Winded

by Emma Shelford

  We dabble in small talk, then she gets down to business.

  “Is there anything in particular you’d like to discuss today?”

  “Why don’t you pick a topic? You probably have a better idea than me of what is worth discussing.” I grin at her. Her lips twitch in a small smile, revealing a dimple on her left cheek.

  “All right. Since you seem to be feeling better after your bad news, let’s try a different topic. Last time, you mentioned a casual romantic encounter with a woman you met in—” She checks her notes, tucks a strand of silky hair behind her ear. “Wallerton. What made you initiate that relationship? Lead me through your thought process.”

  I laugh.

  “What do you expect me to say? I was alone in a strange town. I was bored—Wallerton isn’t known for its nightlife. I wanted female companionship. She was beautiful, interested in me, and I didn’t want to go back to my lonely hotel room by myself.”

  She coughs delicately.

  “That was—comprehensive. Thank you for sharing, Merry. Your last relationship, how long was it?”

  “Mmm, about five weeks.”

  “And before that?”

  “One hook-up, and a two-month stint before that.”

  She folds her hands over her notepad and leans forward slightly. Her narrow face, framed by the hair that has slipped away from her ear, is intent.

  “Have you had a long-term relationship with anyone since your wife passed away? Longer than a few months?”

  “No.”

  “What’s keeping you from being in a long-term relationship?”

  I shrug, feigning indifference, although it’s obvious in my opinion.

  “I suppose I don’t want to fall in love and have to lose again.” And again. “I don’t have the stamina for that. It’s easier to not go down that road.”

  Dr. Dilleck steeples her fingers.

  “So, you feel that you are protecting yourself from future hurt.” I nod, and she looks at her fingers. “It’s an entirely understandable reaction to the sort of loss you’ve encountered.” She puts her hands on her knees and pierces me with her sea-blue eyes, bright even through the haze of her lauvan. “But I hear you say the words ‘lonely’ and ‘alone’ repeatedly. Have you considered that you might be searching?”

  “Searching?” I repeat blankly.

  “Do you believe in soulmates?”

  I think of all my wives and lovers, each one of whom I loved passionately, unreservedly, with all my heart.

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Then perhaps you could do yourself a favor. Can you consider not closing your heart off forever? You can give yourself time to heal, that’s necessary and wise, but can you keep yourself open to the possibility of new love?”

  I gaze into her earnest eyes. Such a mixture of naivety and wisdom—she reminds me of my very first love, Nimue.

  “I’ll consider it,” I say finally.

  I walk out of her office at the end of our session and think how much simpler this would be if I told Dr. Dilleck everything. She doesn’t know what she’s asking of me.

  CHAPTER VI

  Dreaming

  Silver water gleams dully through the trees under a sullen sky. Finally, water. My horse, who has been breathing heavily for the past half hour, tosses his head and begins to trot. We’re both in need of a long drink after the passage through the western hills. It’s a long and arduous path to the sea where I hope to meet Irish ships, come to support Arthur against the newest Saxon wave of militant invaders. That is, if they have come. We could use their help. If they are here, I can board and lead them up the river to Arthur’s stronghold.

  But the horse and I won’t get far without water. I urge my beast toward the lake, which is tantalizingly close. The trees end suddenly at the edge of a stony shore where tiny wavelets lap quietly against the pebbles. It’s only a little lake, after all, but pleasingly clear of weeds and treefalls.

  My horse trots forward eagerly and dips his nose into the water. I slide off and grope in my saddlebag for my water skin. A voice interrupts me.

  “This lake is sacred. Those who desecrate the waters must pay the price.”

  I whirl around. On a fallen log above me stands a young woman. She wears a woolen dress of soft blue and a solemn expression. Her clear gray eyes are cool below raven-black hair braided around her head, and sky-blue lauvan swirl around her torso. She is beautiful, but in an untouchable way.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. My mouth is dry from thirst, but I don’t dare disobey, not until I know who else may be with her. “I didn’t know. Sacred to whom?”

  “Why, the Lady of the Lake, of course. And to the goddess she serves.” She looks imperiously at me for a moment, then her face collapses into laughter. Where before she was a cool beauty, now she is full of life, pretty and radiantly so. “I’m only joking. What sort of goddess would object to a horse and rider quenching their thirst?” I must look taken aback, because she adds hastily, “Please, forgive me my little joke, traveler. I see few people, as a rule, and I could not resist.” She smiles at me tentatively, her eyes bright and hopeful. I laugh.

  “No harm done. I was trying to imagine what penalty you could possibly make my poor horse pay.”

  She laughs, then says, “Would you care for some ale instead? I was about to have my midday meal. You’re welcome to join me.”

  “How could I refuse? I’d be happy to accept.” I look dubiously at the sky, whose threatening clouds are now accompanied by a gusty breeze. “Is there somewhere out of the wind?”

  “This way. Your horse is finished? Good, follow me.”

  She leads us along the shore to a rocky outcrop, and nimbly picks her way around it. The horse and I follow more slowly, bracing ourselves against a stiff wind that funnels down the lake. We might be stopped here for a while, if the threat of those clouds is made good.

