Perception

by A. K. R. Scott

  Bitterness stung the back of her throat, and her steps slowed. She opened her mouth and sucked in a breath, tasting ash on her tongue.

  Smoke.

  She rushed into the nursery and scanned the room, but there was no sign of fire. Dashing back into the hall, she resumed her course. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. The smell grew stronger as she approached the marine vivarium, panting and choking on the acrid scent. Grandmaster Brightwater could be burning alive in there for all she knew. Throwing all courtesy to the wind, she slammed into the heavy doors and burst into the room.

  “What in the world?” exclaimed Grandmaster Brightwater, followed by the sound of tinkling glass.

  Helaine sped toward the grandmaster past walls of water tanks teeming with marine life. “Are you all right?” she called. “Where’s the fire?”

  She made it to the far corner of the vivarium where Grandmaster Brightwater stood red-faced next to a medium-sized fish tank. Her ample bosom heaved up and down in distress.

  “What fire?” she snapped, leaning down beside the tank. Helaine heard a faint fluttering sound before the grandmaster righted herself. “I am perfectly fine, as you can well see.” She pinned Helaine with a glare.

  Helaine shrank to the size of a mouse. At least, on the inside.

  Millions of bubbles hummed through the vivarium’s tanks. The sound seemed to grow, bearing down on her, pressing and squeezing her even smaller. “I—I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to be disturbed. It’s just that I smelled smoke and thought there was a fire. I should have knocked before I came in, but I imagined the worst.”

  She watched the grandmaster soften as she spoke.

  “No, no, it’s fine,” said the grandmaster, shaking her head. “I was in the middle of something that required all of my attention, and you surprised me, that’s all. No permanent damage done.”

  Helaine sighed in relief, noting how a lake’s worth of water and aquatics overpowered the smoke smell. It was then she noted the tank by which the grandmaster stood. A half-dozen silver fish floated on their sides along the surface of the pink-tinted water. Each with a single, unblinking eye gazing skyward. Each as dead as a wood plank.

  Helaine swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Oh,” she breathed. She gulped once more, and gooseflesh spread down her arms despite the warmth. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Yes, it is. Our moonfish have begun displaying some detrimental behaviors. I believe it may be due to a contagion introduced into our school by the specimens we recently acquired from the vivarium in Pantomaria. But all attempts to correct the problem have failed. I fear what will become of our moonfish population if I’m unable to eliminate the threat.” Grandmaster Brightwater sighed. “But don’t concern yourself with them. Were you looking for me in particular, or did you just happen by?”

  Helaine was glad for the change of topic and told the grandmaster about her inability to guide the swarm.

  “Let’s hear it,” said the grandmaster, right as something large broke the surface next to Helaine, dousing her in salt water and eliciting a squeal.

  “All right,” she stammered, sidling away from the tank. “I’ll just go over here.”

  She moved to an observation platform set apart from the rest of the tanks, unpacked her violin, and played.

  As soon as she got to the troublesome section of the song, Grandmaster Brightwater flapped her hand at Helaine, shaking her head.

  “That’s your problem right there,” she said. “You’re not playing it correctly.”

  Helaine frowned. Not that she was one to correct an instructor, let alone a grandmaster, but she was better than certain she was playing all the right notes. But perhaps Grandmaster Brightwater hadn’t heard her correctly.

  She picked up her violin and played once more.

  “No, no, no.” The grandmaster waved at her again. “Where’s your music?”

  Helaine retrieved it from her case. She peered over the grandmaster’s shoulder as she scrutinized the manuscript.

  “See that little mark, right there?” Grandmaster Brightwater’s thick finger almost blocked out the mark she was referencing, but Helaine caught it. She flushed as she realized her mistake. An amateur mistake. She closed her eyes, wishing she really was a mouse so she could scurry under one of the tanks. On second thought, maybe not one of the tanks.

