Aphanasian Stories

by Rhonda Parrish

  Excited as she was to see Dorian and share her new theory

  with him, Z'thandra failed to realize the most likely reason the buckets were on the floor rather than hanging from their peg was because they were full, and she looked down to pick them up – right into her own reflection.

  Caught completely off-guard she had no chance to fight the

  vision, no possibility of fending it off. It grabbed onto her and pulled her in, holding her with the tenacity of a starving crocodile with a hunk of meat. She was the meat, the vision, long repressed, the starving reptile.

  Though she could usually still see the area of where she was

  around the periphery of her vision, this time that wasn't the case.

  This time she was completely sucked in, pulled into the depths of the vision. Though her mind knew it wasn't real, not yet, her senses rebelled. It had to be, they said. How else could she feel the cold night air on her skin? How else could see hear her feet pounding the frozen ground as she ran?

  It didn't matter. She could.

  She was running in the vision, running with heavy arms and a

  heavier heart down the velvet path to the sacred clearing. It was near dusk which played tricks with the light and that, combined with her haste, made her stumble as she neared the entrance to the grove.

  She tripped again, and went down, flat against the ground. She tightened her grip on the object in her arms, felt its smooth edges press against her breast and stumbled to her feet once more, looking over her shoulder in fear.

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  Aphanasian Stories

  They were coming.

  Then, Ulda's hand on her shoulder pulled her back into the

  reality of here and now, of Ulda's kitchen, her concerned face and the smell of her vegetable stew brewing over the fire.

  "Z'thandra?" Ulda asked in a way that made it obvious she was repeating herself.

  Z'thandra opened her mouth to respond, but then the world

  began to spin and she felt an explosion of agony in her head, a headache so intense and so sudden that it knocked her to her knees in the middle of the stone floor and pressed the breath from her lungs.

  Her last thought before swirling into unconsciousness was that Dorian would think she'd stood him up.

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  Rhonda Parrish

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  Aphanasian Stories

  Chapter Eleven

  She woke sometime later, dressed in her nightdress; her hair

  unbound and spread out around her like a lichen-colored curtain and the sound of a single cricket chastising her from the corner of her room. Somehow she knew it was night, and hoped it was the same night it had been when she'd foolishly looked into the bucket.

  What could her vision mean? She wanted to contemplate it but

  then another thought intruded, a much more urgent thought – I need to meet Dorian!

  She sat up slowly in bed but even that movement sent darts of pain through her skull and caused the world to spin dangerously once more. Swallowing back the metallic tasting liquid that rose in her throat, she carefully and very slowly made her way to a standing position. Getting dressed was unthinkable; it would hurt far too much. Instead she wrapped herself up in her heavy winter coat and made her way gingerly out of the house and into the night.

  And it was night, no mistake. It wasn't twilight or dusk, it was night. The stars hung over her, stabbing their way through the blanket of night to twinkle at all below and the sliver-shaped moon hung high in the sky. It was night, and far later than she was usually out. Maybe Dorian has already given up and gone...where ever it was he went during the day. Z'thandra thought, surprised she'd never given any thought before to where he hid out during daylight hours.

  I'll ask him when I see him, she assured herself, moving carefully toward the path to the lake.

  Each step hurt, it reverberated through her body to her head

  and sent new shockwaves of pain through it. She moved slowly, picking up and setting each foot down deliberately, to lessen the pain. The whole time she wondered if Dorian really would still be waiting. After their last encounter she wouldn't have blamed him if he had given up, but she hoped he hadn't.

  She had things she needed to tell him.

  She moved at a slug's pace down the path. If she used her

  heatvision she'd be able to see if Dorian was there or not in an instant, but since she had a headache already, the mother of all headaches, that wasn't a viable choice. Z'thandra stumbled over a loose rock she'd have easily sidestepped in the daylight, and a flare of white-hot agony seared her brain and pulled a moan from her lips.

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  Rhonda Parrish

  "Z'thandra?" Dorian called from her left, his voice filled with worry. Then, before she even had a chance to turn toward him, to open her mouth to answer, she felt his arms around her, his heat and strength enfolding her as he swept her off her feet, cradled her against his chest and dashed back into the scrub.

  It's just like how the hero rescues his lover in one of my

  stories, Z'thandra thought vaguely. Aside from the burrs scratching her legs of course. She half-laughed at her thought then winced and strangled another moan. Dorian moved carefully and she was jostled very little, which meant it didn't hurt much more than when she'd been walking and it was faster. In a few short paces they were far enough away from the path to be safe and Dorian was sitting down on a rock, with her still in his arms.

  She felt herself balanced on his lap and put her arms around

  his neck to help steady herself. She could smell him, see into his dark eyes and see every detail of his face, stark with worry.

  "What happened? What did they do to you?" he asked.

  "Nothing, they didn't do anything to me." Z'thandra whispered then asked, "What color are your eyes?"

  "My...my eyes? They're green Z'thandra, why do you ask?"

  Dorian peered at her closer, obviously even more worried than before.

  "I just realized, I've never seen them in the light."

  "Are you sure they didn't do something to you? You're late and

  –"

  "No one hurt me, I just have a headache, a horrible headache."

