Alisiyad

by Sarah R. Suleski

  The ivy rustled as she came back through. She stood over him quietly for a few moments, then said, “You’re quite good at that. So they have guitars in Uptightia?”

  “America,” he responded without stopping. “And thanks.” He smiled a little, pleased by the flattery. He rarely played the guitar where anyone else could hear, because he didn’t think he could stand being told that was another thing he couldn’t do right. He’d been playing it long enough, and often enough, he’d better be at least okay . . . .

  “I mean it. I can’t play like that. Show me how.” She sat down next to him and wiggled her fingers.

  “How what? You just play . . . .” He grinned to himself, knowing that wasn’t altogether true; he couldn’t “just play” without having practiced a lot . . . after having his dad show him first.

  “You play differently than I have heard minstrels do it,” she sniffed. “Come now . . . please? I only got this last year as a present from my grandfather, for Aysha’s Day, and no one showed me exactly how to play it.”

  “Okay.” He stopped and handed the guitar over to her. “Show me how you’ve been playing it.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Wait, that’s not how you hold it—” he reached out automatically to adjust her hand on the frets. “There, that’s . . . no, don’t move it.”

  “It’s feels odd, my hand doesn’t bend that way comfortably . . . .”

  “You’ll get used to it. Now . . . put your fingers here . . . and here, and here, and . . . yeah. That’s a G chord. Press down . . . not too hard! Alright, and now strum with your other hand . . . there . . . no, your hand’s like wet noodle. Strum, ’K?”

  She giggled, loosening her grip on the guitar as she strummed a sickly sounding chord. “I’m still not doing it right . . . .”

  “That’s ’cause your wrist is wimpy.” Without thinking Russ reached around her shoulders and held her arm, moving it to show her the right position. “There, now move the strings, not your hand.”

  Eliasha turned to him and grinned fiendishly. He froze, thinking she was going to kiss him again, but instead she observed, “Now you’re the bold one.”

  “No.” He let go and slid down to the end of the bench. “You tricked me into that. And it’s not that big of a deal, anyway.” He tried to believe it.

  “Then I didn’t trick you into anything.” She lowered her eyes and smiled. “But now I do know that you forget to be afraid of me when you have something to show off.”

  “Huh.” He crossed his arms. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Consequences, then.”

  He shrugged.

  “Liseli.”

  “No.”

  She didn’t look convinced, smiling as she extended the guitar back to him. “Go ahead and play some more. I don’t care about lessons. Entertain me.”

  He took it. “Being cautious and . . . and safe is not the same as being afraid.”

  She nodded, continuing to smile with her eyes half lidded. He practically struck the guitar as he glared at her. She looked away. “Don’t be mad at me, I’m just making observations.”

  “I’m not mad.” He eased up on the expression, and the guitar. He thought that Eliasha reminded him of someone, then realized who it was. Bleach her hair blonde, put bracelets on her, and she’s a little like Kyla, minus the hissing and bitchiness. Kyla thought she was so smart, constantly telling him why he did or didn’t do things. Eliasha thought it made her cute. That was one of the nice things about Liseli, she didn’t feel the need to tell him what he was thinking. Most of the time. He decided not to tell Eliasha what he thought she was thinking, so he just played the guitar. Showing off, she’d called it. Fine.

  “I liked the other thing you were playing better,” Eliasha said, still looking away from him. “It was pretty.”

  “This is rock, it doesn’t have to be pretty. It rocks.”

  “Bizarre.” She glanced back at him, wrinkling her nose. “Music should be pretty. Play what you were playing before, this doesn’t even sound like a song.”

  “Okay, Princess.” He switched over abruptly, grinning at his own use of the nickname. Eliasha was the kind of person he could give a nickname to and get away with it. Russ compared her distasteful expression to ones his mother had given him many times before. Some people just didn’t get his kind of music.

  After a couple moments a shadow fell over him. He looked up, then jumped and froze, killing the song on a sour note. Liseli stood next to him, but she was looking at Eliasha.

