“No!” She kicked but the faceless figure behind her had a firm grip on her. “You’re not my mother. I know you’re not my mother!”
“Arous,” a deep warm voice called.
She kicked and struggled. She seemed to be trapped under a net. She clenched her eyes tight.
A soft voice called her name. Fear kept her lids closed.
“Arous, Arous,” the voice called again.
“No,” she moaned.
She shot up in bed and threw back the sheets. She frantically pulled on clothes, shoes, and a jacket. She grabbed Arcadia out of the bed stuffing her in the backpack that was by the door.
She was out the door and sprint-stumbling down the stairs, got to the front door and stopped. Leaving like this seemed wrong but she forced herself to think rationally.
“The only difference about leaving tonight . . . I’m just leaving a little earlier than planned,” se said outloud. A muffled whinny came from the bag.
“Okay. And without saying good-bye,” she paused. “I shouldn’t. But maybe I don’t have to.”
Arous had never seen her Daddy, the Diofe, sleeping.
She walked back through the house to his Willing Room. The door was closed; that wasn’t unusual. She knocked. No answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. She tried the handle; it wasn’t locked. She opened the door and walked in. The room was empty. It exuded a faint glow especially around his chair, a bright mist played around the edges of the chair and in the corners of the room.
“He must have just left. The room still glows,” she said.
She walked over to his chair. On the arm of it sat a V-dot. She rubbed her hands together and held it to her ear.
“To the Bank of The City Canadí, cash in the sum of-”
She clapped her hands together.
“That’s more than . . .”
I deserve, she thought.
She put the dot from her mother in its place.
This is sort of like good-bye.
Her thoughts were so loud, they woke me from a sound sleep. I would’ve thought I was dreaming but I was experienced enough to know a mind-sight from a dream.
She was so loud that I knew he heard her too.
I found him on the front porch looking out into the sleepy night. And even though the river was too far away to see with our physical eyes, we were both watching the same mind-sight through the eyes of Arous. She was too afraid, to full of guilt to block us out.
An eternity spaced itself between each of her footsteps until she stood on the sand. On the opposite side of the river she could just make out the dim glow of light coming from Chara’s boathouse. Inside Chara’s boathouse was her ticket to ride, her hoveh.
From the beach she looked out across the moving river. She would port across the river. Alone.
I know you don’t want me to do this. Neither does Edlawit.
She replayed the conversation with Edlawit, then the conversation with the Diofe.
Imprisioned. Alippiana’s a prison. Right now, it is.
She walked down to the end of the pier. The river was calm here. At other places, the river was deep and filled with jagged rocks, eddies swirled and no one dared swim, especially at the bridge.
The cara-caras were climbing up from the river to play on the beach. They looked kind of like turtles with long arms, legs and a long neck. They had feather tufts on their feet, around their tiny ears and along their neck. Their jeweled shells gleamed in the moonlight. A few preened their shiny, jewel-toned feathers as they sat moon-bathing. She had often watched them spend their days sunning themselves. She had heard about, but had never seen, their night frolics on the beach. She saw a gaggle of poisajos as they swooped down on one cara-cara as he reached up to catch them. For a moment she envied their freewheeling on the sand.
If only . . .
That carefree image stopped her.
What’s going to happen to me on the other side? I am Lunese, at least, half-Lunese. There’s only one other like me, my mother.
Her heart started to race. I must’ve made a move to step off the porch because the Diofe grabbed my arm, his grip like a vice.
What will happen if I see someone . . . who doesn’t like me? What if they see me first? Miguel, what do I do?
Be careful, I thought back to her.
Why is he so quiet? Daddy? Say something.
There is an emotion that can only pitifully be described with words. It often makes the space in your chest warm, your stomach feel tingly and tears come to the eyes. It’s best accompanied by silence and connection.
Daddy. Tomorrow’s Edlawit’s birthday. I made her an enchanted finger painting but forgot to set it out. Will you make sure she finds it in the morning?
Then it all went quiet and started to fade.
“She’s blocking us out,” I whispered.
“Let her go,” he said. “People are not puppets, Miguel.”
I held onto the sight of her for as long as I could. She was skillful in blocking me.
I saw her kick her red boots off, stuff them in her bag and sling it on her back. The sand was cold. The cara-caras were all looking at her. A just like Edlawit was the lamb, for a few seconds I saw her as they saw her: a curious, magical creature, glowing all-lavender-turquoise-orange-iridescence in the moon light. The mind of the cara-cara I was looking through thought her a moonbeam on fire.
The moment her right foot hit the pier she was running. She didn’t slow down but did a somersault and dove into the river. The cold water punched her ribs and it all went black.
