Counting Down (11 page)

“I’m sorry.” He stood up, steadied himself on the edge of the table. “I’m okay now. That’s how it happens to me sometimes. When the big visions come they leave a blinding pain in their wake.”

“Is it gone now? Is there anything I can do to help you?” She fought the urge to reach out to him again. “I’m sorry Kyle. If I had known…”

“It’s okay. Neither of us knew that was going to happen.”

“Why didn’t I get pain with the vision?” He sat down, took a long sip of his soda, and leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. After a few deep breaths he opened his eyes and looked at her without turning his head.

“I don’t know. Look, I need some time to take everything in. To get some sleep, figure things out. I think it would be a good idea if we just turned in for the night.” He was rigid, his face expressionless.

Abby tried to hide the feelings of rejection that stabbed into her gut like ten thousand pointy nin
ja stars. So many thoughts rushed
through her mind at the same time, competing with each other for dominance.

Had she expected him to take her in his arms and tell her how long he’d waited for her?
Regardless of their past life connection, they were still bound to the present.

“Okay. It’s probably better that way.” It took all her energy to speak evenly and fight to keep the hurt from showing on her face.

When Kyle didn’t respond she moved towards the stairs. “I guess I’ll find the guestroom on my own then.”

Again he said nothing as she gathered both of her bags from the foyer and started up the stairs. On the second step she stopped to peer back into the kitchen.

“If you need help or anything, I don’t mind.” She said it just barely loud enough for him to hear. “I mean, if your head hurts or something.”

“Thanks. I’ll be fine.” He stayed in his seat, his back turned to her. “Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Abby continued up the stairs and found the spare room with the first door she opened. She tossed her bags on the floor, stripped off her jeans, and threw herself onto the floral bedspread with a mix of exhaustion and confusion. How was it that she felt like she missed him? That didn’t make any sense. Her entire soul fairly ached for him and he was just downstairs. But he wasn’t hers. Not in this life.

Memories invaded her, not the least of which was the memory of that kiss, and she felt the first of a well spring of hot tears come to her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she was crying over Kyle Windstone or the man he used to be.

She convinced herself that the feelings she had for Kyle weren’t hers. They belonged to someone else, a person from some other time, and she was only able to remember the intensity of them now because of the unexpected vision. Regardless, the pain she felt was real and she had never felt anything like it in her life.

Earlier she mentioned to Kyle that she’d  never been in love before. She knew that was true now with complete certainty. Memories of real, amazing, and apparently undying love were now a part of her.

Abby didn’t bother getting under the covers. Instead she lay there, curling her body into a ball and allowing the few silent tears to fall.

Whitestone Village, Midsummer, 1577 BCE

A
islynn was anxious, expectant, and far too sick of waiting.
She had waited long enough for this day to come. Finally, after more than three years, he was coming home. The thought sent a flutter through her limbs, easing the anxiety that had made her slightly jumpy for most of the last month. As summer approached and the daylight grew, so too did the weight of Aislynn’s anticipation. She hated waiting.

She was terrified in many ways. Would he still be the same boy who had tossed stones into the pond and taught her to watch the ripples, to listen to the sound the water made as it swallowed the stone? Would he be the same boy who had listened to trees, and communed with spirits only he could see? Would he A still hold that mystery in his eyes and whisper nature’s riddles to her under the moon?

Had the priests been able to change him so that she would no longer recognize his smile, the melody of his laughter? Had he forgotten the joy they had brought each other? Would he still want her? No, it didn’t matter, she thought. She would make him want her again if she must. He was hers, always had been. She would never let him go without a fight.

It was Midsummer, the time when day and night were perfectly balanced and the sun and moon were equals in the sky. The priests were coming in from the cove to preside over the rites, to light the fires the way it had been done for generations.

Midsummer was a time to celebrate and a time to beckon the crops for a good harvest in the fall. It was a time of feasting and fertility. As such, it was a time when men and women came together in the night, to learn the secrets of each other’s touch and promise themselves for the next year.

It was the women who made the choice, who took the men into the fields to lie under the stars. Of course the decision must be a mutual one. No man could be chosen by a woman he didn’t want. Many a Midsummer had resulted in tears of rejection and the sorrow of unrequited love. Aislynn prayed she would not be added to those ranks.

The other maidens who would be attending the rites for the first time had been discussing their choices for weeks. Aislynn’s friend, Deirna, was currently pondering the boys of the village, appraising each of them like livestock at the market.

“Lairim is of age this year as well,” Deirna said.
Her blue eyes glazed over slightly, reflecting the last moments of daylight from above. “And he has lovely arms. I think I could stand them around me for the next year.” She laughed, tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“Fine choice,” Aislynn said, smiling politely. She glanced at Lairim for a moment. He was strong, stood proud on his young legs. But he was nothing compared to the man she was waiting for.

“Yes, and it’s not as though we’re saying forever. By next Midsummer I could choose another to take into my mother’s home. Perhaps his brother, Ryell. He’ll come of age next spring. But I think Lairim might make a good partner for now. Plus, he could give my mother the grandchild she wants.”

