Michael’s hands clenched into fists. He stormed down the hall away from them.
Laura turned the knob and led Tom into her room. When the door had closed behind them, Tom set down the suitcase and held his arms out. Laura stepped into his embrace. In this cold house, she was warm and breathing. She smelled clean and wild and alive, savory and enticing. There was strength in her hug, and tenderness.
—Are you all right? her whisper asked.
—Fine. I guess. What about you?
—Things could be a lot worse. I’ve got you.
“Don’t you think we should talk about that?” he said aloud.
“About what?” Laura murmured to his shoulder.
He slid his hand up to stroke her hair. It felt soft and fine and smelled like herbs, with just a hint of flowers. “About having each other. You don’t know a thing about me.”
“But I feel like I—” She looked up at him and frowned. “Nnnn!”
“I know,” he said. “I feel the same way. For the first time in my life. Enchantment.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, no!” She pushed him away, then worked her hands in the air between them. A shimmery pink thread stretched from his chest to hers, and a blue light shone between their foreheads. After a second, both faded. “No,” she said. “I don’t know what that meant, but I didn’t put you under a spell to get you out here.”
“I never thought that,” he said.
“But that’s what people in my family do. They ensorcel people out here and then use them. I thought I didn’t have the power to do that. I was glad, too, because I don’t want it.”
“I came here under my own power.”
“There is some sort of spell—it showed just now when I did ‘things seen and unseen.’ But it’s something besides fetchcasting.” She smiled.
—I know, he said.
—This is right—don’t you think? asked her whisper.
—I do, he whispered, and listened to the mental echoes of that.
She smiled and patted his cheek. “Going to be fun finding out just what this is, don’t you think?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, though the prospect terrified him on one level. He wanted to find out everything about Laura; on the other hand, he had spent so much of his time learning to hide who and what he was…He looked around.
The room was windowless and dim. Laura, noticing his interest, walked to one wall and waved her hand at a bump in the rock that was letting out a night-light’s amount of light, and it brightened. On a shelf near the light, frozen crystal horses pranced. The bed wore a fluffy white quilt and had a rose-speckled canopy above it, and the vanity, dresser, and desk were white and spindly, trimmed with gilded handles. An array of thin-necked odd-shaped bottles clustered on the vanity. Laura glanced around, then looked back at Tom, her mouth quirking into a grin.
“How much of this is you?” he asked.
“I chose it all. My dad got it for me. He’s probably the nicest person you’ll meet out here.” She raised her eyebrows.
—How much of this is you? he asked.
—None. We copied it from somebody’s house in town. She’s been searching for an identity for ages now, looking for one that doesn’t connect her to the rest of the family.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Tom said.
“You’re relieved that I chose this?”
“I’m relieved that you copied it from someone else.”
“Hey!” she said, angry. “How did you figure that out?”
“You told me.”
“What?”
“Underneath.”
“I did not—” she began, when the door opened. Michael tossed something white into the room, yelled, “Half an hour! Please, please get ready!” and slammed the door again.
Laura took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. We have to let this go for now, because part of getting ready for Purification is clearing your mind. Please stop asking me things underneath, though, unless it’s an emergency. I’m not ready for it. I don’t want to think about it yet. I know I can’t talk underneath…what did I say?”
“I’m sorry I’m confusing you. You told me you copied this from someone in town because you were looking for ways to be different from the rest of your family.”
For a moment she stood and stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she took her lower lip between her teeth, and looked down. “All right.” She shook her head, looked up. “All right. I’ll worry about this later. For now, we have to—” She glanced toward a door that didn’t lead back out into the hall. “Well, we have to take a shower. I don’t think there’s time for two separate showers. Besides, I have to tell you about the cleansing. Ready?”
He wanted very much to ask her underneath how often she took showers with strangers, but he resisted the temptation, instead bending to pick up the white thing Michael had thrown into the room, then following Laura into the bathroom.
Chapter 4
The bathroom was spacious and tiled in white and blue, with white light coining from a bump on the ceiling. The air smelled like lemons, real ones, not the kind in bathroom cleansers. The room looked surprisingly modern compared to everything else he had seen in the house. White towels lay in fluffy stacks on shelves behind the door. The shower, enclosed in frosty glass, was the size of a small elevator.
Laura sat on the toilet and slipped out of her shoes, then stood up to slide her tights down. After stuffing the white robe over a towel rack, Tom took off his jacket and looked at the back, examining what had formerly been black stitched letters spelling out “Bert’s Taxis” against a background of taxi yellow. Now the script was white on white and looked classy but unreadable. His T-shirt, red only half an hour ago, was ice white as well. He pulled it off and draped it over another towel rack.
“I forgot my robe,” Laura said, and ducked out of the room. Tom sighed and took off his hightops, socks, and jeans, and then she was back, placing her robe on the rack beside his, sliding the knit dress off over her head. Her bra and panties were black, with blue and green flowers on them, and lace. Her face was red. The blush spread across her chest. Tom guessed she didn’t do this so often after all.
“I will if you will,” he said, gripping the elastic of his jockey shorts.
