Spellbound Ch. 07

"Vardan," she whispered. He looked hollowly into her eyes. "We'll rest here for the night. We should be safe." He nodded the slightest bit, and then curled on his side, nestled in the moss. He pulled his arms inward to his chest.

Melina set down the packs and massaged her shoulders where they'd bitten her skin. Though she was in a better state than Vardan, the day had been taxing on her as well. She wanted desperately to find an excuse to rest for a day or more, but knew that doing so could compromise their safety. They needed to stay ahead of the rumors, and return Vardan to his native environment as soon as possible.

The ferns and moss surrounding them dampened clothing and sound, and quietude bloomed in the stillness. With the sudden lack of exertion, the day's events threw themselves onto her, like an insect that had been hovering near her ear awaiting an opportunity. When she could no longer avoid it, Melina found herself wondering what had happened after they'd left the town. Had anyone been harmed? Killed? And the inn... Had she misjudged the correct course of action? She'd ensured their safety was practically guaranteed, so then why did her mind linger so?

She was suddenly conscious of how Vardan must feel. There was something more to this for him than an angry mob. She recalled his slumped form below the window at the inn, defeated and resigned. And now, hours later, he appeared even worse despite the time and distance. She sat and rested a minute while keeping an eye on him, but he did not move or speak after catching his breath.

Melina settled herself beside him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. When she looked closer, she saw his silent tears glimmering in the low light. Her stomach dropped and her throat went dry. She scrambled for something to say, something kind and eloquent which would bring him comfort. But there was nothing. With only a vague hypothesis on the reason for his suffering, there was little she could tell him.

So she said nothing as she gathered him in her arms, and pulled him towards her. Vardan didn't resist as she held him close, cradling his head to her breast and shielding him with her body. He clutched at her, so small and helpless, as he released a shaky breath that caught in his throat. Melina held him tighter as she felt him dissolve into quiet, voiceless sobs.

She was unnerved seeing him in such a state, and baffled at how significant of an effect the language of touch seemed to have on him. For a creature who indulged in a never-ending stream of fornication, he behaved as if starved for affection. As Vardan nestled into her embrace, his skin cool against hers, she rested her chin in his hair while speculating what could possibly be happening in that enigmatic mind. And, more importantly, what she could do to ease his burden.

Melina rubbed his shoulder but otherwise remained still, feeling his rigid form shuddering with sobs as his breath came erratically on her skin. Her black hair laid a graceful touch over his clothing, obeying her desire to envelop him and keep him from harm. Vardan mumbled something through his anguish, and though she strained to hear it, the only coherent words were "not again". She said nothing in response, though her curiosity burned.

She made to shift their position several times, but stopped when she felt him clinging to her. She'd never held anyone in such a way before, but found that it came as naturally to her as discerning any other physical desire. Over time, his tears diminished, his muscles slackened, and his breath slowed. It was only after his arms went limp that she realized he'd fallen asleep.

Melina looked down where his head lay in her lap, and flicked away strands of hair stuck to his nose and cheeks. With his expression finally relaxed and placid, Vardan's beauty was breathtaking. She wanted nothing more than to explore with hands and eyes, as she would've been able to had he been any other man. But this somehow felt more private, more personal. He was not her plaything, but a living, thinking person. The concept was still unfamiliar to Melina, and she wasn't certain which of her actions would be called into question during their time together.

The introspection brought forth other thoughts as well. As she pulled her attention away from Vardan and extended it to the nighttime forest, her mind wandered. Was this how Vardan felt about humans? Did each bear special consideration in his mind, as sentient individuals? They must have, if his reaction to her talk of "prey" was anything to go by. It sounded exhausting, to have to keep the needs and desires of everyone else simultaneously on one's mind.

A chorus of insects greeted the night with a pattern of background noise, and Melina sighed in relief at the sound. Days without it had caused her to miss its comfort dearly. The predictability was like a comb running through her erratic memories, untangling the worst of them. The greenery pressed in close, and an occasional strong breeze touched every nearby tree to remind her of its existence. She kept a vigil for what seemed like hours, watching and listening for any signs of nearby humans, for both Vardan's sake and her own.

