Chapter 7: Gardens of Tyree
"I think this place is having the desired effect," whispered Waxine as if unwilling to disrupt the tranquility of their setting.
"You're right, they seem less agitated," Cynthia softly replied. The hexagonally-shaped lantern hovered next to the candelabra above the top of the high hedges that surrounded the Gardens of Tyree.
Wicus was seated below with one of his oldest friends, pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping. Both Paragons had left the Great Hall at the same time. Neither realizing that the other was there until they ran into one another near the exit.
Wicus’ gloomy conjectures lifted the moment he saw Titus.
It was Titus who suggested that they visit the gardens, located not far from council chambers.
Beloved by all Paragons for their stunning beauty, they were also a physical metaphor for life and work. The gardens had no beginning or end, in fact, every leaf, flower, vine or blade of grass seen growing so vibrantly-- seemed to have no edges at all.
"The shape of each flower flows into the next...it’s subtle the way it changes into something new but there's no outline of it... I love that," sighed Cynthia appreciatively.
"Yes, it’s lovely that there are no borders," murmured Waxine distractedly. Her mind was obviously elsewhere.
Both stopped speaking for all of twenty seconds. During which time Waxine’s gaze took on a twenty yard stare while the other Luminary cleared her throat lightly and shifted position minutely, hinges creaking with the movement.
Was Waxine thinking about what she’d learned in the Great Hall? Wicus mused. His companion had a network of Luminaries that shared gossip.
"The colors remind me of the paintings of Henri Matisse crossed with the impressionist work of Claude Monet," offered Cynthia.
That got Waxine’s undivided attention, "I didn't know you knew about human art."
"Shh, keep it to yourself... our friends down there don't need to know everything about me," warned Cynthia in a low voice, "I like to keep some mystery."
The elegant Luminary, an enchanted glass lantern from Africa, glowed with a warm inner light, evidence of her contentment. Her fount was clear glass, hinged on each side to the center globe, touches of bright raspberry, orange and yellow paint adorned the edges of the globe's six upper corners. Cynthia’s colorful display was nothing compared to the gardens.
Waxine smiled at that, “Don’t we all.”
Wicus glanced in her direction, having overheard much of their conversation. A small smile sprouted on his lips.
The same could not be said for Titus. His mouth was working steadily-- too discomposed by what he was saying to pay attention to anything else. Despite the peacefulness of the surroundings he wore a grim expression. When he spoke, his voice sounded loud and rough like a diesel engine belching smoke.
"Nasty business, this is," he said, pausing.
"We’ll have to have faith in the council. But yes, I have to agree," Wicus answered in a candid tone. Secretly questioning his judgment. What if they didn’t come through?
"What bothers me most is the way it impacted us. I mean not only mine…and yours, but the 48 unmated souls; primaries, secondaries. Just enough so that every soul minder except for those handling the top and bottom of the world are affected. What are the odds?”
Wicus pondered that for a moment before answering, "There's more going on here than we know."
"I hope Dimitry and his crew figure out what's going on before we lose anymore," growled Titus, sounding as though he lacked the conviction that it was likely.
That dismal thought hadn't occurred to Wicus. Surprised, he asked, "MORE? Do you think there will be more?"
Titus shrugged his massive shoulders, clearly unsure. Typical of the tribal Africans he served, his ebony skin gleamed in the light of the gardens, despite the high clouds that had formed overhead. In stark contrast were the yellow flames of his eyes which occasionally revealed hints of green. Titus was still in transition and not quite as old as Wicus.
“Who would benefit by orchestrating the deaths of unmated people?”
This produced another shrug from Titus -- the gesture revealing some of his frustration. His expression changed as if a new thought occurred, “Unless someone is actively trying to halt the advance of mankind.”
Wicus tightened his eyes at the suggestion. “What kind of nut job would want to do that?”
Titus shook his head, he didn’t have an answer.
Both Paragons lapsed into silence.
“This waiting…is…maddening,” Titus confessed.
“I’m more concerned about what happens after.”
“After?”
“What if it doesn’t work? Soul adjustments-- I mean they’re tricky. Reshaping a bowed curve on a soul marker is a relatively simple procedure…compared to adjusting the entire length of one….” Wicus shook his head, candid about his concern, “Which I haven’t done. What if no magic is released?”
Titus nodded, “I agree…there’s no good alternative though.” He sighed. “I hope I don’t botch this up.”
“Me neither,” Wicus confessed, wondering whether his skills were good enough. He was a craftsman and believed himself to be a fine soul minder but retrofitting was not a normal part of his duty. He ran a hand through his curls, using his fingers to massage his scalp.
