Chapter 6
CEARO
Another gate, no new kills. They were new, but they had been taught the rules. Grab your humans. Leave no indication of your presence. Simple.
I flew through the trees to the next.
Thirsty. Take a break, Cearo.
I stopped. Turned in the direction of the river.
No, Cearo.
There was a tiny pond right here. I climbed down for a drink. I climbed straight back up the moment I finished.
I rested in the branches. Boden’s troop was at the next gate. They knew the rules. They had been the heroes of the Seelie for years. No reason to worry over them.
I pulled out my book. I started a new sketch of The River. Not the river. The River. I had drawn it infinite times, but I was never satisfied. I remembered it perfectly, or I thought I did, but my drawings all seemed to be lacking that one ripple in the water or that last blade of grass on the bank.
That was not true. I drew every detail precisely. Except one. I usually left the most important piece out because I have found that when I include it, I let hours go by with my pencil and eyes on the page and lose track of all else. The last time I drew him I started at sunrise and the moon was halfway across the night sky when I looked up.
Those lost days are a relief at times. I rarely want to be present anymore. But who would watch over the fae if I did not? I had to stay.
That was not true either. The fae would not police themselves, but the truth was I cared little about that. I stayed because I had failed at leaving. I stayed and hoped he would come.
I drew The River. I worked meticulously on a single patch of reeds. They were an important element in the scene. If you were to fish in The River, you would stand in those reeds so the fish do not see you. There were hundreds of stalks. I included each one.
I moved on to the water in front of the reeds. It flowed and changed constantly, but I recalled a specific pattern in the ripples. Once again, I included every ripple, every bubble. There had been four fish visible through the water. Their bodies shined, reflecting the sunlight. If you were to fish in The River, you should be sure the sun is in front of you so your shadow is thrown to the bank rather than onto the water.
I started on the bank behind the reeds. I drew a set of footprints coming up to the reeds. It would be my only concession to him. I did not have to time to lose myself now, as tempting as it always is. They were average-sized prints. They were slim because of the high arches of the feet that made them. They were spaced evenly and fairly closely due to the careful, small, slow strides into the river. They would look like any other footprints to any other viewer. But they were not.
My water element jumped. Not literally, as it was in me, a part of me, and I was still. But that is the only way I could describe the feeling.
Calm down, Water. He is not here.
Water jumped again.
Calm down, Water. It is a drawing. Of his footprints, not even him.
Water threw itself against me, nearly sending me flying out of the tree. I grabbed onto the trunk with one hand and held on tightly to my book with the other. Water continued to thrash inside me. My breath shook. Each lurch was in one direction only. I oriented myself there…toward Boden’s gate. Water wanted to go there. Badly. Everything stilled for a fraction of a second.
I will come back for you, said that long ago memory.
No.