When the forest had repeatedly assured her of its security, she reached for a nearby saddlebag. Its leather felt soft and well-worn as she deftly slipped it under Vardan's head, and extricated herself from under him. He barely moved, and slumbered deeply where she lay him.

Melina stretched herself under a nearby canopy of low ferns, feeling them spread their fingers overhead to guard her as she slept. Yet, even with the comforting touch of her hair and damp earth on her skin, she felt exposed. She drifted close to unconsciousness several times, but was snapped awake by half-imagined sounds or scents. She dug her fingernails into a nearby stem, picking at it in frustration, but could not bring herself to avoid remembering what she'd become so fixated upon.

When Melina finally slipped under, her night was plagued with dreams which woke her repeatedly, a dark pestilence upon her mind. Fleeting shapes of grasping hands and violent words, striking her until she bled, bending her over and running her through. A thousand icy eyes blazed at her, screaming their fury, witness to her sins. And behind it all smiled a savage purple glow.

***

The sickly color brightened and burned until her vision was consumed with shades of violet. When it reached out to smother her, Melina awoke with a scream and scrambled away, hair tangling beneath her. Her mind struggled to reconcile what she saw before her with what she'd just felt.

"Melina! It's alright, it's only me." Vardan's hand hovered near her shoulder where he'd shaken her awake, uncertain and apologetic. He allowed her a moment to catch her breath, his eyes full of concern. Melina slumped in the broken ferns, her senses returning to her. A mid-morning light hit her in patches, causing her eyes to strain in the brightness. She attempted to rub away her weariness.

"Are you well?" asked Vardan. He was wearing a deep violet blouse made of thin, loose fabric, with gold embroidery along the sleeves. It might have been lovely but for the color.

"Well enough," she answered curtly. "Will you please put something different on?" Vardan cocked an eyebrow at her while looking down at his outfit. "Your shirt," she explained, "I hate that color. Anything but that." Vardan still looked perplexed, but he stood and dusted off his knees.

"As you please," he said. And he began rummaging through a pack, leaving Melina to recover from the shock of waking to someone else's touch. Her mind still seemed to ooze panic into the rest of her body, and it took her several minutes to dispel it. She rose and ran her fingers through her hair, shaking off bits of leaves and dirt.

Vardan waited patiently nearby, seated atop a pack wearing a steely blue blouse. It was thick and form-fitting, allowing the outline of his musculature to poke through. It was as if it had been made to his exact measurements. His lips parted and closed several times, looking as if he had something difficult to say. When he failed, he looked away and fiddled with something in his pocket.

"How did you sleep?" asked Melina, prompting him and settling herself nearby.

"Well enough," he said quietly. "The silence is difficult to adjust to. Not to mention the cold ground." Melina hadn't thought to search his belongings for a bedroll. She'd assumed he would be equally suited to sleeping in the wilds as she.

"Silence?" she asked. "If you think these woods are silent, there is much you've neglected to listen to." He wouldn't meet her gaze directly, still seemingly bashful at her state of undress. She continued working at her hair. "It is silence you should be most worried for. A complete lack of sound, especially on a warm night, could signal a danger in the area. You must learn to listen for it."

"To listen for silence?" he asked quizzically.

"Yes. Just as you must look for shadows, and feel for still air. All of which I can teach you." He nodded, still looking as though he were searching for words which escaped his grasp. "Do you have a comb in one of these?" she asked, motioning to the luggage strewn about. He nodded, and swiftly retrieved one.

When he offered it to her, Melina took a moment to admire it. A dense, smooth wood, deep red and shining as if moistened, was carved in the shape of a butterfly at its handle. The wings, once painted, had worn down to the wood beneath.

"It's lovely," she said as she began running it through a section of hair.

"If I may make a suggestion," he said, withdrawing something from a different pocket, "try some of this." He tossed her a small, squat glass jar with a wide cork lashed over its opening. Inside was a thick white paste, which released an unfamiliar scent. Sweet, rich, and thick in the air, it seemed to reach out with smooth fat fingers.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Oil, pressed from the woody fruits of palm trees from the eastern beaches. It adds fragrance and shine to one's hair." She scooped a dab of it on one fingertip, feeling the paste beginning to melt at her touch.

