Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [145]
Hardly.
Well then? Your question please?
Where in blazing demon’s balls are we going now?
Rall covered her ears. No need to shout.
Where then? she said softly.
We’ll camp under the shadow of the eastern Prietas tonight and cross to Corsanon in the morning.
Back to Corsanon? Why?
There’s something to retrieve.
A treasure?
You can call it that, if you like.
Who’s it for?
You, Shaea.
Me?
You will have the honour of carrying it.
‘Well, I hope it’s not heavy. I’m already sore as cuss from riding so far.’
‘It’s light as a feather, my dear. Mount up!’
Shaea led the bay mare out into the sunshine, following Rall and the golden warhorse. She took a deep breath, shielding her mind. When she felt her thoughts were tight, well secluded from the probing mind of Rall, she searched for Clay and Shane. She kept the shield up, and sent them a querying message but there was no answer. Maybe they couldn’t read thoughts at all. She hoped that was it. The other option was too distasteful to consider.
After a long walk to warm up the horses and her aching muscles, she urged the mare forward, cantering beside Rall, heading towards the unknown treasure. She smiled. On reflection, this was much better than spending her days in the gutter, arms stretched out towards passing strangers, hoping for a coin or crust.
Grayson stood at the edge of the path, the depths of the Dumarkian Woods behind him. He’d walked with Nell in silence; they’d buried the baby near the old temple ruins, a young weeping willow planted to mark the spot.
‘Make me a willow-cabin at your gate, and call upon my soul within the house,’ he had said, reciting the ancient playwright William Shakespeare.
‘Write loyal cantons of contemned love,’ Nell whispered. ‘And sing them loud even in the dead of night.’
It was like being in a dream. Nothing felt real, neither his boots on the cold ground and the shovel over his shoulder nor the wings of the Three Sisters swooping past. Particularly not his aching heart. ‘She should have been here, for herself as much as for the infant’s honour.’
‘Should?’ Nell shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Rosette doesn’t believe in death. How could she, after experiencing her own so recently?’
Grayson frowned. ‘Nell, that’s a ridiculous paradox and you know it.’
‘I do.’
He drifted off into his thoughts as they walked back to the cabin. He wanted to undo the past. He wanted to go back to that moment in the late afternoon heat of Temple Los Loma and tell Rosette he felt differently now. He wanted to go back and ask what was important to her. Instead, he had assumed he knew, without discussion, and he had withdrawn. Later, when they had talked about it, she’d said it was the natural proclivity of his sun sign, Cancer—Cobra as she called it—to self-protect. What was I protecting from? He couldn’t see the big fear any more. Was it intimacy? Uncertainty? Vulnerability? He had none of that with Rosette now and still he’d buried his child.
He kicked the dirt, shooting a rock out ahead of him. It caught Nell on the leg and she spun around, eyes blazing.
He ducked. ‘Sorry, I just…’
‘Just thought you might share the pain?’
‘No, I…’
‘Grayson, listen to me. If you want to change the past, do it.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘It is, for me, and for anyone. Care to learn?’
He caught up to her, switching the shovel to his other shoulder. ‘Please.’
‘It’s simple but you have to let go of the grudge.’
‘The grudge?’
‘The self-loathing-style resentment you are broiling in. I know the sign of the Cobra well. It has a knack for holding onto the past. I want you to drop it, at least long enough to see how your grip is making things worse.’
‘How can it make things worse if it’s already happened?’
‘Simple. Every time you re-visit the thought, you set it alight. You empower it to continue its creation.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Grayson, you’re a quantum geneticist. This is not beyond your grasp.’
He sighed. ‘I’m trying.’
‘That’s the problem. Forget about trying and visualise it.’ She pulled out her short knife, testing the edge. ‘Give me your hand.