by Susan Wu
“I encouraged him to tryout for some sports teams when we moved here. But Ethan wouldn't hear of it, he wanted his senior year to be carefree not so rigorously scheduled like previous years, give him time to make friends. I'm glad his efforts paid off...”
Ethan interrupts her, “Hey mom, I think the timer just went off. Don't you need to check on dinner?” She quickly excuses herself and disappears into the kitchen. He reaches over and tickles my side playfully, “Sneaky, huh? Digging for intel from my mom.”
“I have to take advantage of my new resource.”
“I'll take you downstairs after dinner. And then you use me all you want,” Ethan winks and smiles deviously as he pops a walnut into his mouth. My mouth drops open and my brain can’t seem to remember how to shut it.
Julia reappears with a huge white platter of Bolognese and with some effort, I rearrange my expression. Ethan smacks his hands together and tucks his napkin into the collar of his shirt and places another one on his lap. “My favorite,” his stomach rumbles, emphasizing his statement and Julia laughs as she takes our salad bowls away.
We spend the rest of dinner discussing the how much Everest Heights has changed since Julia grew up here. They reminisce about past Thanksgivings spent in other countries. One Thanksgiving spent in Japan where she attempted to make turkey sushi rolls with cranberry mayonnaise. One spent in Spain where she made a decent seafood and turkey sausage paella. One spent in Tennessee where she attempted a deep fried turkey that ended with a visit from the local fire department. After dinner, we help clear the table and Julia excuses herself to give us some alone time.
Despite devouring two thirds of the Bolognese, Ethan springs up lightly from the bench, “Come on, let's go downstairs.” I hoist myself up and follow him downstairs into a finished basement. On one end is a treadmill with a weight bench and other metal contraptions next to a rack of weights. On the opposite end is a potter's wheel and built in shelves holding various tubs of clay. The table next to the wheel holds various metal tools for shaping the clay and a plastic spray bottle of water. The sculpture itself is covered with a damp cloth and a sheet of plastic. Whatever it is, it’s much larger than anything I’ve seen him work on at school.
“Secret project. So are you going to show me what you're working on?”
“I'm making a mold that I want to cast in bronze,” he slowly begins unwrapping the plastic sheeting. “You want to do the honors?”
I step forward and carefully lift off the damp cloth. Underneath is an intricately carved angel kneeling on a platform of jagged rocks with expansive curved wings shielding her from the world. “It's absolutely breathtaking, Ethan.”
He places his hand under my chin and gently tilts my face up to meet his eyes, “I've been having a hard time carving the face so I thought maybe you would model for me tonight.”
I should be exhausted, but I lay awake replaying the events of the evening. Watching Ethan sculpt was mesmerizing, I could sit still and watch his beautiful hands work for hours. His attention to detail is tirelessly obsessive. Neither of us had realized how much time had passed. When we finally emerged from the basement, the kitchen as spotless and Julia was already asleep.
I finally drift off with images of flying in the inky black sky with Ethan at my side, our hands intertwined. For once, I am not afraid of falling.
Ethan
The short weeks between Thanksgiving and winter break are filled with midterms, exams, and projects. Fallon and I spend evenings studying or writing papers on her kitchen table. But December also brings the frenzy of college application deadlines. I pour over brochures and course catalogs, analyzing everything from their dorm rooms to the number of cafes on campus.
Fallon is a lot less enthusiastic when we talk about college despite her near perfect academic record. It’s a constant and painful reminder that we are on very different paths.
“Fallon, I know your father wants you to jump into this leadership thing. But don't you think a college education would supplement your ruling of a planet? Gaining your independence. Finding yourself. All that good stuff that comes with going away to college.”
“There’s not really a time liner per se. But I don’t know if I want to commit myself to anything. I gave him my word...”
“You can apply now and convince him later. You can be very persuasive when you want to be.”
“I don't even know where I would apply. I haven't really thought about that stuff.”
“Did you take the SATs?”
“Yes, we were required to.”
