by Jeremy Marr
“Jago,” Coleena said as she reached down towards the trap door in her living quarters. She watched as he stopped opening the door he had just unbolted. “Stop everything you are doing. You will remain facing the outside side world until you are told to do otherwise.” She finished lifting the door from its resting place before continuing. “I do not feel bad at all in taking your memory again, nor does it bother me that I have filled your mind with a false past.
“I gave you the choice to keep your life as it was. All you had to do was keep your promise of giving me your last name with our marriage. You failed to want to do so, and I acted accordingly.
“I give you forgiveness for the error in your judgment, Jago, but I told you this is too important to take any chances.
“That doesn’t mean, however, that I am willing to make your new life upon this land a curse for you, either.
“When you are given the command to proceed, you will forget what I just said to you. You will turn around after hearing me call your name and you will see me right in front of you. You will feel my arms wrap around your neck as my body presses against yours.” A quick passing, nauseating feeling trembled its way through her body as she remembered the way his body felt underneath her as she took back the gift his family had been protecting, passing down generation after generation. Once again she thanked whoever it was that gave her the power she possessed. “If only I could make myself forget certain things as well,” she mused as she continued speaking. “You will hear me say that which you desire to hear the most before you feel my lips press against yours. You can allow yourself to get lost in the emotions, for to you, it will be real.” Coleena chuckled and thought, “I am so glad that, for me, it will not be.”
“You may start now, Jago,” she finished. She watched as he slowly turned around. His eyes shone in a polished luster that could be seen from where she stood at the trap door. She turned around and started down the ladder. When she had traveled down enough to keep her head below the floor, she stretched up and grabbed the pull rope. After one more glance towards Jago, who was hugging the air in front of him with his lips stretched out in a frozen pucker, she pulled the trap door down, wasting no effort in trying to slow its speed as it fell. She climbed down the ladder in complete darkness. Her feet hit the floor and she spun around saying, “Lights.” The room lit up without any visible lighting source. It never ceased to amaze her, that one trick, just like the table, writing desk, clothes closet or bathing tub did every time. She had no problem making the items do their intended tasks, but never even came close to explaining how they did what they did.
She turned her attention to the giant, white tub in the Northeast corner of the room. She did not really know what it was made of exactly, but it was hard as steel and as strong as steel, even though she knew it was not like any metal she had ever seen. It was made of something between rock and metal, and stayed warm, even down in the cooler sleeping cellar. It was large enough that she could almost lay down in the bottom of it, with only slight pressure on the top of her head and the bottom of her feet. The top rim was rounded out and down, with the sides sloping gently towards the flat interior. That feature made climbing into the waist high tub extremely easy, but getting out required the use of the movable wooden steps she kept under the bed. She walked over to the tub and spoke to it saying, “water.” She watched as black shadows appeared out of nowhere and began swirling around the inside of the tub. She did not know if the shadows were where the water came from or not, but soon after they materialized with each bath, water started filling the tub from the very bottom up. It filled slowly enough that she had time to fetch the steps from under the bed and carry it back before the waterline was half way up the sides. She bent over and dipped both hands in the water and formed a cup with them. She drew the water up to her mouth several times before drinking her fill. When her drink was finished, the tub water was mere inches from the top. “Stop water,” she said as she gazed into the cool, clear liquid. The shadows were still circling and swimming around the surface of the tub, under the water, and would be until the last drop was emptied. She stuck her left arm in the tub, up to her elbow, and said, “I want the water warmed now.” Within seconds, she could feel the water getting hotter. She gave it a few more seconds before deciding that it was warm enough for her liking. “Stop heat,” was the next command she gave before stripping herself of her dress and throwing it over on the floor next to the redwood clothe closet.
“Ahhh,” she cooed, as she climbed into the tub and sank neck deep into the clear, warm water. Her left hand rose from the liquid and pressed up against her cheek. The lightning bolt was radiating more heat than the water, and she certainly did enjoy the feeling. She almost could not believe the time of the Coming was drawing near. “It has to be,” she said to herself, still cupping the side of her face with one hand. “The journal entry turned red,” she continued, “which means that even though no one witnessed our union of words and vows, it still binds our names together.”
She laughed at herself, remembering that she commanded Jago to include everyone within the Land of the Faithless as witnesses to the words he spoke. She figured, at the time, it would not hurt to take extra precautions.
