Chapter Eighteen #3
What was I meant to do? How could I even begin to make that better? He was right, it wasn’t really my place. I didn’t even like two of them.
What would Mama do? She was always so good at comforting people. No one in her presence ever felt sad or scared for long.
Channeling her, I scooted my chair closer, the sound of wood scraping against wood awkward and loud.
He didn’t look up, though I could sense his attention on me.
Like a sixth sense that was dedicated solely to feeling him.
Maybe that was what cohabitation led to.
I’d been that way with Talon, after all.
Though, as my knees met his thigh, I could tell this was different. Altair was different. I was.
Fingers splayed and shaking, I dared to grab his arm, feeling his muscles tense at the contact. He was always touching me, and I’d never cowered at the idea of it before, so I wouldn’t now. Especially not when I knew he’d likely not had a lot of affection throughout the years.
Perfect timing to channel Mama.
“When I was little, my father would tell me stories. Not fairytales, legends. Ones from before the final war. Before the stars.” He still didn’t move.
Clearing my throat, I continued. “There was this one about a little boy who always got lost. No matter how many maps his parents gave him, he just couldn’t find his way. ”
I let my hand fall, resting it on Altair’s thigh. He flinched at first, but then he sighed, letting his hand fall on top of mine as he finally looked up at me. His eyes were bloodshot, but no tears fell. I was rather certain there was no tolerance for crying where he grew up.
“One day, he got so lost in the woods that even his family couldn’t find him. He spent the night in there, cold and alone, convinced he’d die for his inadequacies.”
He leaned in, listening intently.
“And then a tree moved.”
“I thought this wasn’t a fairytale?” Altair cut in, his brows stitched together.
“Shh, no interrupting. And it’s a real story.”
“Trees don’t move.”
“Anyway, the tree moved, and then the entire forest seemed to shake—to awaken.”
“How?”
“Shh! So the trees were literally alive—shut up—and the boy screamed, terrified that something was going to hurt him. Though he was tired, hungry, and cold, he forced himself to stand. The boy ran faster than he ever had before, his little heart racing.”
Death leapt onto my lap, sitting there with her tail swishing from side to side and her head tilted. Altair stared as well, finally quiet.
“Focused on running, the boy didn’t think to watch where he stepped. He tripped over a rock, rolling towards a large cliff. That was it. He knew it. The end arrived for him.”
“He dies? What kind of story is this?”
“Shh! Listen!” I removed my hand from his leg and whacked him on the arm, earning a grunt of disapproval and a few mumbles.
“Just as the boy’s body flew over the edge, something snagged his ankle.
He was lifted into the air, death a memory as life beat into his chest. And there, holding him, was the root of a tree.
Awed, he watched as the dirt-coated root lowered him, setting him down gently on the forest floor. ”
Again, Altair opened his mouth to interrupt, but he quickly closed his lips at the look on my face.
“It was then, as the forest breathed in and out in time with the boy, that he realized he wasn’t in any danger at all.
The trees parted, greenery sliding out of the way, grass flattening.
When they were done, a path had been made.
A path home. The boy cried tears of joy, being sure to touch as many of the plants as he could.
He thanked them out loud through sobs, each of his steps taking him closer to his family.
At the edge of the forest, the boy turned, watching as everything shifted back to its place, the sentience seeping from the forest as he stepped out of it.
Maybe the boy didn’t know directions. Perhaps he often got lost. And sure, that was inadequate.
But he had something else. Something far more important and rare.
Within the boy, magic loomed. It flooded his veins and twirled around his bones.
Magic not from above, but from below. Magic that vibrated beneath his feet.
And from that day on, when the boy got lost, he called to his magic, and the land answered. ”
Silence. Not even a sly comment. I stared at Altair, waiting for him to say something. Anything. Just so I knew I’d helped.
“Altair?” He wasn’t moving, his face emotionless.
And then, as if he came to life in the same way the forest in the story had, Altair jolted forward.
He grabbed me, pulling me against his chest, his arms wrapping around my body.
One of his too large hands gripped the back of my head, the other stretched across my mid back.
He held me there, with my arms tucked against his chest, as he breathed so deeply I felt his heart slow.
Altair was hugging me.
“I think I get it,” he whispered against my hair. “Thank you.”