“Perfect. Luckily for you, your boyfriend is an uber prepared, super genius who took the liberty of cataloging your work onto a CD to send out to some art schools. So many choices. Rhode Island School of Design. Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design in London. Or somewhere closer? The Art Institute of Chicago. We just have to get together your writing example and order transcripts and get letters of recommendation...”
Finally, I see a small smile form on her lips as she picks up a catalog, “I have always loved Chicago in the fall.”
Friday before winter break rolls around and we have sent out twelve application packets between us. I leave for London tonight. My mom is picking me up early today and dropping me off at the train station to catch the 2:00PM train into the city. From there, I would have to catch another train to get to the airport. Fallon would not be joining me until the second week of break.
We’re waiting for my mom in front of the school parking lot. I have hate saying goodbye, but at least I knew this one was only temporary.
She looks forlorn at the prospect of me leaving and I feel the same way. I brush her face with a gloved hand and she smiles up at me, “Fallon, since we aren't going to see each other Christmas day, I wanted to give you your present before I left.”
“Ethan, we agreed we weren't exchanging gifts!” She pouts and it’s so adorable I have to chuckle just a bit.
From the depths of my book bag, I take out the flat small box I had spent an hour wrapping in matte silver paper and tied simply with a white ribbon. I place it delicately in her hands, “I know. But when I saw it, I couldn't resist.”
She carefully peels off the wrapping paper revealing a navy velvet box. Inside, laying on an off-white satin cushion is a carved silver wing on a dainty silver chain. She traces the feathered edge with her gloved finger, “Thank you, Ethan. It's beautiful.”
Her green eyes are bright with tears and I have to turn away to collect myself. She has become so much a part of my life--of me--these last few months, I was really going to miss her . Sure, we had Skype and e-mail but it wasn’t the same as having her in my arms.
“Here, let me help you put it on.” Fallon pulls her hair away from her neck and I yank my gloves off. I take the necklace from the box and step closer to fasten it. I brush a stray lock of her dark hair away from the delicate line of her collarbone and I can feel her trembling underneath my hands as I secure the necklace. I let go of the clasp and kiss the side of her neck, my cold lips making her gasp, “You are simply exquisite.”
Fallon surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck and pulling my lips against hers. My arms snake around her waist pulling her closer and I start feeling very warm despite the biting cold. She pulls away first, pressing her forehead against mine, white puffs streaming in front of us as we try to steady our breathing. My mom’s car pulls up to the curb and she waits patiently.
I kiss her softly on the lips, “Merry Christmas, Fallon. I can’t wait to pick you up from Heathrow on the 26th.”
She gives me one of her shy smiles, “Merry Christmas, Ethan. I look forward to it. Thank you again for the wonderful gift.”
I fold her against my chest once more and kiss the top of her head, inhaling her scent one last time before hopping in the car. I wave at her as we drive away and she gives me a small wave, looking forlorn again as snow starts drifting lazily from the sky.
Fallon
The day is going to be
excruciatingly slow without Ethan to distract me. When the final bell rings, everyone rushes out of the classroom. A cheerful buzz blankets the school as everyone exchanges their goodbyes until next year. I load up my book bag with my winter break assignments and escape the building. The flurries from earlier have turned into a thin layer of snow on the ground. I check my watch with a sigh. Ethan wouldn't be landing at Heathrow until the next day.
I walk home slowly, my boots leaving twin marks in the perfect layer of fluffy snow. I dig around my jacket pocket for my house key as I walk up the driveway. Once I step inside, I freeze with my hand still on the doorknob. My eyes dart around the room, immediately sensing something is off--the corner of the entry rug is flipped over like someone accidentally kicked it up on their way inside the house.
Holding out the pepper spray attached to my keychain, I call out, “Whose there?”
A disembodied voice floats in from the kitchen, “Izic sent me. Do not be alarmed.” A tall, heavily muscled man with a long streak of black hair hanging in his steel gray eyes steps out into the living room. He holds his hands up to show that he is unarmed. His left arm is tattooed with three thin black lines encircling the circumference of his forearm. Even weaponless, he looks lethal.