His job was more than an obligation, it was his passion.
Without magic to advance the causes of mankind, the world would plunge into anarchy. Good and evil existed in equal measure. Each side always pressing for an advantage. Magic helped keep evil at bay, most of the time. Past lapses in magic had led to great wars, destruction, floods, famine and other tragedies. Wicus wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch.
“I suppose I should go home and begin sorting through candidates. I haven’t looked at Emily Wren’s soul signature in decades, not since she was a baby. You know how time can change a soul. The trials and tribulations of life altering it. Until now, I’ve had no reason to examine it… I have to admit, I’ll take no pleasure in selecting the names, knowing that they’ll have to be retrofitted… even if it is for Emily,” ventured Wicus.
"It was her primary and secondary that were killed?"
"You remember me talking about her?"
"I know that you expect great things...the seer said she has unusual magic."
"You have a good memory my friend," Wicus smiled.
Unwilling to sit any longer, Titus got up from his bench, waved a hand behind his hip and the comfortable seat disappeared into nothingness. He moved around restlessly.
A slight breeze blew across the freshly cut grass and he noisily sniffed the air, twice. His nose wrinkling each time. A slightly bemused look appeared on his face.
Wicus smelled caramelized sugar and vanilla-- like creme brulee on the wind. He knew from past experience that fragrances and scents of the garden were not set...they changed according to the needs and tastes of the individual smelling them. With that in mind, he raised a knowing brow looking with intent at Titus.
“I smell the pleasant scent of roasted pistachios,” Titus supplied.
Wicus allowed himself another slight smile.
Despite the horrible reason that led to their visit today, he was pleased that his friend was here. It had been a while since he’d enjoyed the pleasure of his company.
"What makes Emily so special?" Titus asked, clearly eager for more conversation.
"In a word, patience.... hers is an old soul in a young body," Wicus said, a hint of patriarchal pride was in his tone.
"Let’s hope that she has enough patience to wait until her new soul mate is prepared."
Wicus stood up, flicked his wrist and the large leather ottoman that he was sitting on disappeared.
"She will be... I've watched over her most of her life, she's not the type to fall for a barren... She's never even been in love."
"Don't get me started on barren loves..." grumbl
ed Titus, his booming voice thundering with renewed agitation, "Why do so many humans fall for the wrong people who are obviously not their soul mates?"
It was a common complaint among Paragons in the soul minder brotherhood.
Lip quirking, Wicus thought for a moment before giving a reply.
"I have a theory," he offered, smiling at his friend’s crusty demeanor.
"I'm all ears."
The two walked side by side along the ornamental flowerbeds heading toward the singing fountain. Wicus relaxed into his element-- allowing the serenity of their surroundings to wash over him. He had a deep appreciation of nature.
He laid out his theory.
"I think too many humans are in a hurry for someone to witness their lives... they mistake lust for love, even barren love. How else can you explain the selfie craze and the rapid rise of social media, people posting every mundane detail of their lives online for all the world to see?" he paused, eyes scanning the beautiful landscape.
"There are still too many pockets of poverty in my territory.... I don't have as many problems with social media because many of my souls don't have the resources for the technology," admitted Titus.
"Well... that won't last much longer."
"I expect that you are right. But even without those diversions... far too many young souls hook-up with barrens and squander their virtue... gaining nothing in return but disease or worse... continuing the cycle of poverty in my districts," lamented Titus.
"Barren love is indeed a waste of time," admitted Wicus, spitting out the words. Just speaking them left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"I miss the old days... we used to nurture the courtship of soul mates."
Wicus’ lips quirked wryly. It was another familiar complaint among soul minders.
"That's not our job any more... Remember the Accords? Now we only make sure they meet... Nothing beyond that."
"Yeah, yeah, I know... But you have to admit, there were fewer barren romances back then... not like it is now."
"People want validation that their lives matter... they'll accept anyone that reflects what they THINK they want to hear... even if that reflection offers a distorted image of their dreams... or is the wrong mirror to look at. Many people are simply so impatient... too impatient if you ask me... wanting their lives to begin."
By the time Wicus finished his often recited diatribe, they'd arrived at the fountain and were greeted by a joyous choir of bubbling music and tiny darting fish.
The mini-denizens created a haunting lilting melody by rubbing their fins and tails among the stones and carvings that made up the interior of the fountain's basin.... a fitting end to any visit to the Gardens of Tyree.
"How lovely," said Cynthia as the fish finished their tune and darted out of sight.
The two Luminaries had joined them as they listened to the aquatic symphony. She and Waxine tried unsuccessfully to mimic the melody that they had heard -- by humming.
Titus chuckled at their efforts.