  "Poor thing."

  Z'thandra shifted her weight then cried out. She'd forgotten her hair was unbound and when Dorian had set her on his lap she'd sat on it – moving had pulled it.

  "I've certainly been better," she said, as tears sprung to her eyes and ran freely down her cheeks. "I'm sorry I was late."

  "You shouldn't have come at all, you're in no condition to be out. I'd have come back you know, I'd have kept coming back until I saw you again."

  Z'thandra felt the fireflies start up in her stomach again,

  beating themselves against her, tickling her with their wings and warming her from the inside out with their heat. "You would?"

  "Of course," Dorian whispered, his breath washing over her face and stirring her hair. "Haven't you realized yet that I love you?"

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  Aphanasian Stories

  Z'thandra's mouth fell open with a soft plopping noise, she

  knew it, she heard it, she felt it, but she could do nothing to stop it.

  She closed it again soon after, and studied Dorian's face while she attempted to remember how to breathe.

  In, out, that's right, in, out.

  She heard herself make a soft whimpering noise, but she wasn't sure why, or what it meant. She did know coherent thought and speech were beyond her at the moment. In, out. She could do that part alright though.

  He'd said it and when he said it, it was like a beaver dam

  bursting in her heart, unleashing a flood of emotions she'd barely realized she felt, and among them, foremost among them, she

  realized, was love.

  Some of what she was feeling must have shown in her face,

  because Dorian's breath swept over her in a gust and she realized he'd been holding it, and t
hen, without warning, he was leaning in, closer. She could smell mint on the air he exhaled, could see every tiny pore in his peach-colored skin, could feel –

  His lips pressed against hers, she felt them move against her like soft pillows. Some instinct she didn't even know she had took over and she kissed him back, turning on his lap, careful not to jar her head, and pressing her breasts against his chest. She kissed him hungrily, parting her lips and letting his tongue slip between them to dance with her own. She sucked on it, and he moaned and tightened his grip on her, pulling her to him.

  Then she yelped as the shift caused a new dagger of pain to

  streak across the inside of her skull. She pulled abruptly away from Dorian, and that movement caused even more pain which she bit her lip to smother lest the sleepy village guards hear her.

  "Oh, Z'thandra I'm sorry I –"

  She pressed her finger against his lips to silence him and, as the agony in her skull slowly faded back into a dull throb, she smiled. "I'm not."

  "You're not? You're not what?"

  "I'm not sorry."

  "Come away with me."

  "What?" Z'thandra asked.

  "I have to leave before the first big dump of snow or I'll be found out. I can hide my footprints in a dusting, but once it's ankle deep...knee deep, they'll find me."

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  Rhonda Parrish

  "You're going away?" Z'thandra's head spun, literally and figuratively. This was too much to process, especially with an excruciating headache. She felt tears prick her eyes again and wondered what pain they were in response to, the one in her head or the one in her heart.

  In, out. Breathe. In and out.

  "I have to." Dorian looked sad and dropped his eyes from her face to her lap. "Come with me."

  "I can't – I can't leave Ulda, and Grung..."

  "You can, Z'thandra. They would only want for you to be

  happy. I can make you happy, I know I can. Come with me."

  "Where? Where would we go?" Z'thandra was surprised to hear herself ask, then stammered. "No, it doesn't matter, I can't leave, Dorian."

  "Yes, you can. I have land, it's in the swamp, not far in, it's near the edge – we could build a house, live there. You could come back and visit..."

  "I can't leave..."

  "You can. What is there here for you but misery and pain? I'm offering you love, Z'thandra, a life. Please shaceeny, come."

  "My mother used to call me that."

  "What?"

  "My mother, she used to call me shaceeny, angel. Did I tell you that?" she looked up into his face, suspicious she was being manipulated, but saw no sign of it there.

  "No, no, you hadn't told me."

  "She did."

  "She'd want you to be happy too..."

  "I can't leave, Dorian."

  "What can't you leave?" his voice was beginning to develop a hint of frustration. "You're not happy here are you?

  "No."

  "And you...you do love me don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why can't you leave? What holds you here?"

  Z'thandra looked up, scanning the sky for the answer to his

  question, and saw the moon riding the horizon, which was growing lighter.

  "I have to go!" she said excitedly, slipping carefully off Dorian's lap.

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  Aphanasian Stories

  "Exactly," he said, his face lighting up.

  "No, I mean, now, I have to go back to the village, it's almost dawn."

  "Come with me Z'thandra." He repeated one last time, reaching out to take her hand.

  "I...."

  "Think about it, think about it today and meet me back here this afternoon. To come away with me, or to say goodbye."

  "This afternoon? You'll be seen."

  "I need to leave while it's still light – to get a few miles away before nightfall. I'll be careful, but meet me here. Right here.

  Promise me."

  "I can't go..."

  "Then come say goodbye, just promise me you'll come – I

  have something to show you. Promise me."

  "Okay, I promise." Z'thandra leaned over carefully to kiss Dorian one more time before wrapping her coat tighter around her night shirt and turning to pick her way carefully back up the path to the village.

