Kiss of Fire (22 page)

Wyn was swirling dark blue water around in a huge, claw-footed tub, the color fading the more she moved the water. A small hand-carved wooden box sat open on a marble sink top, revealing the contents of what looked like chunks of dirt, weeds and bark.

“What is that?” I asked, my mouth going dry.

“It is the drevo. It is a mixture of bark of the Pristỳat tree, dirt that comes from the standing stones in Scotland, and the leaves of a Vzkrí,” Ilyan explained.

I nodded. “I am just going to pretend I understood what you just said.”

“The combination, along with the water, creates an amazing healing property. It can heal and repair anything.”

“Even broken backs?” I asked with a smile.

“Even broken backs. But, it does more than that; it also cleanses your soul.”

“Why...?” I tried again, “How is this going to work?”

“The hope,” Ilyan began, “is that the healing magic, the drevo, will bypass you and pass directly to Ryland so that we can center your magic without harming him. And, if we are extraordinarily lucky, it will heal him as well; which may make the difference in how strong we find him to be in a week.”

I nodded and stared between the now crystal-clear water and the box of mud. I had to do this; it would be gross, but I had to—for Ryland; it was becoming my mantra.

Ilyan left and allowed me some time to undress and wrap up in a towel. I felt odd standing in the middle of this gorgeous bathroom in only a towel. I took a deep breath and moved my head forward, allowing my hair to fall around my face.

“I can do this,” I sighed to myself.

“Yes, Jos, you can. You ready?” Wyn said.

She stood by the tub, offering me a hand. I took it shakily and stepped into the incredibly warm water. I let the towel glue itself to me as I sank down into the warmth, thankful for some semblance of modesty.

The water felt just as thick as I vaguely remembered, like stepping into a vat of warm hair gel, but without the stick. I sighed and closed my eyes as I leaned against the side of the tub, feeling the warmth move into me. A moment later, Ilyan returned.

“How is it going?”

“The water seems to have accepted her; so far, so good.”

“Joclyn.” I opened my eyes to look at him. “I don’t know how this is going to work, but if it opens up another connection, another Tȍuha, between you and Ryland, you can’t let him touch you, okay?”

“Why not?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“If his father breaks in when you are in contact during a shared consciousness, he could use your magical connection to track you down. He could follow the pull of your newly-awakened powers to find you. A connection like that could put everything in danger. Do you understand?”

I nodded my head before leaning against the tub and closing my eyes.

“Open your mouth.”

I obeyed, but didn’t look as Wyn placed the bitter, gritty drevo on my tongue again. I closed my jaw around it tightly, fighting against the reflex to spit it out.

“Ready?”

“MmmmHmmm.” I felt Ilyan’s wide hand lay flat against my collar bone.

The warmth of his magic swam into me, the heat stretching to every corner of my body. It stayed there comfortably before his hand moved me under the water. I fought the temptation to gulp in air as he pushed me under. The warmth of his magic gained in intensity as I lay there, under the water, my lungs beginning to protest the lack of oxygen.

Ilyan’s magic continued to increase until it grew into a pain, my lungs adding their own throbbing in their panic for air. My eyes snapped open again, just as I was about to pass out. I didn’t see Ilyan and Wyn.

I saw Ryland’s bedroom, I saw Edmund sharpening a knife, and I saw a lot of blood.

I saw only a flash of the bedroom before I was dragged into the white space again. I stood frozen, in the middle of the large room, not daring to move. My hands flexed at my sides, every part of me on high alert. I heard a scuffle and a whimper, followed by a pained sob. I spun around at the sound, my heart plunging to see Ryland curled up in a ball on the floor, his body naked except for a pair of boxer shorts. His hands gripped his curly hair tightly, his knees pulled up to his chest. He sobbed as his body writhed.

I ran to him, but as I got closer I couldn’t help but think that something was off about him. Just seeing him curled in a ball on the ground, he looked smaller, leaner and less muscular. I had almost reached him when I stopped short, remembering that I couldn’t touch him. He cried out in agony again before reverting to his tortured ball.

“Ryland!” I called out, lifting my voice above his screams.

“Stay away!” he yelled, his voice panicked and high pitched. “Don’t hurt me! I can’t take any more.”

I gaped at him, his body looked completely fine. Everything was smooth and perfect. Except for his boxers. I looked at what were obviously blood stains, some of the pools of red still wet and glistening.

Edmund, sharpening a knife.

My heart caught and sputtered, my stomach threatening to turn out its contents. What had Edmund done to his son? Ovailia had said I could see how he really looked by seeing with my mind and not my heart, but when looking at the wet pools of blood, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see.

“Ryland,” I kept my voice even.

“Don’t hurt me!” He curled himself into an even tighter ball, his joints turning white from the tension.

“I am not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“You will hurt me! Everyone always hurts me!”

“I won’t hurt you. I want to keep you safe.”