“Right,” she said, and they both got out of their underwear. She turned on the water; it rained, steaming gently, from the ceiling of the shower.
“The thing is, we have to start clearing our minds, no matter how hard it is in this situation,” she said. “You stare at me and I’ll stare at you for a couple minutes, so we can get that over with, okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
Her breasts were small, tipped with rosy brown. She had tan lines, but she had tan inside them, too, so she didn’t always wear a suit in the sun. Her hair below was the same color as her hair above, and her belly and thighs and upper arms were muscular but soft-edged. Everything about her made him want to touch her.
“Glad you like me,” she said.
He looked down at himself, then up at her, and gave her half a smile, half a shrug.
She said, “I like you too. Now I’m going to pretend I’m about ten and have never had any thoughts like this.”
Tom closed his eyes and remembered being ten: maximum insecurity, still struggling to figure out what he shouldn’t say, do, or notice. It varied from household to household. At ten he had lived with Aunt Hermione, a spinster, who didn’t like anybody to talk about anything that had to do with the body. Birds, cats, flowers, and weather were just about the only safe topics. Thinking of begonias, Tom opened his eyes again and followed Laura into the shower.
“Um,” she said. “This is stronger in Ilmonish, but I don’t think it would work for you, so let me translate. Hmm. Okay. Please say this: Powers and Presences, grant us your aid in preparing our thoughts and our bodies for you. Guides and Good-wishers, we now seek our balance for Purification; we make ourselves new.”
He focused o
n the words, and with a little coaching, he memorized them. They circled in his brain, eclipsing his interest in anything else, which helped. By the time he and Laura emerged and rubbed down with fluffy towels, he felt trapped and tranced in the circle of words, his heartbeat slowed, his tension gone.
The robe Michael had left for him resembled a long-sleeved choir robe, covering all of him except his hands and head. He glanced at his now-white hightops, wondering if he should put them on, but Laura shook her head and gripped his hand. Without a word she led him out into the hall, where they joined other white-robed people walking toward the stairs. A thread of chant resembling the one Laura had taught him murmured among them, but other than that they moved in soap-scented silence, bare feet whispering on the stone floor.
Down the stairs they went, and then along a tunnel that eventually led outdoors. Night had fallen, the dark sky hosting hundreds of twinkling autumn stars. The air was cool and so was the ground, but not uncomfortable. Breeze moved the pine needles against one another in the surrounding trees, so that the night whispered of ocean and smelled of evergreen spice. A path lit by globes of golden light led through the grass to a natural amphitheater formed of columns of basalt. People scattered in a circle on the flattened earth in the central arena, and then, when all was calm and silent, the ritual began.
People formed a loose ring, each an arm’s length away from the next, except for Michael and a young woman, who stood side by side in the center. White garments shimmered in the gold-globe-speckled darkness as if the people were a company of ghosts. A light fingering breeze brought the odors of grass and dust and dew, pine and woodsmoke. A silver goblet passed from hand to hand, and each person sipped; when Tom received it, he saw what looked like water. When he sipped, he tasted sea.
A very old man with a feathery nimbus of hair called a chant in some language full of hisses, hard consonants, and broad vowels. Even without a translation, Tom could tell it was a summoning. It called to something inside him. He felt the pounding begin behind his eyes, keeping time to the old man’s words. Tom squinched his eyes shut, thinking about all the defenses against expanded vision he had built and shored up these twelve years. He murmured, “I release you and I thank you” three times to his protection. A weight that had bowed his head and hunched his shoulders melted away; he could feel his body straightening, delight and relief sparking through it as he drew in deep breaths and released them.
At last he opened his eyes.
Tall shadowy figures rose from the earth, descended from the sky; some traveled outside the circle of people, others drifted inside, stooping to glance into faces, though the people did not glance back. Globes of light danced around and through these phantoms, and little darting sparks flew everywhere. People chanted, calling responses to lines the old man sang out, and the phantoms paused to listen. They all drew in around Michael and the woman in the center. Many-colored lights bloomed and flickered.
The old man called a question.
A pillar of light descended from the sky, shining on the woman. She stood, patient and calm. Tom squinted. The light sliced through her, then shone from inside her, though her expression never changed; she maintained a serene smile. At last the light faded.
The old man called the question again.
This time the white light from the sky shone on Michael. After a moment he fell to the ground, writhing and gasping. He curled up. Veins stood out on his forehead and tendons ridged his throat. Tom took a step toward him, but one of the phantoms turned and held out a hand to stop him. Michael drew in a breath and held it, struggling, perhaps, to let it out, but choking instead. Before he strangled, a shaft of orange light joined the white light that pinioned him, and he relaxed. Breath moved in and out of him, and the rigidity that had held him captive released him. He struggled to his feet, gasping. He smiled. He held out his hand, and the woman beside him took it.
The old man cried out again, a blessing and a thanksgiving, and suddenly everyone in the circle sang a phrase. The words repeated, but the melody changed slightly with each repetition. Tom felt his voice trying to sound with the others, but he did not know the words or the melody. His heart hurt. Here at last was a home, a family, united in something. He didn’t know what, but he longed to be part of it. He felt like a dark silent link in the chain of singing people.