  “Not to worry, my pet,” chuckled the grandmaster as she folded the music and returned it to Helaine. “It happens to the best of us. But let this be a reminder to you of the precise nature of our work. You see, while you play that piece beautifully, bees can’t perceive sound much above your bottom three strings. So, you lose them when you venture up top. The higher notes still affect them, but not the way you want. Play that section in the lower register, as marked—” She chuckled again. “—and I feel certain you’ll have a different outcome next time.”

  “Thank you,” Helaine mumbled, tucking the music and her instrument back into the case. “I wish Dov would have told me that. It’s such a silly thing to bother you with.”

  A cheery smile slid over the grandmaster’s lips. “Oh, Dov. Between you and me, he is the best beekeeper in all of Amrantir.” She leaned in and whispered, “But he is rubbish when it comes to music.”

  Surprise arced Helaine’s eyebrow, and she nodded.

  “On the other hand, you, Miss Vastrof, are doing a fine job. But if you can’t get that swarm in line, I’m sure I can find you a position here. Have you met Captain Squishington?” She gestured to a dark tank kept sheltered from the sunlight. A mass of enormous, sucker-spiked tentacles pressed against a corner of the glass, and Helaine shuddered, backing toward the door.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, thank you,” she said.

  Once back in the hallway, Helaine breathed a sigh of relief, clearing her head of the odors of the vivarium. She noted, too, that the burning smell that had sent her barreling into the room had disappeared as well. Whatever it was, someone had taken care of it.

  Good, she thought. She still had her own problem to attend to.

  The honeybee hurricane came as no surprise this time. But it brought with it the same sense of joy and wonder it had in the beginning. Helaine stood strong, the calm and controlled center, feeling the music flowing from her bow like bottled magic, swirling an army of black and yellow in synchronous orbit around her.

  This time, when the first scouts returned to the swarm, she dropped into her lower register. The bees didn’t falter in their dance. They waggled and curved, waggled and curved, convincing twice as many to follow their lead. She repeated the first section of the song, her arms burning, and the second wave peeled away from the swarm, inspecting her before beginning their circular flight. Again, she led the scouts back to the swarm, and they began their dance. Only this time, they danced with more fervor and determination, as if they could barely contain their excitement. She knew how they felt.

  The third time through, over one hundred bees zoomed around her in formation. And when they returned to the swarm, their tiny bodies blurred with the movement as they danced with all their might.

  That’s when Helaine noticed the change.

  The bulk of the swarm, which had remained in that constant state of almost-dripping, began a subtle shift. Like the felling of a giant tree, it moved in slow-motion at first. It stretched like taffy, the drip pulling longer and thinner down from the mass. Then, as if by unanimous decision, the rest of the swarm released their hold on the limb and headed for her.

  The buzzing, amorphous cloud hovered in front of her, constantly moving, but going nowhere. She realized they were waiting on her. Though nearing exhaustion, Helaine shifted seamlessly into the third section of the piece.

  She kept her eyes trained on the bees as her right foot inched back. The swarm matched her movements. Her left foot followed, slipping on the discarded fruitlets. Her jaw tightened at the thought of twisting an ankle when she was this close to success.

  I wonder . . .
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  Slowly, deliberately, she turned her back on the swarm. They stayed put.

  She took two steps forward, then glanced back. The bees followed.

  Helaine giggled.

  A breeze wafted through the orchard, and she noticed the scent of the coming rain. Afraid of the effect the sudden change in weather would have on the bees, she focused all her attention on getting them back to the apiary as soon as possible. She needn’t have worried. For, as quickly or slowly as she moved, as long as she kept up with the music, the bees kept up with her.

  She spotted Dov when she came to the outskirts of the apiary. He was propped against the back of the boles, watching her progress.

  With her chin high, Helaine approached the four prepared skeps. She circled behind the closest one, positioning it between her and the swarm. As if on cue, the bees filed into the skep, a few at a time. She repeated the last few bars of music until the final bee disappeared.