As he steps into the light, I can see a scar running along the right side of his jaw. Alarms go off in my head and my breathing is sharp as adrenaline floods my system. My finger doesn’t relax from the trigger like he expected when he uttered the name Izic. My voice is impassive, “And who the hell are you?”
“My name is Zefa Aleania. Izic has sent me here to protect you,” he explains. He starts to cross the room with his hands still raised, his long legs eating up half the length of the living room before I can open my mouth.
“Stop right there. Don't come any closer.” I hold the pepper spray steady as he stops a few feet away, “Why did my father send you?”
“There is much to explain. If you would allow, I could show you. It is my gift.” He reaches out his hand toward me, offering me his open palm but not moving from his spot.
I step back, “Do you expect me to just trust you?”
He chuckles softly, “There is much to fear in this universe, Fallon Pierce. I am not someone you need to fear. Your father sent me to protect you. Much has changed since you last saw him. It would be easier if you allowed me to show you. I am able to project memories and thoughts into the minds of others. But by touch only,” Zefa stays perfectly still and makes no move to reach for me, his palm still outstretched.
My curiosity gets the best of me. Hesitantly, I step forward and then place my hand in his. I gasp as my surroundings suddenly change and I’m temporarily blinded. And then just as suddenly, I can see everything.
It's the middle of the night and I am standing in a vast field surrounded by a mountain on one end and a grove of trees on the other. Each individual blade of grass, each leaf on the treetops is sharp and clear as day. I can see the individual shades of black, blue, and purple that make up the inky black sky filled with thousands of tiny stars. A light mist hangs in the air slowly curling around me.
Everything is so much clearer and brighter than I’ve ever experienced. I swear I can even hear the quiet sound of the grass rustling together as a gentle breeze blows through. I am so distracted by my surroundings, it takes a moment for me to realize there is someone else in the field.
He steps forward, his strained face cast in shadows. Even so, I still recognize his refined features instantly—my father, Izic.
“My time is limited. What you need to know is that we are all in great danger. I have a mission of great importance that I entrust only to you.”
My vision dips as I--Zefa?--bow at the waist. No wonder everything is so sharp, I am seeing everything from Zefa’s vantage point. His memories would be even more flawless than my own. A voice that is not my own leaves my lips, “I will do anything you ask of me, my lord.”
Izic's usually stern expression softens and he closes his eyes as if in pain, “You are my most trusted advisor. I am going to confide in you something I have never shared with anyone before.”
Zefa responds reverently, “You honor me, my lord. How many I serve you?”
“Twenty years ago, on one of my exploratory missions, I came upon the ancient colony called Uerth. It was a planet populated by natives and distant descendants of Umon’s people. I fell in love with a female there. She bore me a daughter.”
Zefa gasps in surprise, “There is an heir?”
“Yes. Her name is Fallon Pierce. I have reason to believe Epir has discovered Fallon's existence. Your mission is to go to Earth and keep her safe.”
Zefa solemnly places his left arm over his chest and bows his head, “I will do all I can to keep her safe.”
Izic replies in a bitter tone, “She's the only family I have left. Epir made sure of that. I am sending you, because you are the only one that could understand what that means. I have foreseen the Eku army arriving in less than two days. I need you to leave for Uerth immediately. Do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. Tell no one of your plans.”
“Should I report back to you, sir?”
“No, it will be safer that way. Your ship has been given priority take off clearance. I have encoded her coordinates into the ship’s system, only when you say her name will the ship take you to her.”
The memory ends there and I slowly open my eyes. I am back in my living room standing across from Zefa. Compared to the clarity of his memory, the edges of the room seem blurry. My head is spinning and I am momentarily disoriented by the suddenness of the change. I practically yank my hand out of his grasp and begin rubbing the bridge of my nose. My brain is aching from the invasion. I glare at him suspiciously, “That was... different.”
His tone is matter-of-fact, “The sensation will pass momentarily.”