  Chapter 10 ~ Flirt

  When Liseli awoke she felt alarmed, but didn’t know why. She couldn’t feel her hands at first. She rolled over and pulled her arms out from under the pillow. She’d done it again; slept on her hands and cut off the circulation. Liseli lay on her side and stared at her hands, as if they weren’t a part of her but belonged to someone else. Then the blood rushed back in, tingling with feeling. She wiggled her fingers and flexed her wrists back and forth.

  She didn’t know what time it was, but she felt restless after lying on the bed staring at the wall for a few minutes. It probably wasn’t time for dinner yet. She sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. There was a dress laid out for her, and she put it on, dropping the robe over the back of the bed. The dress was a little large for her; the skirt trailed on the ground and the shoulders seemed in danger of slithering down her arms. But she managed to adjust it well enough to function, and decided to leave the room.

  Which door is his? she wondered as she walked down to the end of the hallway. Left side or right side? She couldn’t quite remember.

  Liseli knocked on the door to the left, but didn’t get a response. She tried the handle, and found that it was unlocked. She peered in and didn’t see Russ, but did see a pair of glass doors set in the wall across the room. They must lead to the garden.

  She went out onto the balcony and down into the garden, looking around, wandering down the path to the right as she observed the scenery and wondered where everyone was. There were some tents and tables set up on the lawn, but everything had a quiet waiting feeling; the time for people to move among them had not yet come. She caught sight of a man kneeling amongst some flowers, and she took a step toward him. He was pulling weeds up out of the soil and laying them on the ground by his side. A gardener. Liseli decided to leave him to his work, and turned down the path again.

  After a little while she paused in a small wooded area, thinking she heard music. It was music. Sounded like a guitar. She even thought she recognized the song, though she couldn’t quite place it. I’ve never heard an Alisiyan song, though. She cocked her head and listened. No, it’s probably just similar to something.

  A bird flitted past her and landed on a tree branch, twittering as if scolding her. She decided to follow the music, and set off in the direction of the wall. In a moment she rounded a bend in the path and came out of the trees. Russ was sitting on a bench with a young girl, and he was the one playing the guitar. She stopped, and stared. . . . Russ? Music? He wasn’t really the musical type. Was he? But there he was, and . . . he actually wasn’t that bad. Pretty good.

  Why hadn’t she known this?

  The girl caught sight of her. She looked at Liseli with a hint of a smile. They stared at one another for a moment, but neither made any motion of greeting. Finally the girl looked away, returning her gaze to Russ. She smiled at him. Liseli felt dismissed, and her hands clenched, grabbing her skirt. The girl was very pretty . . . raven black hair framing a pale, graceful face; long, slender neck curving down to bare shoulders. Beyond that, “nice form” was an understatement. Her royal blue dress fit perfectly.

  Liseli self-consciously reached up to adjust the shoulders on her own dress, glancing down at the way the excess folds drooped from her like she was shapeless . . . or not even there beyond the shoulders, like a clothes hanger.

  She shook her head, snapping out of her stupor, and walked forward again. Russ seemed oblivious to her — she came al
l the way up the path to stand next to him in waiting silence before he looked up. His eyes widened and he jumped guiltily, but she turned away from him and looked at the girl again. She was still beautiful close up . . . perfect skin, large blue eyes and long dark lashes.

  “Hello.” The girl rose from the bench in a ripple of silky blue fabric. “So pleased to finally meet you, Liseli.” She came at Liseli with a perfectly shaped smile, holding out her hands.

  Liseli lifted her own hands in reaction, and the girl clasped them like she was an old friend. “Hello,” Liseli returned the greeting, fighting the instinct to recoil from the outgoing touch. The girl leaned forward and kissed the air on either side of her face. Liseli forced a smiled. She fought the urge to look away, and instead met her eyes. “You are . . . ?”

  “I am Eliasha,” the girl said, releasing her hands. She smiled again, showing her teeth this time, and her eyes twinkled. Literally. Liseli blinked, but was sure that her own eyes hadn’t deceived her. She glanced down at Russ, who was clutching the guitar and darting his eyes between them as they stood over him. He looked caged, but didn’t seem to have noticed the unnatural spark.