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  Rhonda Parrish

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  Aphanasian Stories

  Chapter Twelve

  When Ulda came in to check on her, Z'thandra told her she

  wasn't well enough to go on the scavenge.

  "That's okay, I already took care of that last night. They aren't expecting you today." The matronly Reptar stroked Z'thandra's cheek with her scaly hand and smiled sadly. "You sure are cursed with headaches."

  "I am," Z'thandra answered, then, her mind filled with the choice ahead of her, she reached out and captured Ulda's hand in both of hers. "But I'm blessed with the best foster parents anyone could ask for. I'm so glad it was you who found me in the swamp Ulda."

  Ulda's face darkened in the way Z'thandra knew meant she was

  blushing and she gave the woman's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad too, Z'thandra." Her eyes scanned over the face of her charge in concern. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

  "No," Z'thandra shook her head very slowly from side to side.

  "Just that I love you and I appreciate everything you've done for me, the life you've given me here in the swamp."

  "You sure there isn't something you want to tell me?"

  Z'thandra laughed, then winced as a whole tribe of Reptar

  started playing war drums in her skull. "Yes, Ulda."

  "Okay then, get some rest." Ulda leaned over to kiss Z'thandra's forehead, then turned and went out the door, shutting it carefully, and with no small amount of effort, behind her.

  Z'thandra watched her struggle with the poorly-hung door, as

  she'd watched her do hundreds, perhaps thousands of times over the years, and sighed. She wouldn’t get any rest, she had far too many things to sort through before this afternoon.

  She looked around her room, everything in it so familiar and

  so much a symbol of the Reptar race – well built but poorly

  maintained, it was all falling apart. Her dresser was still propped up with a stone, her bed was a straw mattress on the floor because the frame had collapsed and been consigned to the firewood pile. The Reptar's world was crumbling all around them.

  Then Z'thandra closed her eyes and felt it, the presence, the shadow of the stone. The stone. That was the key to the Reptar's salvation, whether they realized it yet or not. They would, Z'thandra had hope. She couldn't tell them – they wouldn’t listen to her, she

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  Rhonda Parrish

  was, after all, just a swamp elf, but someday, hopefully before it was too late, they would see the power in the stone went far beyond a lie detector, they would—

  Despite her doubts, she slept. When she woke it was midday

  and blessedly, her headache was gone. She rose and went through the motions of waking, cleaning and dressing, but they were all automatic, she didn't spare them even the least thought. Dorian was heavy on her mind, and her heart.

  As she twisted the lengths of her dark hair into her now

  customary braids she had to start over more than once because this task, at least, required a little attention. What was she going to do?

  Part of her, she admitted, wanted to go with Dorian, she

  wanted a chance at happiness, the chance she'd never find her. She wanted the opportunity to have a home of her own, a husband and children. She wanted a future. If she stayed here her life would continue as it was, year after year, until Grung and Ulda died. Then, once that happened, it wouldn’t be unlikely that the tribe would expel her.

  Expel her, send her out into the wild swamp to fend for herself.

  They only put up with her because of Ulda's spirit and Grung's respected
position. She knew there was no future here for her and that Ulda and Grung wouldn't begrudge her finding happiness

  elsewhere, with Dorian.

  But, still, something kept her here. She couldn't figure out what it was. It wasn't her foster parents, she could admit that much. She'd already decided they wouldn't fault her for leaving, would probably send her on her way if she asked their advice, so if it wasn't them, what was it? Orga? It certainly wasn't Orga. She'd tried to have a relationship with her, but from the day she'd arrived Orga had been hostile and bitter.

  She had affection for the Reptars, despite how poorly they

  treated her. She felt protective of them, matronly, though they'd given her no reason. She supposed it was because they hadn't thrown her out when she was a child. They could have, Grung's position was important but it wasn't that important, and Ulda was spirited but she wasn't all-powerful. No, the council had looked at her, when Ulda had brought her into them and announced her intention to keep her, and they'd looked past her heritage to see a child who needed help, and they'd given it. They hadn't had to, but they did. That, she decided now, was worth some credit at least.

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  Aphanasian Stories

  Then there was the stone.

  She felt connected to it, always had. She supposed everyone in the village did – it was all-encompassing, like a warm woolen blanket, it was comfortable, warm and familiar. If she left the blanket of the stone, what would keep her safe? What would keep her warm? Make her feel protected, special and loved.

  Dorian she realized. Dorian would do those things.

  As she patted her hair and looked at her reflection in the mirror she saw the truth written on her face, she was going to go with Dorian. He would become all the stone had been to her. The stone was vital for the Reptar but not for her. Her race was gone, there was no rebuilding it, but she could build a future, she could be happy.

  Z'thandra hummed to herself throughout the rest of the day.

  She packed a small bag with just the few tiny possessions she'd amassed of her own; the hair combs Ulda had given her, the

  necklace her mother, Cal'ithandra had fastened around her neck before sending her out into the swamp with her uncle and the meager items of clothing that were hers. She packed the bag and threw it up through the open ceiling in her washing up room. She smiled when she heard it hit the ground outside and then went out into the main area of the house.