“How do I know I can trust what you're telling me? How do I know you didn't just whip that memory up? I know enough about the Phynx to not automatically trust whatever it was you showed me.”
Zefa almost smiles and the scar along his jaw tightens, making it look cynical, “You are your father's daughter. He didn't think you would just take my word for it, so he gave me something to prove my identity.”
He confidently pulls out a slender wooden box that was sticking out of his pocket and holds it out on the palm of his hand between us. I cautiously pick it up without touching his hand, lest I get subjected to more mind games. Examining the box, I recognize the royal crest carved into the wood. I unhinge the gold clasp and open it with uncertainty. My breath catches when I recognize what's nestled in the red velvet cushion. Carefully, I pull out a beautiful silk and lace fan embroidered with butterflies. In the corner, tucked partially under the cushion is a small square of paper with my name written on the outside.
Fallon, I need you to listen to Zefa. I wish there was time to explain. Please just do everything he asks. I trust him with your life. Izic.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Zefa before running up the stairs to the attic, taking the steps two at a time. Once I reach the attic, I take a quick look around open the first box closest to the door and dump the contents onto the floor. I spot the silver picture frame I am looking for and carefully turn it over. A photo of my mom smiling into the camera, her face partially obscured by a silk and lace fan embroidered with butterflies. I flip the frame back over, open up the back, and take out the photograph. In the same small precise handwriting as the note, it says simply:
My Lily, Thinking of you always. Love, Isaac.
I am out of breath when I reach the bottom of the stairs and return to the living room. Adrenaline is pulsing through my veins and Zefa’s nostrils flare like he can smell the fear leaking out of my pores, “Why did he send you to protect me?”
Zefa squares his shoulders, “I assure you I am the right one for the job. I am a part of Izic's war council. I am his head advisor.”
I eye his youthful face, “Aren't you a tad young?”
“Young but not inexperienced,” his finger traces the scar along his jaw as he replies. “I have known times of war far longer than times of peace.”
I want to ask him about his scar but it seems too personal so I ask an easier one, “Why is my father going to war with Eku?”
“Epir is your cousin, the only son of your father's elder sister, Asila. Conception for the Phynx is very difficult. Your grandparents wanted nothing more than to have another child, a son. Epir was in his thirteenth year when Izic was born. The Phynxian ruler can choose which child is his or her own successor, it is not a birth right. When Izic ascended to the thrown, Epir was livid. Epir abdicated to Eku.”
“That's a bit dramatic. And the Eku are willing to start a war over who is the rightful heir?”
“Epir's conception was a violent one. Your Aunt Asila was treasured and beloved by your grandparents. In her seventeenth year, she was kidnapped by Xak, an Eku warlord. 'Eku' means strength in the ancient tongue. The Eku are known for their ferocity, they take what they want. When Xak took Asila as his bride, it was the first time the Phynx and the Eku hand gone to war in over two thousand years. Asila died shortly after giving birth to Epir. When Xak was captured at the Battle of Umkor, they turned Epir over in exchange for Xak's return. Your grandparents tried to raise him as normally as possible but the circumstances of his birth would not allow it. He was always a very angry and trouble young man.”
“They told Epir how he was conceived? How his mother died? No wonder he was messed up. How can anyone deal with that?”
“It wasn't quite like that. Epir is a psychometrist.”
“A what?”
“You don't need a brain to hold a memory. There are certain places or treasured objects that are able to hold memories as well. A psychometrist can tell things about the past through these objects, about who owned these objects, and their fate. After Asila never came back, your grandparents were in deep grief for the loss of their only daughter. They wanted to erase every memory of her so they could start a new life for Epir. They had all her possessions removed from the palace and burned. They even went as far to close off that wing of the palace. When Epir was in his twentieth year, he found a key hidden amongst his grandfather’s things. The etchings on the key matched the etchings on the locked doors of the forbidden wing. He snuck into the closed off wing and went exploring. The instant he touched the door to Asila's room, he knew everything about his past that he had always wondered about. He had always felt second rate compared to your father even though your grandparents treated them both very well.”