One of the phantoms, a gaunt old man whose eyes glowed silver—the same one who had gestured him to stop earlier—came and touched his arm. Tom felt the brush of a warm feather.
—If you give me leave, I may aid you, the phantom whispered.
Tom glanced at Laura beside him. Her gaze was fixed on the couple in the circle’s center, and her mouth was open, song coming out of it. She didn’t react to this strange old man. Tom looked at the ghost again. He had seen so many ghosts. Most of them didn’t talk to him; of the few who had, some were intent on their own ends, and others were full of deep sadness. One or two had helped. Hannah had helped; he wasn’t sure he would have survived without her. Tom stared into the ghost’s face. The ghost was not a repeater; he was alive in this moment, full of energy. His silver hair crackled about his head. His face looked harsh and lived in, the brows craggy above the deep-set silver eyes, the mouth deeply bracketed, smiling now as if smiles came naturally.—All right, Tom said.
The phantom walked into him, disappearing. He felt it shrugging him on like a comfortable coat. It tingled inside him, shivering like a plucked string, but then the strangeness faded. He opened his mouth and sang with the others. He still didn’t understand the words, but the sense of community was strong: he felt linked to everyone here in a way he had never felt connected to his own relatives, and he savored the warmth of it.
As they sang, small lights darted among them like fireflies, touching, tasting, flitting off. Large, bumbling globes of light moved about too, and the phantoms, not all of them shaped like human beings, danced above and below, sinking into the earth and rising into the sky, weaving between the people.
A shaft of white light came down from the sky again, this time touching Tom. The phantom walked out of him and stood before him, watching, its eyebrows lifted. Tom looked up, but could not see a source for the light. Then he could no longer move. A vibration like a very low note felt through the feet rather than heard moved through him, sorting and searching him. He felt shaken. At last the sorting stopped, and the light vanished. One just like it shone down to envelop Laura. Her eyes widened. She stood quiet, and after a moment the light went away again. There was so much light and spirit activity Tom was not sure if he and Laura were the only ones singled out or whether it was happening all around the circle. A globe of green light came to him, floated just in front of his face, reached out soft, nonsolid fingers to touch his cheeks, then slid into his eyes. He blinked, blinded for a long moment. When he could see again, he saw a glow surrounding his hands. His right hand lifted without his volition. Laura’s hand grasped his. A glow haloed their clasped hands. His eyes met hers; her face had a faint blue glow, and she looked startled. Her voice faltered in the chant, then returned stronger. They both faced toward the circle’s center, but he felt as if he could see her still, as if something flowed back and forth between them. Tom’s attendant phantom slipped back inside him, this time not even tingling, and Tom became a participant again.
He saw the white light touch down elsewhere in the circle. It skipped some people and touched others, who froze until the light left them. He saw light slide over someone small across the circle and stain night blue, then flick off. The next moment it lanced down somewhere else.
Presently the little firefly lights winked out. The phantoms vanished or seeped away. Then all light withdrew except starlight. The old man broke the chant in a natural place, and sang something else. Everyone sang a response and held hands up to the sky; Tom sensed energy leaving, something borrowed being returned. But he did not see the green light that had entered his eyes leave. The old man gave another thanks and blessing, and everyone repeat
ed it. In the ensuing silence, they all left the amphitheater without a word.
Tom touched Laura’s hand again, and she gripped his. In the night the back of the house looked like a mountain riddled with tunnel openings, some spilling golden light, many dark, some covered with cloth (light leaking through the weave) or glass. People scattered and disappeared into the house.
Laura waited until everyone else had gone in. Her hand was hot in his. He looked into her face, saw uncertainty. Her hand tightened on his and she led him into a central opening toward light that strengthened as they walked.
Chapter 5
The air tasted of roasted meat and woodsmoke. Yellow light came from a side opening ahead of them. Voices murmured.
Though he had not consciously closed his othersight eyes, everything looked normal to Tom, no ghosts, no purple layers in the air, no threads or lights out of place. He glanced around. Stone walls, stone floor, flickering light ahead, and Laura, beside him, her hand in his. The white robe covered her. Her face looked young and worried.
“What is it?” he murmured.
Her gaze flicked to his face, then away. “Come, please,” she said. They turned through the opening and stepped into an enormous cavern. Candles and oil lamps flickered in many niches. To their right, a fire crackled in a fireplace the size of a small garage. Nearby lurked counters, a giant butcher-block table, two huge copper sinks, and woodstoves big enough for a person to sleep in. Herbs, garlic braids, chile ristras, and other drying plants hung from the ceiling in braids and bunches. Pots and pans dangled from pegs in the rock walls, and freestanding cupboards stood against other walls.
To the left was a wide open space; most of the light concentrated there. In the center stood a rectangular stone table with stone benches around it. White-robed people were sitting down at the table. Two robed women, an older one with gray hair and glasses and a middle-aged blonde one, were taking a cauldron off a hook above the fire, and a stocky dark man was filling a tray with crystal cups from one of the cupboards.
The Thread that Binds the Bones Page 4