Chapter 12 Kaian
Kaian
Kaian lets the door to the hostel slip closed behind him, neatly sidestepping a woman pacing the narrow sidewalk. She’s shouting into her phone, voice sharp with Parisian heat.
“Jeremy. Mais c’est un scammeur, abruti! Elle t’a demandé une carte iTunes, sérieusement?!”
Spinning abruptly, she nearly collides with him, and Kaian shifts aside with ease, dodging her flailing hand.
The expression on her face—annoyance and surprise—is one he knows too well, so he only offers a small, apologetic smile.
Without looking back, he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets, fingers worrying over stones, feathers, buttons, and other detritus he’s collected as he’s moved through the world—each piece a memory, each weight a reminder of where he’s been.
That was a close call.
The result probably wouldn’t have been disastrous.
Given she’s young and traveling in Nashville with a group of girlfriends for a bachelorette party, the next few days in her timeline are likely not filled with disaster.
He’d overheard her three friends earlier gathered on the lobby’s couch, trying to figure out how to get from bar to bar in Midtown tomorrow night.
It wouldn’t have mattered, though. He would have been immobilized for a few seconds, overwhelmed by the barrage of images that would come from a single touch of her hand on his arm.
A million branching timelines, each born of a choice and splitting again in every direction, most of which would never come to pass.
Even mundane decisions—shoes and sore feet, what to drink and the hangover after—could overwhelm him so completely he’d freeze on the spot, trapped in the flood until he could stumble back to himself.
Kaian shakes off the tingle of adrenaline from the close call and finally makes it to the corner, waiting for the light to turn green so he can cross with the small crowd.
The night is just starting to come alive, with tourists dressed for shows slipping in and out of nice-looking bars, Nashville’s locals driving to and from work, and the scent of fried food lingering from a food truck parked somewhere nearby.
There’s a vibe that sets his nerves alight with anticipation, and Kaian likes Nashville already.
Surprisingly, the feeling isn’t that common.
He’s been to hundreds of places, seen thousands of faces, and he still only gets like this when he’s in the right place for the right reasons.
The feeling stems entirely from his all-access pass to The Plain.
The conduit of magic that stirs from deep in his soul is lit up like a Christmas tree, with brilliant white light.
He keeps it walled off behind tall walls, and behind even taller ones when he can.
Even harder to control when he’s exhausted, it bucks and urges him to let off the excess, to use his power to ease his fatigue with healing or give him a much-needed burst of energy.
But he’s learned the hard way that using it seems to send out a beacon that draws his hunters like a bat signal in space and time.
Kaian shoves the urge to use his magic back down. Turning left at the next corner, a wave of hunger encourages him to lean against the brick wall of a music store, locked down for the night, while he waits for the crowd at the light to move through the intersection.
He’s been awake for almost forty hours if you discount the two-hour nap he’d had after his seatmate on the bus had disembarked in Chattanooga.
Kaian had boarded the Greyhound to Nashville in New York City, where he’d only just managed to find work in an old cinema cleaning up after Rocky Horror Picture Show events.
He hadn’t intended to leave NYC quite so soon, as he enjoyed the anonymity and the energy that seeps from its every pore.
But he’d returned to his hostel after a late night, and he’d just had a bad feeling about sticking around.
The familiar feeling of being watched and that a frigid storm was coming, even in the middle of summer, is one Kaian has learned to never ignore.
An hour later, he’d been at the Greyhound depot deciding between two buses leaving in the next twenty minutes. With a flip of his coin, he’d been on the road to Nashville instead of Philadelphia.
The journey had seemed endless until four hours in, the woman across the aisle had offered him a sandwich, and he’d made two new friends.
Vera and Adelaide were on a pilgrimage to the Grand Ole Opry, while they could still do all the walking.
In their seventies, they’d followed several bands on the road when they were younger, and their stories helped the time fly by.
When they’d finally arrived at the terminal, Adelaide had insisted he join them in their Uber to their hotel.
He could easily make it to the hostel Vera had shown him on her phone from there.
He’d bid them goodbye, almost avoiding any physical contact, when at the last moment, Vera had pinched his cheek before following her friend, tsk-ing about his safety and being all alone.