  Helaine’s arms fell to her sides, and it took all of her will to keep her violin and bow from slipping from her fingers. She slumped forward, letting her chin fall to her chest, and took a deep breath.

  It turned into a giggle.

  Before she knew it, she was roaring with laughter.

  She had done it.

  She flipped her head up, sending a cascade of honeyed waves flying up and over her, and spotted Dov coming her way.

  He stopped a few feet from her as she did her best to compose herself.

  He studied her in silence for a moment, then gave a short nod.

  “Good job.”

  Helaine’s jaw dropped. Then, she burst out laughing again.

  “Why, Dov! Did you just pay me a compliment?” She giggled. And for the briefest moment, she could swear she saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

  He grunted and turned, heading back to the apiary.

  Helaine followed. “And not a moment too soon, either. Now, they’ll be safe and dry when the rain comes.”

  “What rain?”

  “The rain . . .” Helaine looked up.

  Dov continued on to the apiary, but Helaine stood rooted where she was.

  The afternoon sky was clear blue from rooftops to horizon. Not a cloud in sight.

  Then she understood.

  She raised her violin, brought her tired arms into position, and played the first few bars of her favorite piece. There it was: the coming rain.

  It was back. Her gift was back.

  She was back.

  The laughter made it impossible to keep playing, so she stopped trying. There would be plenty of time for that. She wanted to shout for joy, but she squeezed her lips together. The urge to throw her arms out and spin in circles nearly overwhelmed her, but she knew Dov was watching. Instead, she would head inside and take a much needed bath and nap. She returned Dov’s wave as she made a move back toward the conservatory.

  “Wait,” she heard him call.

  Her shoulders sagged when he explained why.

  “Got another swarm.”

  Chapter 12

  The harp’s strings plinked and whined beneath Helaine’s fingers as she plucked them at random. Blissfully ignorant of the suffering she was inflicting on Petrin’s ears, she drew in long, deep breaths, smiling all the while.

  The abrupt return of her gift was as much a mystery as its absence had been. Nurse Silvers theorized it was a natural result of having been asleep for so long. Like some of her other bodily functions had taken time to return to their natural equilibrium, her extra sense had fallen dormant during her sleep and needed time to revive. At least that was his theory. There would be tests run when Doctor Corinson returned. Helaine wasn’t looking forward to that, and it would probably all come to nothing anyway. Since Nadja’s singing was likely the cause of her nap, it stood to reason her gift’s disappearing-reappearing act was somehow related. With nothing to be done about either Doctor Corinson or Nadja, she pushed the thoughts from her mind, focusing instead on the sounds and smells emanating from the harp.

  “This may be my new favorite,” she sighed.

  “Why is that?” mumbled Petrin, pausing in his reading to massage his temples.

  “Because it reminds me of you.”

  That got his attention. He slipped a feather between the pages of his book before closing it and turning away from the fireplace. Helaine sat cross-legged on his bed, the harp in her lap. “You’re saying that harp smells like me.”

  “Well, not exactly. But . . .” She tilted her head to the side and plucked a few more strings. “Mmm hmm. That’s you.”

  She met his eyes and could see the debate going on behind them. He wanted to know, but was embarrassed to ask. Something about Petrin awakened her boldness. It was a side of her personality she still wasn’t accustomed to, but one she was eager to explore.

  “Want to know what it smells like?”

  He inclined his head and gave a short nod.

  A cheeky grin spread across her face. “I’ll bet you do.”

  Petrin’s confused look lasted for only a moment. By the time Helaine realized he’d leaped from his chair, he was already leaning over her.

  “I’ll take that, thank you,” he said, tossing the harp aside before unleashing a tickle attack. “Think you’re funny? I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

  Helaine shrieked and launched across the bed, but she wasn’t fast enough. Petrin’s grip was surprisingly strong as his fingers wrapped around her ankles and pulled her back toward him. In one swift movement, he flipped her onto her back and targeted her ribs.

