by Lila Felix
WHEN THE SYNOD SUMMONS A LUCENT, THE LUCENT SHALL ANSWER THE CALL IN HASTE.
I wasn’t one of those people who could read or study while listening to music. I needed complete quiet without interruptions.
Collin hadn’t gotten the memo and neither had the voice—now two voices—in my head.
It took Collin a full thirty minutes to open the books. He sat and stared at them for half an hour. I understood his reverence, I did. But that Pema girl had given us a deadline. These books weren’t going to be around forever like his books were. There weren’t digital copies of them everywhere at our disposal.
He got up as the sun set and lit an oil lamp I hadn’t even noticed in the corner.
The second voice spoke in Portuguese, which I found strange. And not the contemporary Portuguese either. This was old school. The same phrase was spoken over and over in perfect form, not a hint of a lilted accent or Americanized fashion.
It was akin to having noise-cancelling ear buds plugged in. All I could hear were their voices.
Cosmically or heavenly, those same voices rose and fell with the climaxes and valleys in the texts before me. It was like they were speaking through the books to me, or to me about them. I didn’t know which.
But mostly, I couldn’t get them to stop.
A hand touched mine and like water through a syphon, the voices were sucked away.
Colby.
To regain my senses, I tore my gaze from the page and up to her face. Her glassy blues bore down into me. Colby’s eyes had always been otherworldly to me. Mostly they were blue, but like her wake, they lightened and darkened according to her mood. There was a storm brewing in them now.
“Theo, where were you?” Concern laced her tone.
I shook my head from the residual echoes of the voices. “I’m here.”
“No, you weren’t. You were somewhere else. Collin was yelling your name when I came in. Did something happen?”
Shifting to look at Collin, I saw he was distressed. He was stroking his beard, consoling himself. I must’ve been far gone.
“No, nothing happened. I just need to read more.”
She nodded and let go, but as soon as she did, the voices returned. My hand jerked out and grabbed her wrist. They quieted again, as if she were their master.
“Tell me,” Colby demanded.
“There are voices. They’ve spoken to me only twice. But when I read these books, they are relentless. You made them stop.”
“What do they say?” She broke down and kneeled in front of me, fisting the edge of my shirt.
“They say ‘Help us’, ‘Ajudar-nos-á.’”
“Help them what?”
“I don’t know. Sit with me while I read. We don’t have much time.”
She pulled up a chair, never letting go of my hand, and I read faster than I’ve ever read. Colby filtered through pictures, taking notes as she did. The three of us studied until we could hardly see the letters anymore.
“You must retire. There are still two more days.” Pema had entered the cabin again.
Colby squeezed my hand once and then let go, looking for any sign that it had distressed me.
“I’m good,” I assured her.
Collin stayed to speak to Pema while Colby and I went outside. My legs would barely move and my neck ached from being huddled over the texts.
“Hold my hands,” she requested, and the glow of something mischievous beamed in her eyes. “Don’t use your powers.”
“What?”
And before I knew it, we were in the bathroom of the house in Tibet—in the bathtub.
“I did it!” She yelled and flailed her arms.
“How?”
“Pema told me to not let go. Just don’t let go. How stupid is that? All this time, I’ve been too scared. So everyone else must’ve let go. We could’ve flashed together as kids.” Frustration took hold of me, and I held her.
“Everything works out like it should. We can flash together now. As long as you don’t let go of me again, everything will be fine.” Unlike the times before, she willingly relented to my touch. Her arms wrapped around my neck and her face went where it should, to that nook between my neck and my shoulder—as though it had been made just for her.
Just when I was getting comfortable, she broke free. “I can go get Collin!”
“Okay, but I don’t share bathtubs with dudes.”