  There’s a small thatched shelter on the side of the rock. It’s hardly more than a cow byre, with one side open to a partial view of the lake. An overhang of rock affords some shelter for my poor beast, who looks resigned when I lead him under it and unstrap my bag from the saddle. I join the young woman in the shelter as the first raindrops arrive.

  “Whew! Just in time.” She collapses onto a coarsely woven blanket spread over the bare earthen floor. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s not much, but at least it’s dry.”

  “Lucky I met you when I did. I wonder how long the rain will last.”

  “Until sunset,” she says at once. When I look at her with a raised eyebrow, she shrugs. “I’m the Lady of the Lake, after all. I have special insight into all things water.”

  “Really.” I’m interested. What does she mean? Does she have abilities like mine? “What form does your insight take?”

  “You don’t believe me, do you? That’s all right. There are only a few of us of the old ways left on this coast.”

  In answer, I hold up my arms to show the Druidic oak leaves tattooed on my inner wrists. Her eyes widen.

  “Oh! Are you from Eire? I’ve met only a very few acolytes of the Druids, and none by chance. Where have you been hiding?”

  “I’ve hardly been hiding. I was born in the north, near Caernarfon, but took a ship to Eire when I was sixteen. Sorry to say, I didn’t have the discipline to see my training through. Now, I’m an adviser to the warlord Arthur in Gwent.” I lean back on the blanket and stretch my legs. “Now, your turn. What’s your name? How are you connected to water? And where is the ale you lured me here with?”

  She giggles and her eyes light up entrancingly. She twists to pry out an earthen jug wedged in a corner of the shelter.

  “I won’t answer those in order. Here is the ale.” She untwists a wad of leather from the jug’s mouth and passes me the ale. I drink greedily, my thirst getting the better of me. She pulls out a couple of apples from last autumn’s crop, offers me one, and takes a bite of the other. “My name is Nimue. I was selected from those families on the coast who are lef
t who still follow the old ways. I was chosen because I can sense the ways of water. It’s nothing I can see or touch—more of a feeling, or thoughts that come unbidden into my head.”

  “I’m Merlin. I wondered.” I have a sudden, intense urge to tell this strange girl about my powers. And why not? What would it matter? It’s not as if she will tell anyone I know, out here in the wilderness. “I have my own abilities, so I wondered what yours looked like.” I describe the lauvan and how I can manipulate them. Nimue’s eyes grow wide and when I demonstrate by changing the color of my shirt from red to black and back again, she claps her hands with delight.

  “Oh, that’s marvelous. I wish my gifts were that dramatic.”

  “You called yourself the Lady of the Lake. What does that mean?”

  “This lake is particularly sacred to the goddess. It’s fed by three springs, and the river Romney flows directly to the sea from here. I’m tasked with protecting the lake, making the appropriate offerings, performing ceremonies with the other ladies—”

  “Others?”

  “There are four of us. Me, Arden is Lady of the Wind, Lady of the Grove is Idelisa, and—well, the previous Lady of the Hearth deserted her duties, so we’re in search of a new one. They all have some abilities with their elements. Mine is the strongest, although Arden isn’t far behind. We work to keep the goddess honored in this land.” She sighs and tosses her apple core into the rain. “Although I think it’s a losing battle. There are so few of us. And I expect the goddess can take care of herself.” She glances at me, her face furtive and guilty. “You must think me blasphemous.”

  “Hardly. Only one leaf on my wrists, remember? I quit my training early.” I rest my head on my hand and listen to the roar of the rain on the lake and in the trees. My horse whickers contentedly under his roof behind our wall, happy to rest.

  With a sigh of contentment, Nimue pulls off her boots and woolen stockings to wiggle her toes in the darkening afternoon. The peace and tranquility of this place are calming me. It’s a world apart from the hustle and worry of life at Arthur’s side. I can hardly believe I told Nimue about the lauvan, but something about her—her open guilelessness, her bright eyes, the excited wonderment of her smile—makes her hard to resist. It felt natural for her to know everything.

  This strange, lovely girl in the wilderness has me entranced.

  “Water,” Nimue says musingly, out of the silence. “The nice thing about it is its constancy. You know what to expect from water. But look at that.” She waves at the lake, where wind pushes great sheets of rain across the turbulent surface of the lake. “Air is unpredictable. It’s quick and changeable. It can be a gentle breeze on your cheek one moment, and a gust to push you down the next. If there’s anything I’ve learned, Merlin, it’s to be wary of wind.”

  ***

  After I awaken, my heart races as if I am meeting Nimue for the first time. Memories flash through my mind’s eye, unguarded as I am at the cusp of sleep: the longing to hear the music of her laugh once more; trips through the hills on my trusty horse to her quiet lake; the ever-thickening bond of our connected lauvan, sky-blue and chocolate brown. How can it be that my emotions do not dull over the years, but somehow grow even more acute?

  CHAPTER VII

  I lean against a wall and watch a steady stream of travelers issue from the frosted double doors of Vancouver’s airport. Waiting at arrivals are a line of welcomers: excited children clinging to parents’ legs, bored sign-holders, eager lovers. Some travelers look around anxiously until they spot their party, but others look ahead, tired or indifferent or feigning indifference at their lack of a warm welcome.