His whimpering and terror lessoned, but his body stayed wrapped in a ball.

“Everyone hurts me,” he repeated, but his voice wasn’t as terrified.

“I won’t; I promise.”

His body unwound from within itself, and he moved his hands from in front of his face to peek out at me. His blue eyes pierced me from behind dark lashes. He removed his hands all the way, looking at me from the ground where he lay.

I tried my best to stifle a sob. The boy that lay on the ground was definitely Ryland, but not the Ryland I had shared a cheeseburger with, not the Ryland I last saw. I looked into the face of a much younger Ryland; a Ryland who I stole cars with and snuck into his parent’s pool in the middle of the night. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen. He looked at me in confusion, the lack of recognition evident on his face. My heart plummeted.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice catching in between tears.

“Joclyn,” I answered honestly. “Don’t you remember me?”

“Joclyn?” His face screwed up in fear. “You’re too old to be Joclyn.”

I guess he was right; if he was sixteen, he’d remember me at about fourteen.

“It’s me, Ryland. I promise. I just look a little different.” I gave him a little smile and his body relaxed a little more.

“How do I know it’s you?”

“Do you remember when I was ten and we stole the car? Or when I was eleven and we snuck into the swimming pool, and you tried to do a flip and split your head open on the diving board?” His body began to relax with each memory I shared, so I kept going. “Or how about when we first met and you said that my eyes—”

“Looked like diamonds,” he finished for me.

“Yeah.”

“So, it’s really you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not going to hurt me?”

“Never.”

He unwound himself from off the white floor and sat up, looking around with wide eyes.

“Where are we?”

I followed his gaze, wondering how to answer him; I wasn’t sure what to say or how to handle this. Ilyan hadn’t mentioned anything about lost age to me.

“A special place only we can be—”

“Where no one can hurt me?”

“You’re safe with me.” I sat down near him, but far enough away I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him. He looked at me skeptically for a minute before sliding his legs around and bringing his knees to his chest; the movement left a giant smear of blood behind on the ground. I couldn’t take my eyes from it.

“Why do you look so old?”

I forced myself to look away from the blood and focus on his face.

“Magic,” I stated simply. I felt like I was walking on eggshells, trying to figure out what to say. Although, at sixteen he would know everything, so much more than I even knew now.

“Magic? What magic?” His voice gave him away. I knew him far too well to know when he was covering something up.

“You told me about the magic, Ryland. You told me about your kiss.” I had apparently chosen to say the wrong thing because he instantly began to panic, his arm flinging around to cover the mark on his shoulder.

“What kiss? I have no kiss; he took it away from me!” His voice was high and screechy again, the panic ricocheted off the white walls.

“The kiss, Ryland. The mark on your shoulder. You showed it to me...” I tried in vain to keep my voice even, but I knew it didn’t work.

“He took it away from me!” Ryland screamed again like he hadn’t even heard me. “He called me unworthy! I’m unworthy to bare the kiss. See. See! It’s gone. All Gone!”

Ryland removed his hand from his back and shoved it toward me, the fingers stretched out in manic desperation. I looked at the hand, at first seeing nothing but white calloused skin, until it began to fade and change. I felt the change in me as my heart rate increased, and my vision shifted. The fingers were no longer white and beautiful; they were covered in blood. My mouth dropped in a panic as I looked at the smears of dark red.

I couldn’t stop the part of me that wanted to see the real Ryland. I couldn’t stop the desperate need to see him as he really was, and so my eyes lifted to his face.

Ryland sat on the floor in front of me, his dripping hand still extended toward me. The bruises from the press conference were darker and stood out vividly on his face and neck, many appearing where there were none before. The gash that ran down his face was wider and swollen in an angry red. Blood and sweat had matted his hair, causing the curls I loved so much to droop. Bruises and cuts covered his torso and chest, some oozing green fluid, and even more of them, a deep shade of blue. His right arm hung lifelessly to his side, trails of red flowing freely down the limb, over his fingers, and onto the floor.

I screamed and scrambled away from him. My hand flew to my mouth in an effort to cover the sound, but it was too late; the damage had already been done. Ryland screamed at the same time, and flung his younger body down to the ground, back into his ball. The action revealed his back to me, and I futilely fought the scream that rose in my throat. The shoulder where his kiss once lay, faced me, revealing an ugly red hole where Edmund had dug the mark out.

Ryland’s cries filled my ears and pierced my soul in a way I couldn’t ignore. Through my tears, through my shaking body, I crawled across the white space to him. My hands hovered uselessly over his body as Ilyan’s words echoed in my ears. At that moment though, I didn’t care. I wrapped my arms around him as he had me so many times before, and I gathered him onto my lap. His frame was so small; it only caused my tears to flow more. It took a moment for his body to relax and his arms to wrap around me. I slid my arms over his back, the warm wetness of his blood spreading over my skin.