  “Oh, right, Arlic’s granddaughter.” She turned back to Eliasha. “They told us we would meet you, but . . . I forgot all about you once we arrived.” She wondered if she had made the jab too obvious. But the girl seemed unaffected by it.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I was busy.” Eliasha looked at Russ and smirked, as if they shared a secret, and Liseli arched an eyebrow at him. What?

  He stood up quickly. “Hi Liseli. I thought you were sleeping till dinner.”

  “I was, but I changed my mind.” She regarded him suspiciously. He seemed more nervous than usual; what was the matter? “You know, you never told me you could play the guitar.”

  Eliasha burst out a laugh, lifting her hands to touch her cheeks with her fingertips. “He didn’t? I’m shocked; he seemed so eager to show me.”

  Russ frowned at her, tightening his grip on the guitar, then looked back at Liseli. She gave him an icy blink and told Eliasha, “No, he’s never told me about it.”

  “You didn’t ask,” said Russ. He plucked a string and looked down.

  “Oh dear,” Eliasha laughed, taking a step back. “Neither did I!”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Liseli nearly shrugged, then thought better of it. She tried to look unconcerned, but she felt . . . felt angry. That was it. He didn’t just play, he was good at it. There was a complete side to him she hadn’t known about in eight whole months, yet he’d paraded it around in front of Eliasha within one afternoon. Jerk.

  She didn’t look at him, instead focusing all her attention on Eliasha. “I’m curious; what other things can you tell me about him? He never tells me anything.”

  Eliasha opened her mouth, then glanced at Russ for the briefest moment before returning to Liseli, saying, “Do you never ask him anything?”

  Liseli pressed her lips together and lowered her chin. She studied Eliasha’s self-satisfied smile for a moment. “Did you have to?” she asked, refusing to concede the touché.

  “I . . . ” Eliasha hesitated, and Liseli thought her smug expression wavered. But then she tilted her head to the side and replied, “I wouldn’t know what to tell you; I can’t begin to imagine what you don’t know about your own—”

  “Hey, ah, why don’t we walk around some more, huh?” Russ broke in, spreading out his arms, holding the guitar by its neck in his right hand. “There’s lots of cool stuff around here; did you see the, uh, the birdbaths, Liseli?”

  “Yes . . . .”

  He surprised her by grabbing her elbow with his left hand and steering her forward past Eliasha. “Let’s all walk,” his tone was strangely upbeat, as if forced. “Did you see the bridge?”

  Liseli glanced back at Eliasha. “I don’t think so, I—”

  “Great. The stream? Awesome place. Has its own stream.” He was still holding onto her arm.

  Eliasha followed, coming up on Liseli’s other side. “I’m quite sure,” she said, “that there are many things even people very close to one anther don’t tell each other. There are things I don’t tell my grandfather, yet he thinks he does know all there is. I suppose there are things that you haven’t told Russell, aren’t there, Liseli?”

  What are you, a talk show host? Liseli eyed her warily. “Of course,” she said, shaking Russ’s hand away. “Russ know hardly anything about me; why should he? I’m not in the habit of having heart to heart conversations with . . . .” She stopped and looked at Russ, noticing that his shoulders had slumped and he was looking away down the path. “With anyone,” she finished.

  “Tsk.” Eliasha walked out ahead of them, pausing to stroke a cluster of lilacs as she passed the flowering bush. “That’s a shame. You should. It’s a great relief to share a secret.” She spun around gracefully, her skirt twirling around her legs. “You should tell Russell something you can do that he doesn’t know about, and then you’ll each have learned something new.”

  Liseli gave her a look that said you have got to be joking. Russ shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck like he wanted the ground to swallow him up. Eliasha just smiled wider and looked between them.

  “Okay.” Liseli crossed her arms and nailed Russ with an annoyed look. He straightened to attention and returned the look warily. “Okay,” she repeated, “you know, that wasn’t the first time I’d ever gone to the old Mill.”

  “What?” A moment of confusion passed over his face.

