts. Pursing her lips and feeling completely out of place in this leisurely open atmosphere, she shuffles toward a cushioned wicker chair and drops herself within its embrace. Tucking her knees up against her chest, she hugs them in a loose knot of her limbs. Hearing another splash from the pool, her eyes sweep across the patio and rest on the sparkling blue liquid that shifts and bends before her.
She watches Rachael lap around the edges of the pool, smooth and elegant strokes of her arms slicing through the malleable substance as she pushes her sleek body forward with little resistance. Gabrian smiles at her inhibited nature to be free and her will to embrace every change brought forth to her path. Gabrian exhales, listening to the sound of the rushing waves whispering in the background, the chattering of voices debating the doneness of the slabbed protein still smoldering on the grill, and the shrill yet musical calls of the gulls hovering overhead, hoping to find an opportunity to secure an easy meal. She closes her eyes, just for a moment, and lets the sounds swim in harmony around her.
And it did. So much in fact, that she does not hear Ashen return until a large plastic cooler hits the cement with a loud clunk just on the other side of her brown wicker chair.
28
ABOUT THAT BEER
GABRIAN’S EYES FLIP open from the unexpected noise, her momentary drift in serenity torn away, and her fingers sparking with heat at the abrupt disruption, bringing her back from wherever her mind had lingered.
She looks up, shielding her eyes for a moment to see Ashen gazing down at her with a bit of an impish grin forming on her lips. “I don’t know about you but I could use a drink. Are you thirsty?”
Gabrian smiles and nods slowly. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good actually.”
“Excellent. Help yourself then.” Ashen turns the cooler to face directly in front of Gabrian’s wicker chair and settles herself into the adjacent chair on the other side.
Unclasping her knees, Gabrian lets her legs slide down to the ridged cement floor beneath and leans forward to undo the hinge on the front of the cooler. She lifts the lid and pushes it back to take a look at the bounty inside. The entire cooler is stacked with cans and bottles. Everything from soda and sparkling water right down to a few bottles of good old golden beer tucked neatly away—standing perpendicular to their company. And since it’s five o’clock somewhere, Gabrian decides on a beer.
“Do you mind passing me one of the Sam’s in there?” Ashen leans forward in her chair with her hand out.
“Sure, no problem.” Gabrian reaches into the container for
a brown bottle with the appropriate label.
Ashen purses her lips. Her eyes squint and she studies the girl’s expression as she grabs hold of the bottle. Seeing Gabrian’s nose twitch and clouds enter her eyes, Ashen leans back, resting her head against her upturned arm and waits.
“Um, they are really warm.” Gabrian’s taste buds cringe, and she reflexively turns up her nose at the thought of drinking warm beer. It ranks right up there in disgustingness with ingesting dark aura fragments.
“Oh, are they?” Ashen grins. “Hmmm, well, we can’t have that now, can we? Any ideas as to how we should fix that?”
Gabrian’s look of disgust slides from her face as her eyes widen in a jolt of panic. Her hands creep into the warm water surrounding the beverages and scoops out the requested bottle, handing it over to Ashen, but she remains silent, leaning back to stare into the lukewarm bath that clings to their drinks.
“Um, I don’t...” Gabrian searches for some type of understanding in her request and the light behind her eyes switches on. “Ethan and Rachael told you about the beer.”
“Don’t be upset.” Ashen grins, letting out a slight chuckle.
Gabrian bites at her thumbnail, glancing around.
“After speaking with Ethan and Rachael, they told me of how things manifested, and I just thought that bringing in something familiar might help you reach your trigger more easily.”
She nods, hearing the logic in her new mentor’s words, but she is still lost as to where she would even start. “I understand what you are trying to do, but truthfully, I don’t even know how I did it in the first place. All I know is that I was listening to Rachael tell me about her troubles with...well, someone, and when I went to take a drink of my beer, it had gone warm. Not wanting to interrupt Rachael, I began to daydream about how I wished that the beer was cold again.” Gabrian begins to ramble with her story. Her fingertips burn, tingling with every breath she takes. Her nerves slice at her skin, frayed and nearly shot from the long trip along with the lack of sustenance in her system. Now this immediate leap into the unknown seems to have tipped the scale on her ability to stop talking, pushing tirades of incoherent thoughts forward and out through her lips.