"Am I meant to eat it?" she asked.

"No! Well, I suppose you could, but it is meant to be smoothed over one's hair like so." He crossed to her and demonstrated on his own hair, somehow managing to avoid all skin contact in the process. It was as if he were a different man in the light of day, when a single night's rest had allowed him to recover. Perhaps he was only feigning the strength, to distract from perceived weakness. Melina was no stranger to the practice, as she'd observed it in often in other wildlife as a defense mechanism.

She began working the oil through her hair in sections, from root to tip, running the comb through occasionally to smooth the strands. Though the smell was powerful, it had begun to grow on her. She decided to speak before the silence lengthened past the point of permanence.

"Vardan, what happened? What could cause such a frenzy in such a short amount of time?" He sighed and rested his chin on interlinked fingers. It took him several attempts to begin to speak.

"Ivette happened," he said. "I'm normally so much more careful than that. I'd only been in Jizan for a few days, when..."

"Jizan?" Melina interrupted.

"Yes, Jizan. The town."

"Is that what it was called?" she asked as she worked the comb through a knot.

"You didn't know?"

"No one told me," she replied with a shrug.

"Ah. Well, as I was said, I'm normally far more cautious. I never reveal anything unless I'm absolutely certain that person trusts me. And that can be difficult without the use of any magic."

"Which still seems odd to me. Why refuse to use one of your greatest gifts?"

"Remember, Melina: I cannot alter memories. I have no such safeguards." She had indeed forgotten. It was challenging to imagine how different her behavior would need to be, were she like Vardan. "And people remember when you command them to do or say things they normally wouldn't. They remember the feeling of the connection when I lay with them. Any act which could cause someone to suspect my nature must needs be considered meticulously." He sighed and stood, pacing slowly. Melina noticed he'd changed to a far more practical pair of shoes, though she still doubted he needed them.

"With Ivette, I was impulsive. That night was meant to be a meal and prolonged conversation, nothing more. But I chose excitement over reason."

Because of me, she thought, but did not say it aloud. He'd wanted to show me his talents.

"Did you not feel any hint of the girl's capacity for betrayal when you were with her?"

"No," he said, nudging a rock with the tip of his shoe. "But then, I wasn't looking for it. Her conscious thoughts were only of me. Perhaps she was capable of heavy compartmentalization. Perhaps she felt a terrible guilt afterwards."

"Perhaps she was coerced," said Melina. Vardan nodded.

"You'd be surprised what small communities are capable of, when a young maiden comes running with tales of a seductive monster. They'll say all manner of falsehoods to hide the fact that they came willingly to me." Melina suppressed a grin.

"I gather this has happened before?" she asked gently. Vardan stopped pacing, and took a deep breath.

"Several times." He paused. "Most of them have... ended far worse for me." A significant understatement, if his behavior the previous night were any indication. Her sympathy for his state of mind overcame her desire to press him for more information, but only just. Melina worked the oil through the last section of her hair, and realized she'd used a third of the jar.

"My apologies," she said as she returned it to him. He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. "It's quite an extraordinary oil. I've never used anything like it." She patted through strands of hair, delighted at how silky it felt to her sensitive fingers. "What is a 'palm' tree, anyway? Are its fruits easy to harvest?" she asked, changing the subject.

"They're quite remarkable. You've never seen one?" She shook her head. "They're tall, graceful things. They look something like this, though they can grow to be ten times as tall." And with a wave of his hand, the image of a thin tree with leafy fronds sprouting at its top materialized before her. Melina rose to her feet, her thick eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You're an illusionist!" she exclaimed, fixated upon the miniature conjuration. "Why hadn't you told me?" The palm tree swayed gently in an imagined breeze, its entire curved trunk bending with the motion, as the fronds waved from its top like a mop of unruly hair. Her eyes were full of admiration for the detail.

