CHAPTER FOUR #2
It’s unbelievable because I’m still rooted to the rock he told me to sit on.
Nothing else appears to move – the flora, the mountains, the dragon indolently swishing her tail from side to side – but the riverbanks constrict and the rivulets that eddy around Everest’s legs twist into thick ropes of water that thread directly into the turbine.
The point where the water touches the machinery, touches him, turns so silver that I know this is no longer the work of the moon that watches steadfast amongst the burning stars.
The light travels up Everest’s legs and through his entire body until he’s the brightest thing here.
I can’t take my eyes off him.
He is the most focused I’ve ever seen him, a cool mask of intention and purpose.
I’ve known what he is, but it’s the first time I’m seeing what he does.
It’s difficult to believe that this is the same man who can’t seem to keep a schedule, chases Beam around the fair, and brings me lavender sprigs every year.
And it’s a good thing that he’s typically so lax – I don’t know if I’d survive this version of him, of being the sole focus of his attention.
A fierce chill fills the air, the same cold electricity I feel every time I brush my hand against the carousel; except now, it’s overwhelming and intangible, emanating from every pore in his body.
There’s a surge of something simultaneously joyous and painful in my chest, and it swells until I’m certain it’s going to crack my ribs open.
“Everest,” I gasp.
He doesn’t hear me but Calliope’s head nudges my hand.
I rear back at first until I realize what she’s doing.
Her warmth cuts through the sensation, anchoring me to reality.
My palm quivers against her warm scales and she loosens a breath on me, heat washing over my skin until it tingles, bringing every hair on my body to attention.
Everest continues churning and now I see how it works, how the thick ropes of water shred into tiny threads that burst from the other end of the turbine. They come together seamlessly, a snake of time that writhes up the hill we came down. Towards the carousel.
Four hundred and eighty-seven years and I’ve never seen this.
I should feel silly and naive, but I can’t bring myself to move past the wonder of this moment.
The understanding of what I’m seeing in front of me, of the god churning time in a river filled with haunts and dreams, is beyond the scale of normal human emotion, or whatever I am now.
I’m lifted out of my body, tears marring the world, and just as a sob tears through my throat, Everest stops.
The light fades, the river reverts to its original state. Calliope shifts away like she hasn’t just tended to my sanity during one of the more remarkable moments of my ancient existence. Everest turns, concern flickering across his face. He rushes towards me, water splashing my feet.
“Are you okay?” His hands rest on either side of my lap. “Fuck, that was too much, wasn’t it?”
“No,” I say, even though I’m dizzy. The edges of his face blur, but his eyes remain sharp, studying mine. “How did you…that was…”
His dimples emerge as he smiles. “Careful, or you might say something nice about me, doc.”
“Not about you,” I protest, frowning as a bone-weary fatigue rocks my body. Suddenly, I lose balance and flop forward, but he’s there to catch me. His arms wrap around my waist and he chuckles into my ear.
“Time for bed.”
My consciousness fades as quickly as the light from his body. I’m lifted into the air, tucked against his chest.
The last thing I hear is the steady drum of his heartbeat, lulling me to sleep.
I wake up to a ghost sitting at the foot of my bed.
“God, Ender, don’t do that!” I say, pulling the covers to my chin. He’s hovering by my side, curly hair pushed back to reveal a face filled with worry. He reaches out as if to touch my head, but I roll away, not prepared for a burst of cold shock from ghostly contact.
Ender floats a safe foot away. “You’ve been out for six days!”
At that, I sit up. My last memories barrel back. The river, the turbine, Everest carrying me back to my tent. The cream blanket on my body is suddenly far too hot, and I shove it off, letting cool air kiss my skin.
“The carousel,” I whisper, horrified.
“Is the same as it was,” Ender says haughtily. “Not that you would know.”
“What’s with the attitude?” I slide out of bed, dimly noting that I’m in my pale-blue nightdress, and I resolve not to think about who changed me into it.
Everything else in my tent looks the same as ever – it’s a smaller home, but I chose it for its proximity and unblocked view of the mountain range, which is currently creeping up towards a setting sun.
“She sleeps for nearly a week and asks me what’s with my attitude,” Ender says, appearing on my side.