The touch had instantly overwhelmed him as a single strand of time stretched out and then faded away. It popped up golden again in the distance, but that won’t be this Vera.
The new golden thread would be someone else. Someday.
He can’t shake off the sadness that she will pass away soon, leaving her friend heartbroken and clinging to the memories of their adventures alone.
It’s the reason he tries not to get attached.
He can’t afford the lingering emotions for people who pass in and out of his life from all over the world. People, he won’t—and can’t—see again.
The light changes, and Kaian crosses with the crowd, leaving enough room between himself and everyone else to avoid a repeat of what happened with the French Juliet.
Up ahead, an older man is pulling a cart full of groceries, so Kaian lets his feet decide which direction they’re going in case he needs a hand with carrying his bags up to his apartment or into the trunk of his car.
It’s not long before he’s joined by his granddaughter, who takes over the cart with a chastising groan.
He laughs and throws his arm around her, pulling her in and kissing the top of her head.
The world over, Kaian has witnessed how families can tear you down or be what holds you up, and it never ceases to make him long for home.
Fourteen years on the run, and the closest he’d ever felt to his own family since leaving Maui was a short few weeks in Hiva Oa last year.
He’d slept on the beach and spent hours letting the salt water seep into his soul.
Kaian realizes he’s been standing, watching the pair walk away, when the scent of coffee finally penetrates his daze. The small diner behind him is no more than a hole-in-the-wall with ten stools at a long counter and a handwritten menu that brags about pie and the best coffee in Nashville.
There’s a tall man behind the counter with a kind face and greying black hair. He’s in his fifties, maybe—it’s hard for Kaian to guess. When you know time isn’t linear and your own face in the cracked mirror still looks eighteen, it’s hard to judge how the years affect other people.
“Hey, what can I get you?”
After a quick mental tally of the thirty bucks in his pocket, Kaian smiles. “Coffee, two creams. Thanks.”
“Sure thing. For here? Or to-go?”
The small cafe is deserted, so Kaian takes a load off on the first stool. “Here, thanks. It’s already been a long day.”
“Don’t I know it. Been here since 5 AM and we’re open for another hour.” He slides the coffee across the counter. “Sugar’s there. You just visiting?”
“Thanks. Yeah, for a bit. Not really sure. It just seemed like the place I needed to be, you know?”
“I do. I came here myself thirty years ago with only my guitar and dreams bigger than my common sense. Met my wife, Barb, and stayed. This was her place.” He points to the photo over the door to the kitchen. “Food’s not as good since she passed, rest her soul. But I could get you something?”
“Ah…no thanks.” Any money Kaian had, he had to save for betting. Either cards, or horses, or whatever he could find to parlay into another few nights at the hostel and a late dinner.
The man frowns, eyes skimming Kaian’s old cargo jacket covered in pins from places he’s been. Worn at the collar, its many pockets carry even more mementos from his years on the road.
“I’m Oscar, by the way. It’ll be on me. How’s that? It’s going to go to waste, anyway.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, saving Kaian’s dignity by turning on his heel into the kitchen, where soon the smell of grilled hamburger makes Kaian’s mouth water.
Not long after, the front door swings open behind him, and two guys walk in. They’re young, but carry themselves with swagger, loud and obnoxious. They sit down at the far end of the counter, intent on their conversation.
“That you, Jackson?”
“Yeah, Dad. Do we have any pie left?”
Oscar arrives with Kaian’s plate heaped high with a double cheeseburger and a pile of fries covered in gravy. There’s even creamy coleslaw and a giant sliced pickle. “Here, son, eat up.”
He walks away down the counter where the two newcomers are arguing about a fight they want to see. The burger is delicious, the first real food he’d had since Adelaide had given him a sandwich from her cooler twelve hours ago.
He can feel their eyes on him as he chews, and Oscar is shaking his head, his voice so low Kaian can’t hear.
It sends a trickle of something down his spine.
“That boy will be the death of me,” Oscar says, finally walking toward him with a smile replacing the frown. “Ever since his mother passed, he has been wild.”
“I can hear you, Dad.”
“I mean for you to, dumbass.” The older man rolls his eyes where only Kaian can see. Obviously frustrated by his son, he still cuts two slices of pie and adds vanilla ice cream to the side.