"Are you not capable of the same?"

"I've tried small tricks every now and then, but there is a complexity to illusions which takes years to learn." Vardan nodded in response.

"It did take years," he said. "How very peculiar. We were each raised with entirely different classes of magic. How significant a role does that play in our environments and behavior?" His tone became contemplative, as if speaking to himself. The palm tree winked out of existence, gone in an instant.

"How far can you extend your illusions?" she asked.

"Quite far, and they can be rather elaborate." He twisted his fingers in the direction of the comb Melina still held in her hand, and the butterfly at its handle came to life. Bright golden wings, shot through with streaks of bronze, cast a yellow glow on her hand. It fluttered from its perch, and a hundred more exploded forth from the same place, all flying out and away. Melina's jaw dropped as she spun in place, her eyes and hair sparkling amid the brilliance as they fluttered in a slow circle around her. And then, all at once, they vanished.

"Though I confess I am out of practice," he said as she returned her gaze to him. So how powerful would it be when he is well-practiced? "I avoid using illusions whenever possible."

"Mightn't they have been useful when escaping Jizan?" asked Melina, failing to keep the touch of bitterness from her voice.

"They might have," he acquiesced, "had I been in a fit state to conjure them. As it was..." but he couldn't finish the thought. Melina made to return the butterfly comb to him, to prevent him from slipping back into old memories. He glanced at her proffered hand. "Keep it," he said. "I've several others."

It was an elegant and sturdy thing, and one which she would've normally been delighted to take.

"Many thanks," she said with a smile, flicking her hair forward over one shoulder. "I'll stow it during our travels." She fanned out her hair with one hand, as if opening the lapel of a coat, and slid the comb into a non-existent inner pocket. She watched it tumble to the ground, earning a hearty chuckle from Vardan, then looked up to catch a genuine smile on his face. His first since their escape. And all was right for but a moment.

***

The remainder of the morning cast a net of melancholy quietude over the duo, as they were slow to don their baggage and continue the trek. Melina set a purposefully slow pace to keep from disheartening Vardan, but had to admit that the previous day's breakneck travel had left her stiff as well. When they came to a small, rocky depression carved by an active stream, she was careful to help him over the slippery surfaces. Travelling with a heavy load was not easy, doubly so when paired with his inexperience. And a cool, fine mist seemed to coat every surface within reach.

As they mounted the opposite side, she had to grasp both his forearms and support his full weight while pulling him up a particularly steep boulder. When she succeeded, one of his hands lingered on her wrist.

"What are these?" he asked, examining the marks left by Baccus' leather cuffs. They had been a sickly blue and purple at first, but had quickly faded to blotches of yellow and green. She yanked her arm away, hating the sudden memory of thrashing helplessly against taut chains.

"For you, bitch, I leave a curse. Just as you left one with me." Melina felt ill as the cruel voice and smile snaked their way into her mind. " You will never rid yourself of the memories. You cannot change what happened here."

"It's nothing," she said, turning away. But she sounded utterly unconvincing, and quickly changed the subject to a lesson on how to keep one's footing in areas like the one they'd just crossed. Vardan accepted the switch readily enough, but his voice seemed softer and gentler than usual.

Melina had taught him much by the time their path leveled out in the mid-afternoon. She hadn't realized the wealth of the knowledge she possessed until she began articulating it to someone who lacked her many years of experience. Every trick she explained brought forth a half dozen others, until it became a constant flow of information. She instructed him in pathfinding, navigation, reading immediate and surrounding terrain, and listed the names and characteristics of dozens of plants and animals. His capacity to learn nearly matched his eagerness, and he asked intelligent questions along the way.

Some questions, however, were distinctly unintelligent.

"What do you have against clothing, anyway?"

"Oh, this again?" said Melina, laughing. "What do you have against beauty?"

"It's not that," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "You are lovely, it's just..."

"I simply hate it," she interrupted. "It rubs and itches, and constricts movement. There are straps and buckles and fasteners which dig into one's skin, and it always clings in the worst ways. I think a better question might be 'why wear clothing at all?'."