  She squealed between fits of laughter. Her hair tangled in a wild mess as she did her best to wriggle out of his grasp.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You’re not getting off that easily. I didn’t spend all morning listening to eight-year-olds give exhibitions on instruments made by children barely out of diapers, just to come home and listen to you torture that harp for half an hour.”

  “Stop!” gasped Helaine.

  Petrin froze, but didn’t release her.

  She panted against his weight, and her eyes grew serious. She swallowed. “Are you insulting my harp playing?”

  Petrin sobered, and he nodded solemnly. “Most definitely.” He twitched his hand against her ribs. The threat alone made her body jerk, and a giggle exploded from her lips.

  “Wait, wait!” she cried.

  “Wait for what? I’m not doing anything,” he replied and tapped a finger once against her other side.

  “No!” she yelled, bending in the opposite direction. “Wait!”

  Petrin obeyed, giving Helaine a moment to catch her breath. She tried, unsuccessfully, to blow a tangle of hair out of her eyes.

  “I’m offended,” she huffed, poking out her bottom lip.

  Petrin’s body shook with laughter. Helaine deepened her frown and brought her arms up between them, resting her palms against his chest. She was doing her best to distract him from the tickling, but if he continued to tease her, she wouldn’t be able to maintain her feigned displeasure.

  “No, I mean it,” she said, barely able to keep the giddy quiver out of her voice.

  Petrin’s laughter faded, and he stared down at her. His gaze flickered to her pout then back up to meet her eyes.

  “Don’t be,” he said. He brought a hand up to smooth the hair back from her face, leaving a trail of goose bumps where his skin touched hers. This was her chance to escape. She didn’t take advantage of it.

  “Who cares about the harp? It’s not my best work, either.” He traced his thumb down the side of her cheek. “But you are one of the best violinists I know.”

  “One of?”

  His voice deepened as he lowered his head to hers. “And, without question, my favorite. It’s one of the million things I love about you.”

  His lips met with . . . her teeth.

  He drew back. “What is it?”

  An unstoppable grin lit Helaine’s face as she shook her head
. “Nothing. It’s just, I’m not sure I heard you correctly. Can you please repeat that last thing you said?”

  She felt Petrin’s body tense, and the tops of his ears burned bright red.

  “I, ah . . .” He stretched his neck awkwardly and cleared his throat. Helaine watched it bob up, then down as he swallowed. He exhaled forcefully, his breath caressing her face.

  When he brought his eyes back to hers, they had deepened, grown darker somehow. A moment before, Helaine’s mood had been giddy and playful. But Petrin’s look made her suddenly shy. She felt trapped. But it was a trap she was in no hurry to escape.

  “I love the way you play.”

  He leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek.

  “I love your enthusiasm.”

  Helaine closed her eyes when he kissed her forehead. Her scalp tingled as his hand slid behind her neck, cradling her head.

  “I love your open, caring heart.”

  He kissed her other cheek.

  “I love your imperfections.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but her voice caught in the back of her throat when his lips grazed the tip of her nose.

  “I love you.”

  This time, his lips found hers, and Helaine felt their effect from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She slid her hands up and over his shoulders, pulling him closer. Petrin hardly needed the encouragement. Her heart swelled to bursting as they reveled in newly confessed love, drinking in each other’s kisses like a parched man at a fountain. Fingers entwined, toes curled, and Helaine felt as if she was drowning, pulled ever deeper into the soft comforter beneath her. Locked in one another’s embrace until nature intervened, they broke apart, breathless and gasping for air.

  They laid side by side, studying each other in silence, letting their breathing return to normal. Petrin reached for one of her hands, slipping his fingers through hers and pulling the back of her hand to his lips. It was then Helaine realized she still hadn’t told Petrin how she felt about him.