  I’m more impatient than I expected for Alejandro’s arrival. Since Braulio’s death I’ve felt my friend’s loss keenly, painfully aware of the absence in my life of the last person who truly knew me. It was a shock to find out that Alejandro and his cousin Manuela know my secrets but the more I think of it, the more I appreciate Braulio taking charge. He was meddlesome but wise.

  This batch of arrivals has almost petered out by the time Alejandro steps through the doorway. He clutches a black duffel bag over his shoulder and gazes around with an air of bemusement. The stub of a plane ticket is clenched in his fist, tightly wrapped in his dark-green lauvan. He must have been looking forward to this trip. I make no motion, but when he spies me his face breaks open in an excited grin, and I smile in return. The lauvan that inexplicably connect us twang with Alejandro’s relief. A strange otherworldly breeze, that peculiar hair-raising sensation I felt when I first met Alejandro in Braulio’s study, ripples down my spine. How odd.

  I push myself off the wall and saunter over to greet my guest.

  “Welcome to Vancouver, Alejandro. Good flight?”

  “Hola, Merlo! It was great. Wonderful view coming down. What a beautiful city!” He stops abruptly, as if remembering where he is and who he’s talking to, afraid of showing his natural enthusiasm. I laugh in response.

  “I was going to ask if you wanted to go home and rest, or do a little sightseeing. But I think I have my answer.”

  He grins again, genuine and now uninhibited.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see. Come on, the car’s this way.”

  ***

  Alejandro stretches his arms out to encompass the glittering ocean and gleaming cityscape.

  “Look at the view! It’s so beautiful. I understand why you chose to live here, Merlo.”

  We’re on top of Grouse Mountain, directly above the city. On a cloudless day like today, it’s a particularly spectacular introduction to Vancouver. Clear mountain air fills my lungs, and the heat of the sun is tempered by a gentle breeze.

  “It will do for now. I’ve lived in worse places.”

  “How long will you stay?”

  I shade my eyes to watch a tanker steam into the city’s harbor. It looks like a toy from here.

  “I can usually manage fifteen years before people question my unchanging features. Longer, if I want to put in the daily effort to add a few wrinkles by knotting my lauvan. I only do that if I have a good reason to stay.”

  “Fifteen years isn’t so bad.” Alejandro frowns and shrugs apologetically. “It must be very short to you.”

  “I’m used to it. Wandering has always been in my blood. But I won’t deny that staying put is becoming more appealing as the centuries pass.”

  Alejandro joins my appraisal of the ships.

  “We live for such a short time. You must think we’re so young—babies, almost.”

  “I do have more experience to draw on, and I’ve forgotten more than you’ll every know.” Alejandro gives me a look, and I laugh. “It’s true. But none of that really matters. There is something deeper, in some people at least, a more complete understanding of the world and how it works, that is independent of knowledge. When I find those people, I hold on, because they are worth knowing. Even for the short time they’re allowed.”

  “Do I have it?”

  I give him an appraising look, although I’m almost certain I know the answer.

  “I’ll let you know. You’re on probation—your trial run is underway.”

  Alejandro looks out to sea, pensive. Past his head, an unattached lauvan floats. It’s steely gray, again. How curious. Before I can reach out to pluck it from the air, my phone rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Merry Lytton?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Bethany Venter, from Westerly Gifts in Steveston. You asked me to call if I heard about that Drew fellow.”

  “Yes.” I listen intently. Bethany knows about my abilities, since her niece Sylvana helped me out a few weeks ago during the volcano fiasco. A man named Drew contacted Bethany with the hope that she would help Potestas, the organisation behind the eruption. Beside Anna, location unknown, Drew is my only link to Potestas.

  “Two things. A friend of mine was told his last name when he visited her. It’s Mordecai. Drew Mordecai.”
/>   “That’s excellent. Much more to work with. And the other thing?”

  “I found a pair of leather gloves behind the counter. Sylvana must have put them there, but I remember Drew wearing them when he visited the first time. I know it’s not much, but you did say…”

  “No, it’s perfect. I’ll be there shortly.” It’s a long shot, but a personal item like that may have traces of lauvan that could tell me something.

  With my phone back in my pocket, I turn to Alejandro.

  “Seen enough views? Ready for another stop?”

  “Can we take the gondola?”

  “Unless you want to hike down.”

  “Then yes, I’m ready.”

  ***

  We pull up a few blocks away from Bethany’s shop. A pharmacy is across from us, and as I slam the door Dr. Dilleck hurries across the road. When she reaches our sidewalk, she pulls out a pill bottle from the paper bag she carries. The bottle slips out of her hands and rolls to a stop against my right foot. When I pick the bottle up, the label under my thumb shows the word diazepam.

  Dr. Dilleck holds out her hand with a smile of thanks. Her eyes widen when she recognizes me.

  “Merry! Hello, hi. I—uh, hi.”

  Interesting. She’s not as calm and collected outside of her office.

  “Good morning. It’s a fine day to run some errands in Steveston.”