Forever and a Knight

by Bridget Essex

  For a moment, I think she's joking, and I chuckle a little nervously. But when I flick my gaze to Attis, she's already through the door and gone.

  Uh...great. She was serious.

  I stare up at the ghost, and the ghost stares down at me. It doesn't really make sense scientifically that she notices me and not anyone else. I'm fairly certain that I'm not physically or mentally any different from everyone else here, on this world. Just because I come from a different world shouldn't make me different, but then, I have to keep reminding myself that it's not like there are scientific principles governing ghosts. So if Attis tells me the ghost is interested in me because I'm from another world, there's a chance that she's right.

  I take a deep breath and stare up at the ghost.

  Am I really going to leap out the window of a second-story building and hope that I can land in a very small pile of hay? Or, more impossibly yet, in Attis' arms?

  The ghost stares down at me with unblinking black eyes.

  God...I hope I can do it. I don't really like the look she's giving me right about now.

  The ghost opens her mouth; her expression goes just a bit darker and nastier. Yeah, that's not really a good sign...

  And that's when Attis' voice comes through the window from outside. “Josie? I'm ready! Jump!”

  Suddenly I'm up and out of the bed like it's on fire. I try to hold the gaze of the ghost as I stumble backward, toward the window, fumbling with my hands behind me, reaching for the windowsill. My fingers close around the cold wood of the sill. And that's when it hits me that I'm about to jump out a window.

  “And you're going to catch me, right, Attis?” I shout down to her, keeping the ghost pinned in my sights.

  “Absolutely!” Attis calls up to me.

  I can't be sure, but it sounds like she's smiling.

  God, it's cold outside, I realize, as I put a leg over the windowsill into the night. I hold the gaze of the ghost, and then I put my other leg over the windowsill, too, so I'm just sitting there suspended in midair, my legs dangling out into nothingness.

  This might, possibly, be the stupidest thing I've ever done.

  The ghost begins to come towards me now, reaching her arms out to me as she hovers forward.

  “Jump now, Josie!”

  And, unbelievably, impossibly...

  I leap.

  One summer, our family went camping up in Maine. It wasn't something we'd ever done before, the whole big family vacation, and we never did it again...but that one week in August was one of the happiest of my life.

  It was a few months before Ellie's accident. I was twenty and in college, and she was out of college and happy, and we basked in the knowledge that we thought we had our whole lives in front of us. Everything from that week is gold-tinged in my memory, even though the trip wasn't perfect. It rained almost constantly. Our cabin was next to another cabin full of drunk frat boys. And there was the infamous Raccoon Incident.

  But still...I remember it as perfect, golden.

  And no moment was more perfect than the afternoon Ellie and I went swimming together in the ocean. The afternoon we dove off the cliff together.

  There are a lot of cliff faces in Maine, and we were camped practically on the edge of one. It was an impossibly far leap into the water, though—really—it probably wasn't all that far. In my memory, it was as tall as a five-story building, but if I went back there now, I'd probably be disappointed to realize that it was only about twenty feet. Time makes you remember things differently sometimes, turns that tiny incident into something massive, shining...

  But it doesn't matter how high that cliff face was. Because I remember that, when my sister and I leaped together, hand in hand, running as fast as we could across the grass leading up to the drop-off and then suddenly surging through the air together...

  I remember that it felt like flying.

  And I remember that now, because it's just like then, that long-ago moment, gone forever now.

  But I remember.

  For this single, absurd moment, as I hang suspended in the air, as the expression of the ghost changes behind me, her face growing ugly and contorted and angry as she races toward me, following me out the window...it feels, again, just like I'm flying.

  But it's only for the briefest of moments, that feeling, that weightlessness, that surge of euphoria as I muse that this must be what birds feel like. But that feeling fades almost immediately, followed by pure adrenaline, and then by pure fear, fear coursing through me so quickly that I catch my breath.

  I'm not flying. I'm falling. I close my eyes, brace for impact.

  I hit her so fast, so hard, the breath should be knocked from me. But it isn't.

  Because Attis catches me. Easily.

  Somehow, impossibly, she catches me.

  I'm pillowed in midair by strong arms, one arm under the backs of my knees, the other around my shoulders and chest. I should hurt—I hit her with such force, such impact—but I don't hurt. Nothing hurts, actually.

  Attis holds me in her warmth, and I stare up at her face with wide, stunned eyes. I catch my breath, my heartbeat roaring through me as she holds my gaze; her mouth turns up at the corners softly.

  She's smiling down at me. And then, as one, we both look up into the air, at the window I just fell from.

  The ghost is hovering in midair far above us. She's hovering like she's flying, and she actually probably is. She turns over slowly, her skirt billowing out behind her, her hair floating all around her, like she's suspended in water, and then she looks up at the moon, at the distant, silver curve far, far above.

  She doesn't flicker out and disappear, like before.

  Slowly, softly, she looks up at the moon...and then she simply begins to...dissolve.

  That's the only way I can explain it. It's like her toes and the hem of her dress begin to turn into sparkling glitter. The dissolution, the transformation from ghost into shimmering particles, moves up through the ghost's body, and then she's entirely made of that shimmering dust...