“All that is left to do is break the Cycle and wait for the prophecy to finally take shape and start,” she finished while she submerged her hand, after hesitantly taking it off her cheek. She laid her head back to relax a bit before her walk up the mountain.
She was not sure how long she sat and daydreamed of what the Coming would actually be like, how long it would take to come, and what stepping up from OneTrueDaughter and becoming the OneTrueMother would be like. Time meant nothing to her. Brendon-Kyle would not be turning ten until next week, so she felt comfortable soaking there, allowing her thoughts to fuel her own anticipation of the glorious event. When she finally had enough bath time, she stood up in the middle in the middle of the tub. “Buttermilk,” she said, as she closed her eyes. Within seconds, she smelt the sweet fragrance wafting up all around her. She did not need to open our eyes to know that the crystal-clear water was turning milky white upon her command. She squatted down in the tub, held her breath, and submerged herself for a very brief moment before standing up. She made her way to the edge of the tub and started to make her way out to the waiting steps. Coleena remembered her first try at this command and how she sat too long in the buttermilk. She went outside directly after and as soon as her skin became hot under the sun light, she started smelling sour. After only three days, and countless baths later, was she finally able to smell normal. “I’ve yet to make that mistake again,” she said to herself, as she stood on the floor and rubbed the sweet smelling liquid into her skin.
When she was done, she felt much better. Her time with Jago in her bed had left her craving the clean and sweet smelling aftermath of a bath. That time with him was something she would do again, if need be, but with her cheek still warm where the lightning bolt was, she knew it was something she would not ever have to do in the future. “At least he doesn't even know,” she consoled herself. “And one way or the other, if the book is right, he won't be around much longer to remind me of it with his presence.”
Thinking about the book made her want to hold it, to run her fingers over the cover, and read, one more time, of the Breaking of the Cycle. Even though she committed it to memory years ago, she decided to bring it along with her. She would be near the Cave of Remembrance, soon to be her cave for the raising of HIM, when she was finished. She had been contemplating getting some sleep there for a spell and then and there decided she may want some quiet reading before her slumber.
She walked over to the closet door and placed her hand, palm out, on it. She wondered what attire it would have ready for her today when she opened it. A different dress everyday and never, yet, any duplicates. She felt a tingle in her palm and moved her hand down to the handle. She grabbed it and use
d it to open the door. There were two wooden hangers on a bar running within the closet. Hanging on one of these was a stunning dress unlike any she had the pleasure of seeing, let alone wearing, in her life. It was made of the blackest of black fabric. From the waist up to the high neckline, there were buttons of black, outlined in silver. They were no ordinary buttons though, being that they were all in the shape of lightning bolts. It was sleeveless and the bottom stretched to where it lied itself in a pile on the floor of the closet. She could not help herself and clapped merrily as she smiled ear to ear. To her, it was a dress that would outshine any the wife of the Supreme Military Commander had in her wardrobe. She reached out and felt the fabric, it felt like butter in her hand; smooth and slippery. As she handled it with her fingertips, her other hand reached up and slid it off the hangar.
This was a dress she wanted all on, and wanted on now. It almost slipped out of her hands twice as she lowered it to her bosom, where she hugged tight. She savored the feeling of the silky smoothness against her skin. After a long moment of this, she looped her fingers through the wide shoulder straps and lowered the dress to the floor so she could step into it. If anyone else were in the room, they would have heard a low, soft moan escape Coleena's lips as the dress caressed and flowed up from her lower legs to her thighs. She trembled as the silky fabric stretched and molded to the curves of her of her hips. She then slid the shoulder straps onto her wrists and raised her hands towards the ceiling. The dress was pulled up, carrying a wave of goose bumps in its wake like nothing she had ever experienced before. She brought her arms down slowly, savoring every ripple the movements caused the dress to make against her skin. The OneTrueDaughter leaned her head back and closed her eyes as her hands found the open ends of the dress along each side of her midsection. She pulled the material over her stomach and felt it stretch taut around her lower back. The combined feelings made her thoughts scramble within her head and left her wanting more. She allowed herself to get lost in the task.