Aislynn smiled. She wasn’t thinking about babies and her mother had passed to the next world two summers before. Being an only child, and a daughter at that, the family home now belonged to her.

Aislynn had been the only daughter of an only daughter. There were no uncles, no father to help tend to her modest home. Her father had been a priest who had chosen to return to the cove after the Summer Rites and Aislynn’s mother had taken other lovers over the years.

Such was the way things were done. But not for Aislynn. If her priest would not stay with her she would take no other lover. She would live alone in her thatched roof house waiting eagerly for each Midsummer to come around. Even if she began to starve or if the walls came crumbling down around her, she would touch no other man. But she prayed he wouldn’t return to the cove. He was a man now and he had a choice. The priests could not decide for him anymore, could not sweep him away from her like they had before.

Aislynn and her priest had been born on the same day and had grown up together in the village. At the age of
five
he had brought her piles of daisies and sat with her by the pond to string them together the way their mothers had taught them. He told stories, even then, speaking of the land, the cycles of the moon, and the positions of the stars. Always he had known about the mysteries, as if he was born with the wisdom of the ages behind his young eyes.

At
the age of nine
he was spending more time with the other boys, learning to fight and hunt with his brothers. Aislynn had missed him, but still every so often a daisy would be waiting for her, tucked within the crack around her door, or sitting on the ledge outside her window. And when the other boys weren’t looking, he would send her a smile. It was a smile he reserved only for her.

By the time adolescence was upon them their relationship changed again. His stolen glances became more frequent, more purposeful. They were miles away from the village, watching the sea crash upon the jagged rocks, when he kissed her for the first time. It was an innocent kiss, full of hope and wonder.

Tentatively,
and with great innocence,
their lips had touched, introducing them both to feelings they had never known before.
Even in that small instant there had been something between them, something untouchable and unexplainable.
That was the moment Aislynn knew he would be her husband, and not just for a year but for eternity.

Days before their
fifteenth
birthday he was taken from her. The priests had come from the cove to celebrate the first harvest and seen something in the boy. Claiming that his purpose was a grand one, they ushered him off to their sanctuary to study the ancient ways of the land and the gods that lived within it. Three years had passed and Aislynn had missed him every day. He had been her best friend. Even when he was busy being a boy, he had never completely left her.

“Aislynn,” Deirna said. “The sun is low. It’s time to go.”

Aislynn almost ran, but held herself back. Slowly she turned towards where she knew the circle of stone lay beyond. Goose flesh covered her arms, excitement slipping down into her toes.

Deirna locked her arm around Aislynn’s, giggling to herself. “Are you nervous?”

“Only a little.” She was nervous, but not because this was her last night as a maiden. She was nervous because she was afraid he would not accept her hand. Could there be another girl who would catch his eye.

Aislynn was not the most beautiful girl in the village. She knew that she was plain compared to some, but still her mother had always told her there was something special about her eyes. Her mother had said any man would want to know what lay within their mossy depths. Aislynn wasn’t quite that confident. After all, mothers were always fond of their children’s beauty.

As they approached the circle, Deirna’s giggles only increased, but Aislynn was suddenly solemn. The priests were gathering in the center, preparing the ritual space with smoke and water from the sea. Immediately she saw him. His back was too her, one arm filled with a pitcher of ocean. She trembled unconsciously, tightening her arm around Deirna’s.

“Is that Callum?” Deirna asked. “My, he’s grown, hasn’t he?” When Aislynn only continued to stare, Deirna patted her friend’s hand. “Everyone knows he’s yours Aislynn. You two have always been made for each other. Don’t worry. You’ll get no competition here. Besides, he’s only ever had his sights on you. He will accept no other.”

Aislynn trembled again. Gods, she hoped Deirna was right. She couldn’t bare it if he chose another. She feared she would ruin the celebration with a fit of rage if he did.

The ritual began as the night caressed the land. Fires were lit and gods were honored. Aislynn didn’t hear the prayers for her thoughts never left Callum.

She watched him move around the circle, saw that he now carried himself with the confidence of a man. Each step of his long legs was deliberate, practiced. She watched him, noted the thin beard that had grown in over his chin, the way his dark hair curled just behind his ears. He had grown tall, so much taller than she. The top half of him was bare with only the necklaces of a priest to fall upon his chest. His body had become stronger, lean with muscle.

The ritual ended, the drumming began, and Aislynn watched him still.
His fire-lit eyes scanned the crowd around the circle, searching. He ran a hand through his hair, appeared to sigh with slight frustration.

The rhythm of the drums entered her, echoed through her body. Something stirred, broke open within her until she felt a rush of determination tighten her limbs, straighten her spine. Finally, she could wait no longer.

She approached him from behind, stood only inches from his back and took in the scent of the smoke on his skin. She brushed her fingers along his knuckles, tentatively touching him for the first time as a woman. He tightened, started to turn. Aislynn latched her hand into his, felt their fingers come together like two halves of single broken stone.

When he turned there were no words on his tongue, only a look of relief lighting his face. His eyes, so like her own, danced like the flames of the fire. They locked onto hers, soaked her in as though he were dying of thirst.