  For a long moment, nothing happens. She shimmers far above us. But then a soft wind begins to blow, the chill breeze brushing past Attis and I and swirling into the air.

  And the dust that used to be the ghost blows away into nothingness.

  Attis sighs, her shoulders dropping slowly as the tension leaves her. I glance up at her, and, of course, my heart skips a beat.

  Her eyes are soft and warm as she gazes up at the moon; her mouth is a soft, sweet curve. She looks at peace, staring at the stars spread above us.

  “We did it,” she says then, gently.

  I stare up at Attis, at her—in that moment—vulnerable, open face, and I know what's happening, and I have to admit it again to myself, what's happening, and that I'm completely incapable of stopping it:

  I'm falling in love with her.

  I could (sort of) ignore it before. I could ignore it, and I think I might have been able to continue ignoring it. But it took this, it took her catching me as I fell, it took this moment of openness, of her face softening, for me to realize that I can't stop the progression of feeling, this unfurling in my heart. I'm powerless against it.

  I'm falling in love with her.

  Attis glances down at me now, and she sighs again. She gazes at me almost wistfully, but then she shakes herself out of it, and she sets me down gently, my feet finally touching the ground.

  I stand, wobbly, for a long moment as we both gaze up at the sky.

  “Did that really do it? How do we know that it worked? I mean, is the ghost really gone?” I ask Attis, holding my coat (the coat that I'm still wearing, that I didn't even take off to sleep) close around myself.

  “She's at peace now. She's moved on,” says Attis, voice low.

  Her words were suddenly cold, and I glance up at her, surprised. Whatever made her open, made her vulnerable before, is gone now completely. She's closed off again.

  It's like a punch in the gut to see how cool her face has be
come. What happened? I rub at my arms, suddenly very self-conscious.

  She's at peace now. She's moved on.

  Something, I realize, that Attis has not done.

  “Come on... Let's get some rest,” she tells me wearily, turning away from me and not looking at me as, together, we begin to walk toward the entrance to the tavern.

  My arms are wrapped tightly around myself, and even though I'm very cold, even though I spent the entire day outside and there's no place I'd rather be but warm in that bed...I know that I need a moment to myself.

  “You...go on,” I tell Attis quietly. She turns back, surprised, but her face is still closed off, still hardened to me. I shake my head, feeling my heart ache. “You go back to bed. I'll be up in a minute. I just need some...fresh air...”

  She holds my gaze for a long moment before she nods slowly. “All right. But realize we have a long day tomorrow.” She doesn't say anything more, simply turns and walks toward the front of the building.

  I turn, and I look back up at the sky, at the sliver of moon, and I finally notice...

  The millions and millions of stars.

  Okay, admittedly, I'm not an outdoorsy-type person, but I can still appreciate the sheer, mind-blowing beauty of nature.

  And I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful. I certainly have never seen this many stars before in my life.

  Well. One other time I did. One other time I saw the heavens so bright and beautiful that it broke my heart with its jaw-dropping majesty.

  During the camping trip in Maine.

  I take a deep breath and cast about for something to sit on so I can look at the sky comfortably. There's a well in the center of this courtyard (a different courtyard than the outhouse area), so I go and I sit on the lip of the well, the stones cold underneath me, and I look up and up.

  There are so many stars overhead that the sky practically glows white. A strip of nebulous galaxy arches across the sky, and I'm able to make out individual bits of pink and purple galaxy, because it's so dark here, with no artificial lighting to pollute the skies, that the stars aren't hidden at all. There's a riot of colors in the galaxy, a riot of colors surrounding the stars, and it takes my breath away.

  It reminds me so much of that camping trip that my heart actually hurts. I remember staring up at the constellations with my sister, laughing like we were kids as we snuggled deep in our sleeping bags around the dying campfire, our faces upturned to the skies, just like mine is now.

  I wish Ellie were here. Ellie would know what to do; she'd say the perfect thing to soothe me, the perfect thing that I needed to hear...

  I remember the dream suddenly, and the ache in my heart intensifies. I actually reach up and place a hand over my heart, pressing down, trying to lessen the pain. It doesn't work.

  I'm perfectly aware that dreams are only a muddling of images sent from our subconscious. There's nothing magical about a dream, nothing otherworldly, but didn't it seem strange that the only reoccurring dream I have, the one I've had so many times since she died.... Isn't it strange that, for the first time ever...the dream was different?

  I don't remember much from the dream other than my sister's insistence and urgency. I remember her taking my shoulders in her hands, shaking me gently. I remember her laughing, but I don't remember about what. She wanted me to do something, wanted me to do that thing with such urgency that I still feel the urgency now, though I don't remember what she wanted me to do...

  But I have to remember that it was only a dream, a dream filled with things that I wanted to hear, so my subconscious simply manufactured them for me.

  I rub at my eyes with a cold hand. I just need to get home. I need to get out of this world, this world that's so different from my own, this world that makes no real sense to me.

  I need to get home, and everything will make sense again.

  I stare up at the stars, feeling far, far beneath them, feeling cold and sad and small. I sit on the edge of the well and try to keep my heart from hurting.