“Beam’s been worried sick. Everest wouldn’t tell us what happened, just that you were tired from time travel, but you’ve never crashed like this before.
And then the carousel still being in the state it’s in… ”
Everest. I glance around as if expecting him to be here, waiting for me to wake up, but that’s a delirious thought. He’s probably gone to that troll feast or whatever.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” I tell Ender. “Everest and I were working on something to help the carousel. It took the wind out of me, that’s all.”
Ender doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You were thrashing a lot in your sleep, but Geneva said you didn’t have a fever.”
“I don’t get fevers,” I say petulantly, and Ender snorts.
Sure, I’m no longer susceptible to mortal illnesses, but the magical sort is fair game, and it’s easier to use human terms to describe symptoms. Regardless, whatever took me out has passed.
As my legs adjust to my weight, my senses catch up to me, and my brain clears like the sky after a vicious storm.
I’m more alert than ever and give him a bright smile. “Let’s get dinner?”
“One thing first,” Ender says. “Everest asked us to get him the second you wake up.”
I fight to disguise my surprise. “Were you taking shifts?”
“Maybe,” Ender confesses. “I had to yank Beam out of here earlier today.”
For all the evident worry rippling off him, there’s a hint of disappointment on his face. That, combined with the ghosts taking shifts could only mean one thing…
I suck in my cheeks. “Who won?”
Ender looks down at his feet. “Geneva.”
“Of course,” I say, my suspicions confirmed. They were taking bets on when I’d wake. “And what were everyone’s guesses?”
“I said three days after the first twenty-four hours passed.” Ender angrily blows a curl of hair out of his face. “Beam said four. Geneva said seven.”
“She was really counting on me being out,” I comment, heading to my trunk of clothes.
I open the lid and pull out black pants and a thick lilac sweater that falls to my knees.
Ender turns around to give me privacy as I strip off my nightdress and slip into warmer clothes to complement the chilly night.
“I think Everest gave her a leg up,” Ender says.
I finish up the buttons on my pants before heading to my vanity and commencing the fight against my errant curls with a wide-tooth hairbrush.
My biological functions, including hair growth, have slowed significantly since attaining effective immortality, but centuries without a proper cut has my hair edging past my waist. It’s well past time for a big post-breakup-worthy chop.
“He refused to place a bet, or he would have won.”
“That I would.”
We both turn to see Everest at the entrance, and a part of me softens against my will. “Can I have a minute with Ryka, Ender?” he asks.
Ender mumbles something under his breath but obliges, disappearing through the light-pink drapery of my tent.
“Were the trolls good cooks?” I ask sardonically.
“Yes, they made this soup that reminded me of you,” Everest says. “Made of bitter gourd. Shook up my entire system.”
“Delicious.” I stick my tongue out.
Everest’s voice drops to a teasing cadence. “A taste I’ll never forget.”
He’s incorrigible. I attempt to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Good thing you haven’t missed much. I’ve been out.”
“I heard. How are you feeling?” Everest asks, as I shift my attention to another section of my hair. “Actually, let me check.”
Before I can stop him, his warm hand encircles mine. He shifts his fingers so they press against the soft hollow of my wrist.
“Heart rate’s a little fast,” he says, and I swear my pulse kicks it up another notch. One quick tug and I take an involuntary step closer to him. His other hand moves up to my head. “You’re sweaty, but your temperature is okay.”
I smack his arm. He had a phase where he was incessant, asking me question after question about medicine but, like most of his obsessions, that one passed fairly quickly. I’m impressed he still remembers anything.
Everest looks so ecstatic, it’s like he’s just crushed his Step 2 exam. “How’d I do?”
“That was an incomplete assessment,” I say, leaning back on my trunk.
“You’re an uncooperative patient,” he complains.
I wave my hairbrush at him. “Then you need to work on your bedside manner.”
His eyes brighten. “We could work on that together.”
Surely, there’s steam coming out of my ears. “Pass. You know what I do want? Answers.”
“I expected no less. Do you have a prepared list written down somewhere?”
“I just woke up, so, no,” I answer, pretending as if he isn’t teasing.