Dragon Kin

26

Victor

The next two days were uneventful, for the most part. Alicja felt different. More relaxed. I didn't realize how much stress she was holding on to until it was gone. Gone the morning after her 'furies' came, as she called the event. I believe she was referring to the ancient Greek myths of her world. I had two books on that subject. The furies were female spirits of vengeance, who rose from the under-dark and tormented those who killed members of their own family.

It's terrifying imagery. I wish she meant it as hyperbole, but I don't think she did.

She says she doesn't remember much about the ... furies ... she only recalls parts, bits, moments. She remembers hiding under a flower, and being pulled out from under the bed — and kinda remembers ripping at her clothing — she always gives me a sideways examination when she recalls that part, as though not quite sure.

Since then, she's calmer, and lighter. We walked around the city, and down to the river docks. She marveled at the industry we had to offer. Surprised we had electricity. Yesterday she worked with our electric craftsmen to put together a charging source for her ebook.

"It works," she announced with victory, hands in the air. Then she hugged the craftsman, a wizened elder who would drink on that for a week.

"We only needed 10 watts," she said, showing me something on the screen which probably explained that part. I couldn't see the thing or its explanation, but I nodded. Certain that she was happy, what else did I need to know?

She turned back to her ebook screen, holding it with both hands, fully engaged, she began to stroll, "It's going to be a bit different. I mean, I have to ride the bicycle thing we put together for thirty minutes to charge it up, but it works."

"Well done," I agreed.

Her smile is contagious, walking along, her face in her ebook reader. People we pass nod to me, then look to her and break out in smiles of their own — which passes on to others when they see theirs... It was like watching Spring happen — though it was well into Autumn. And she's completely oblivious to the madness she is spreading. I hear an occasional yelp from a nearby man or a woman caught by surprise by some nearby flash of smile or bark of laughter. Like it bit them.

Eyes inside her ebook, walking close, letting the side of me guide her way, as she strolls next to me, lighting the way.

I wish...

"Hungry?" she asked me, without looking up from her screen.

"I could eat," I said, rubbing my stomach, "the Oarsman?"

"That was good. Is that real cow?" she asked.

"Real cow? How do I answer that? Exactly? My world? Your world cow?"

She bumps into me — her body slams have replaced the occasional slaps of objection to my teasing. So, I affirm to tease her all the more. It seems like the right direction.

"Did you bring them over from my world?" she asked.

"Is that the qualification for being real?" I asked. "That its origin is your center of the universe?"

She straightened up from leaning on me and gave me her attention. "Not in a personal manner," she said, "but that's an interesting question."

"Whose center of the infinite is more central?" I asked. "That's not interesting at all. I think I would prefer knock-knock jokes with my nephew."

"Yeah, but..."

"While crawling through broken glass," I affirmed.

"Huh," she grunted, and bumped into me again.

I think she might have meant it on this one.

"Well then convince me," I offered. "What is interesting about that question?"

"No, I'm good," she said.

"Seriously? I'm in the dog house for this?"

She flashed a smirk at me.

"Huh," I grunted.

Steaks were good. The ale better. She held her mug with two hands while she sipped and watched the juggler perform.

"He's missing a finger," she said in a whisper to me, while watching him with an expectant expression.

"He juggles knives and axes," I returned, with a scoff.

"You think he...?"

"You're not born good at that," I told her. "You're going to mess up some time or other."

"Oh, yeah, well... that makes sense..."

"The good ones are the ones that kept going. The rest are hay farmers or smithy assistants or something they didn't set out to be, and still missing a finger."

Now she's staring at me. Her eyes are narrow scrutiny. Bright. Her scent is bright and alert as well. I don't want to look and meet those eyes, not right now, but the challenge is really getting to me.

She blinks and looks back to the juggler.

I relax.

She yelps with a squeal, when the juggler almost misses his catch, and grabs my arm. Then she sticks out her tongue when the juggler winks and says, 'Gotcha.'

I wish...

She's reading, and making notes. Sitting at her little desk, beside the open window, the wind flutters her sleeve. With her pen, she twirls her hair. Her focus is contagious. She's the goddess of connections. When she is attracted or engaged others want inside. They want to know... what is it... that could make her resonate with gold. They smile, they laugh. They follow her with their eyes, and sometimes with their whole mind.

...

She's standing next to me, watching me sketch. Her hands are on her hips, as she studies me with that intense attention she has. I can feel her scrutiny across the skin of my fingers.

"Is that from memory?" she asks.

"From imagination," I tell her.

"Wow. That's detailed," she says as she leans on one hip and crosses her arms. "So you're a visual thinker then," she asked.

"I believe so — that is — I think I know what you mean," I said, rolling the answer out of my chest while smudging a line to make a texture.

"You see imagery when you close your eyes and think," she clarified.

"Yes," I agreed with a shrug. Didn't everyone? "They don't have to be closed though. My eyes? I sometimes see lines or shapes around things ... for example when I'm guessing the height of something, by comparing it to something I know the height of... I'll sometimes see lines describing the angles and such. I know they're my own projection. It's not like 'seeing something that's not there,' or anything."

She's looking at me like I'm seeing things that aren't there.

"What?" I barked a little too roughly.

"Nothing," she said, and turned to wander off, but I snatched her wrist and gave a tug.

She spun, willing enough, and landed on my lap. I met her eyes, and she's open. She's open to me. Wants to know. Go ahead, and tell me.

"I wish," I said, "we could have had that drink."

It must have been the right thing to wish for. Because my wish came true when she kissed me.