The corner of Wicus’ mouth curled as he eyed the African lantern with some curiosity. He didn't know much about her and wanted to inquire about her history, learn how she became animated, how she came into Titus' life. Cynthia was a recent addition to his inner circle. The Paragon’s complete affection was evident.
Wicus thought back to the last time he had seen his friend, realizing that it had been a while. He decided to save his questions for a later time. No need to be rude, he mused. Instead, Wicus stepped forward preparing to say his goodbyes.
"There it is again... what is that noise?" asked Titus in consternation, looking around.
Wicus looked in askance at his friend as Waxine floated to his side.
"Don't you hear it? That jingling sound... Is it a bell? Or maybe the fish are going to play for us again," Titus asked. He glanced at the fountain expectantly. The fish were not in sight.
Waxine laughed. The flames from her invisible candles burning orange with mirth...a little too close to Wicus' ear. He jumped slightly, looking at his companion with measured dislike. She had a habit of surprising him that way.
"It's Wicus," explained Waxine.
"Me? I don't sound like a bell."
"It's what's in your tunic."
"My tunic?"
Waxine turned to Cynthia and Titus, unceasing in her conspiratorial tone. "He has coins in his pocket....from the human world."
"Oh, those. Yes, I forgot I was carrying them," Wicus admitted as he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. There were pennies, dimes, nickles, even a couple of quarters... all U.S. currency.
Looking at it, he made a face. Odd items indeed to see coming out of a Paragon’s pocket, he supposed. There was no need for money in the realm between reality and the tangible.
"He keeps them for Emily Wren."
"Oh...do tell us more," coaxed Cynthia moving forward to examine them on Wicus' outstretched hand. Obviously eager for a bit of gossip.
"There's really nothing to tell..."
Waxine interrupted him, "He watches her a lot, like he does when he's still trying to figure if he's correct in his assessment of a soul's personality.... Although by now, I would think he knows everything about her." Her tone turned more conspiratorial, "Emily finds coins on the ground, but instead of picking them up like most humans, she turns them over...leaves 'em for someone else to get."
"Why?" chorused Cynthia and Titus in unison.
"You have to understand Emily," defended Wicus, unwilling to have the girl made out to seem daft.
"I think she's--" before Waxine could continue Wicus interrupted her with a stern look. Shrugging one dainty metallic shoulder, she relinquished the floor to him.
"I think I'd better explain...if you don't mind... Emily is a very lucky girl and she’s a bit obsessive about her weight, she jogs everyday."
Titus and Cynthia exchanged a glance with Waxine. She made a point of clamping her lips tightly shut, allowing him to finish telling the story the way he wanted to.
"She finds money almost daily. In the human world, in America, it’s not lucky to pick up a coin if the tail side is facing up. So she turns it over and leaves it for the next person to find. She's a generous person."
"Why?"
"I think she saw a character in a movie do it once, now she does it too."
"Okay. I understand what she is doing... I mean why do you collect the coins?" asked Titus.
"If her intention is to be kind to another human... leaving them the coin to pick up... aren't you working against her?" asked Cynthia.
"He puts the coins back out with the heads up...for her to find again," interjected Waxine.
"Really?"
"How engaging!"
"And she doesn't recognize the coins?" Cynthia asked. She clearly did not have much experience with human currency.
"Money all looks the same in its country of origin."
"So she's not really lucky, since you're the one putting out the coins," observed Cynthia.
"No, she is... You don't understand... I don't put out ALL of the coins that she finds." Wicus ran his other hand through his hair in frustration. He had not explained the situation as well as he'd hoped.
"Why are you getting flustered my friend," said Titus playfully, "Oh good grief, you're not falling for one of your souls are you? Wellmus does that enough for all of us."
Wicus gave him a look which spoke volumes about his opinion of Wellmus.
"No, it’s... well... you see... she collects coins too. Old ones. These are old coins... See the dates?" He held the coins up for Titus to see since Cynthia had finished her examination of them.
"And I'm not turning into Wellmus!" Wicus assured them a little too adamantly. "She keeps old coins. Her grandfather is a collector and he got her started. I'm making sure she doesn't lose out on these by being overgenerous to others, that's all."
"She sounds very sweet," purred Cynthia.
"Yes, she is very sweet,"
admitted Waxine, matter-of-factly, "Sweet and kind... are two words that I would use to describe Emily."
Wicus' logic seemed sound to his own mind, like any conscientious Paragon-- he was protecting the interests of one of his own. Emily’s a good kid, he thought paternally.
The girl deserves a shot at true love, she needs a soul mate.
Then why did he feel so warm under the collar. And why were they looking at him like that?