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, the Mill, that place—”

  “I know.” He looked down.

  Liseli clamped her mouth shut and almost decided not to tell him any more, but Eliasha’s cheshire-cat grin made her continue, “Well, I go there on every lunch break, even in winter, and I go there on my days off.”

  Russ swung the guitar back and forth for a moment. “Uh . . . why?”

  “I like it.”

  “Okay.” He nodded.

  “And when I’m there I write—” she took a deep breath and expelled the word, “—stories.”

  “Oh.” Russ smiled stiffly, as if he didn’t care at all but thought he had to say something.

  “My point—” Liseli glared at him, “—is that I’ve never told anyone about my writing, not even my sister Leona. But I do it. And so . . . well, that’s it,” she waved a hand, wishing that one of them would say something. They were both waiting for her to go on, as if there should be something more; as if she should be leading up to the interesting part. “Anyway, no one cares, so it’s not a big deal,” she shook her head, grabbing her skirt awkwardly as she tried to stride up the path ahead of them.

  Eliasha sidestepped quickly, coming in front of Liseli with a laugh. She reached out to stop her, touching her arms with her hands, and Liseli froze. The girl was taller than her and looked down at her. “It’s a shame!” Eliasha exclaimed. “What is the good of being a storyteller if you don’t tell your stories to anyone?”

  “I’m not a storyteller.” Liseli’s shoulders rose and she crossed her arms. She paused, then laughed nervously. “I’m not . . . you know, my stories are lame anyway. Keeping them to myself is an act of mercy. No one even wants to read them.”

  “I would,” said Russ.

  Liseli spun around. “You wouldn’t.”

  He shrugged and looked away, tapping the guitar against his leg. “I would.”

  “Just stop it, Russ, I know you wouldn’t.” She shook her head.

  “What?” He spread his arms out. “You think I can’t read or something?”

  “No, Russell.” She rolled her eyes. “Just forget it, you wouldn’t like them.”

  “How d’you know that? Wait—” his mouth hung open for a moment and he squinted at her. “Am I in them?”

  “No, of course not.” Liseli crossed her arms and shook her head again. Not right now, anyway. There had been a few times when a character started acting suspiciously like Russ, but whenever she
’d noticed it she had gone back and changed things around.

  “Oh.” He lowered his chin, plucking the guitar strings against the frets and looking as if he were trying to decide whether or not to believe her.

  “But that’s just so like you to think that I’d write about you,” Liseli bit, and his jaw tightened. He turned away and stared at the trees.

  She turned back to Eliasha. She had to get off this topic somehow. The girl had watched the whole exchange with a knowing, half-lidded smile. Liseli wondered what on earth Russ had been telling her — she’d known Liseli’s name right off the bat and kept smiling as if she knew a secret. Too familiar. It was unsettling. “Eliasha—” she smiled, and stood as straight as possible to be as tall as she could, “—what about you? You know, I know hardly anything about you — what’s it like to be the lady of this . . . mansion?”

  Eliasha shrugged slightly as she turned and they began to walk again. “As it’s always been. They have been calling me the ‘lady of house’ since I turned fifteen, but the housekeeper and the other servants . . . well they handle things as they always have. What is it like to be a serving girl at an inn?”

  “A what?” Liseli stumbled a little, then reached to hold up her skirt again.

  “I was told that you work at an inn,” Eliasha said, then added gently, “like Aunt Martilia. I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m a manager at a restaurant,” Liseli corrected, giving Russ a dirty look over her shoulder. “Not a serving girl.”

  “I didn’t say that, it was Currun,” Russ said to the ground.

  “It was.” Eliasha reached out and touched her arm. “Uncle Currun said it.”

  And who told Uncle Currun that, I wonder? But Liseli let it drop. She wondered how they had gotten back to talking about her when she’d asked about Eliasha. “I see. So anyway, what do you like doing? Do you have any siblings?”

  Eliasha laughed suddenly, but it sounded strained. “Of course not.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You must not know. I should have known they wouldn’t say anything about it — everyone here seems to know even though it’s never spoken of. At least not in my presence.”