  And fail.

  Chapter 8: The Feather

  I wake up to the smell of coffee and the warmth of a roaring fire. I sit up in bed, moving aside the purring, happy bulk of my cat from her place, curled up on top of my stomach.

  Attis stands at the foot of the bed, dressed only in a nightshirt that reaches the tops of her thighs. She's bent forward at the waist, washing her face in the chipped basin on the small table by the wall, dipping her hands into the water and bringing them up to her cheeks, brushing the water over her closed eyes, her nose, her soft mouth...

  My breath hitches in my throat, and I purposefully look away, swinging my feet over the edge of the bed and stretching overhead exaggeratedly.

  “Ah, you're awake!” Attis says warmly, and I glance back at her, relieved that she looks much softer than when we last saw each other last night. She looks bright eyed and energetic, how the morning always makes me feel, too. “Are you ready to go, Josie?” she asks me, picking up the rough scrap of cloth from beside the bowl and patting her face dry. “We've got quite a ways to go today,” she says, rubbing the cloth over the back of her neck and running a wet hand through her dark red hair. She shakes her head, and the hair spills over her shoulders as she arches her head back, her creamy white neck drawing my gaze like a gravity. She sets the cloth beside the bowl and regards me. “Are you very sore?”

  I try to stand and then topple backward onto the bed, wincing. “Oh, my God, that's harsh,” I mutter, massaging my thighs. I'm the kind of sore that a first trip to the gym in twelve months with an absurdly pushy trainer would make you, times ten. I grimace, wincing, and glance back at her. “Tell me this stops after, you know, a thousand hours in the saddle? I feel like I'll never walk again,” I tell her dramatically, curling into the fetal position on the bed.

  “Oh, not so many as that,” she says, and then she crosses the space between us. Smoothly, like she does this sort of thing all the time, she kneels down on one knee in front of me, curling her warm fingers around my hands and drawing me up into a seated position again at the edge of the bed.

  “What are you—” I begin, already feeling my cheeks warm, but then there's no helping it...

  Attis places her hands around my hips and draws me forward with one smooth motion, so that my legs are dangling off the bed again. She leans forward, and then the front of her body is pressed against my knees, and she places the palms of her hands on the tops of my thighs.

  I take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of her waken my entire body in one surging jolt of electricity.

  Her hands are placed on my thighs in the smoothest, most non-awkward way possible, and I can either answer that smooth, non-awkwardness with my own smooth, non-awkwardness or I can totally blush and stammer and make an idiot of myself.

  I'm never an idiot in front of women, I remind myself. I've got this. I can do this. I draw in another deep breath and try to paste a look on my face of calm curiosity and indifference.

  I...probably just look unhinged again.

  What the hell is it about Attis that reduces me to this? That reduces me to a blushing idiot incapable of normal behavior?

  It's because you like her so damn much, comes the agitating thought from the back of my head.

  “So,” I tell her, reaching into my radio show host brain and letting it run on auto-pilot. “Do you always wake up your traveling companions this way?” I ask her teasingly.

  Attis flicks her gaze from my leopard-print thighs to focus on my face.

  “No,” she says, and that single word is deep and husky, and that single syllable undoes me.

  I can feel the blush explode across my cheeks, and I take a single, quivering breath in.

  “I need to ease your pain,” she says, suddenly all business as she closes her eyes and bows her head. “Close your eyes, Josie.”

  Oh. Easing my pain. Of course. I feel chagrin move through me, but I find myself nodding. “Sure,” I tell her.

  But I
don't close my eyes.

  Threads of white light begin to spin up from the rough boards of the floor. They're almost nonexistent, so it's difficult to see them to start; I only notice them because I was looking for them. But, like the last time she healed me, the strands of white light spiraling up begin to grow in diameter and brilliance. They begin to glow so brightly, in fact, as they tendril out of the floor, that it's difficult to look at them. But I do, anyway. I narrow my eyes, squint, and watch as the strands of white light begin to spiral around Attis, growing up and over her body like an ivy plant made of light. They surge quickly down her arms.

  And the light dives into me. Where they touch my skin, they...tickle.

  The strands of light are now glowing so brightly that I can't see anything but brightness. There's one tremendous flash of light, and then nothing.

  They've disappeared. Attis opens her eyes, glances up at me with a small smile.

  “There. That should be easier now for you.” She rises from kneeling and offers her hands down to me.

  I swallow and take her hands.

  She pulls me up gently, and then I'm standing on legs that were aching so terribly, when I first woke up, that I couldn't fathom making it through the day. And now, of course, there's no pain. Because Attis healed me again.

  “Didn't you say that it's hard for you to do that, to heal me?” I ask her, but she shrugs easily, moving away from me, back to the water basin.

  “If it helps you make this journey, then it's worth it,” she says, her voice mild as she places her hands in the basin of water.

  I shift my weight, turn away from her beautiful face bent toward the bowl of water. “Thank you,” I murmur.

  She flicks her gaze up to me, and her full lips slant at the corners as water travels over her mouth, dripping off her chin. She picks up the piece of cloth, wipes off her skin. “It's my pleasure, Josie,” she tells me.