Button after button, her hands moved on autopilot as her touch receptors went wild over her entire body. Her hands went up for another set, and instead, ended up touching her chin. It was over, there were no more buttons left undone. She almost unbuttoned them all, to reenact the whole thing again, but one deep breath made her realize it was not the act of buttoning that was wonderful, but the fact that with each button, the dress wove itself over previously exposed skin. Unbuttoning even a single lightning bolt, loosening the feel of the high-grade cloth being stretched tight around her, simply was not an option she wanted to explore. She was so appalled by the thought of potentially having to take it off at the end of the day; she chastised her subconscious for bringing it to her attention, and pushed the thought to the deepest, darkest corner up her mind where it would stay until it dissipated. Keeping that dreadful thought at bay was made it easier after she opened her eyes and saw the other article that came with the dress, from where ever it was that they came from. On the second hangar the wooden rod had hanging on it there was a long, wide piece of the same black material she now wore. She stepped back up to the closet to get the fabric when she noticed two more piles, which were previously hidden from sight by the long dress while it was hanging down. Her breath caught in her throat as she reached down for one of the two piles of black. She pulled it up and soon it became apparent that it was some kind of long stocking, with a thick, sturdy soul.
At this point, a thought from somewhere in her mind reminded her that Jago and Brendon-Kyle were still waiting to break the Cycle for her. That thought echoed through her head and grew louder, while becoming more direct in its need of seeing the Cycle broke once and for all. She held her breath against the eruption of feeling she knew would come, and hastily pulled a shoe/sock combination on and stretched the end to a spot just over her knee. She did the same with the other one and barely seemed to acknowledge the feeling of having that much more skin enveloped by the silky black. She then blinked slowly. Before she knew it, she had the other piece of cloth, from the second hangar, in her hands, tying it over the top half of her head. The loose ends of the tied cap dropped down just past the small of her back, where her hair ended. When the ends fell in place, a wave of pure energy pulsated within her scalp as every strand of hair found themselves being drawn towards the tie ends, weaving in and around each other as they did. The way it felt would have taken her breath away, but she had been still holding it from when she was putting on the hard bottom stocking shoes. She let her breath out, and as she did that, she felt her finger tips start to tingle. She looked down and smiled lovingly at the polished-until-they-shown, long black fingernails that now stuck out of each finger and thumb.
“Image,” she heard come out of her mouth, though she did not command it. It was not a command she knew, nor did she know why she said it, until the inside back of the empty cabinet started to shift and warp, and as it did so, became smooth silver, allowing her to see herself perfectly. She liked what she saw and, better yet, she loved how it felt. She was on top of the world, in the best mood that she had ever been in. She turned around and made her way to the ladder. “Lights off,” she said.
Her eyes started to tingle, and instead of being washed in a wave of darkness, a dull gray settled within the room. She could see well enough to make out every feature contained within the four walls. If she was surprised by this, it did not register in her voice. “One quick stop to the writing desk and we will be ready to go,” she said as she ascended the ladder. “We would not want to be late, now would we?” Her eyes stopped feeling funny as she lifted the trap door and emerged into the soft, night light. She walked briskly to the desk and stuck her hand inside while thinking of the white book, the twin to the one she had shown Jago earlier that evening. “Something is wrong!” she exclaimed, as the familiar feel of the book failed to enter her grasp. She snarled to herself and tried again. When nothing happened, for a second time, she changed the color of the book to black and immediately felt the binding grow within her hand. She lifted the copy of her book out of the desk, perplexed as to why its twin would not come.
“We are going to be late!” she heard in her mind. She closed the desk and started walking to the door with all intentions of figuring out what went wrong first thing upon her return. A movement to her right caught her attention as she reached the door. She glanced over to the window and watched as the curtain lazily ebbed on the gentle, warm breeze entering through the partially opened shutter window. “Hmmmmm,” she throated, as she approached it. She slid apart the curtain, and began lifting her hands to close the window. What she saw made her blood curdle with anger. Small footprints led from the patch of grass, directly underneath her window, towards the path separating the two houses. “Who could …,” she started to ask before choking on the rest of the words as Brendon-Kyle's face came to mind, with those eyes that disturbed her.
“You fool!” she spat at herself, while her already heated blood got much hotter. “He has in him what we have in us. Using your gift on him awoke what he carries within him. Your words meant nothing to him. Now he has what we wanted, MY white book is with HIM!” she spun around and marched to the door, which was flung open hard enough that it bounced back after hitting the wall and slammed itself shut, with her on the outside.
“You and I will talk later about why grass was allowed to grow within my protective rock garden, Coleena, and you will pay for this,” she heard with fire in her voice.
“No one steals from us,” she said. “He will pay as well.” She set her eyes on the path and began setting a furious pace up the mountain, where she knew he would be found.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WITHIN THE COLD