I just sat there, holding him and shushing him. We sat like that, the smell of blood and tears swirling around us. Eventually, he untwined his body from mine and moved away, lifting his red hands to cup my face. I looked into his young eyes, my heart breaking with the reality of what was happening to him.

“I love you, Joclyn.”

I balked. His face was young, but his voice was mature. My tears turned to sobs as I lifted my hand to his face, his own blood leaving my handprint against his cheek.

“Ryland?”

“I love you, Joclyn, but I can’t stay here. I have to protect you.” His hand slid over my skin to cover my eyes, and I knew when I opened my eyes again he would be gone. So I didn’t open them.

“I love you, Ryland.” I spoke the words to no one. My voice caught and I repeated it to myself over and over as I sank to the ground and savored the memory of his touch, his voice, no matter how brief the contact had been. I sobbed and moaned until the blackness took me and the connection gratefully ended.

---

I woke up screaming.

I sat up, kicking the covers off me aggressively as I looked at my hands and arms, in search of the blood I knew to be there. I panted and scrubbed and screamed. I barely registered that someone was there with me until a warmth began to spread through me, the panic receding. I let the warmth take over me, let it calm me down. Although it wasn’t the warmth I really wanted, it would do for now.

My mind became clear as I continued to stare uselessly at my hands, part of me still wondering where the blood had gone. I was like Lady Macbeth, scrubbing and clawing madly at nothing.
Out Damn Spot. Out, I say!
Except this wasn’t a play, the blood was real; it just wasn’t on my hands anymore.

“Calm… Joclyn… calm.” Ilyan’s arms wrapped around me as his magic left my body. He pulled me to his chest, his hand running down my hair. “I’m here; it’s okay.”

I wanted to pull away from him; I wanted to run to Ryland. I grasped for the necklace, desperate to bring back the connection, desperate to see him again. Ilyan grabbed my hands and steadied them, his warmth moving into me again, the force of it weaker this time.

My screaming subsided into a low sob that racked through my chest. I forced my gaze away from my hands, surprised to see Ilyan’s bedroom and not the brown and orange of the room I had been given. Ilyan clutched me to him as I continued to cry, grateful that my tears were finally leaving.

“What happened, Joclyn?” he asked when my crying had passed enough I could finally talk.

“Ry... Ryland... he is in pain... so much pain.”

“Another Tȍuha? What happened, Silnỳ?”

“I saw him; the bruises, the cuts... the blood. Ed... Edmund cut out his mark.” I felt Ilyan’s arms tense around me, his breathing increase in what I could only assume to be anger. “He was young... he didn’t recognize me. Why didn’t he recognize me, Ilyan?” The panic came back, that desperate edge creeping into my voice.

“Oh, Silnỳ, his mind is being deleted. He remembers less and less each day. Did he remember you eventually?”

“Yes, and before he left, I could have sworn it was him, that he wasn’t sixteen-year-old Ryland anymore; that it was really him. That he wasn’t sixteen-years-old anymore.” I felt Ilyan’s body relax a bit. “Is that good?”

“It means that all of him is still there, that he is still fighting.”

“Why did he look so young then?”

“Because as much as he fights, he is still losing the battle. The longer he fights it, the older he will look in your Tȍuhas. But when he forgets you completely, when he is only a child, then it will be too late.”

Ilyan’s words had a sharp edge that cut through me; it broke the dam I had made deep inside and let every single pent-up emotion and fear out in a tidal wave. I began crying uncontrollably again, but I didn’t want Ilyan to take the pain away and put me to sleep with his magic. I needed to feel it. I cried and clung to him as I let everything out.

I howled over the death of my mother, the image of her lifeless body, vivid and vibrant. I cried at the memory of our lunch, the last time we were together, and how I had given her everything that she wanted; the daughter she had always wanted me to be.

I sobbed over the loss of my normalcy. I balled up against Ilyan as I thought about the changes in my life, the drastic differences that had occurred within such a small amount of time.

I screamed with the agonizing pain of a broken heart; my voice wailed as it broke and bled in my throat. I felt my heart break into a million pieces as everything hit me simultaneously, for the last time. Every memory of Ryland flashed by, and although I wanted to smile and laugh, the memories only hurt. Hurt that I could not have him; hurt at how much everything had changed.

Through it all, Ilyan just held me, his wide hands rubbing my back. He shushed and cooed and sang to me as I cried, and all of it made me want to cry more, because his weren’t the arms I craved.

When it was done, I knew it was done. I knew I was stronger than the pain now.

“Why would he do that, Ilyan? Why would he cut the mark out?” Ilyan moved my hair away from my face, his finger lingering on my own mark. I jerked my head away, not wanting such an intimate touch from him.

“Do you remember when I told you the kiss is more like a poisonous bite? Well, the kiss itself is caused by a pool of poison. If it’s cut out, you release the poison into the person who bears the kiss.”

I gasped and the tears came back again.

“Will it kill him?”