Last Day of Love

Last Day of Love: Part 3 of 8

Night falls early, sealing off another day. Eureka sits in my mind like a patch of sun in winter. Every now and then, the way she looked this morning diverts me from the burden I carry.

In the gray-brown dusk Shiloh leads me along the snaking bayou, beyond the oaks’ canopy, into a quiet, starry night. I am surprised to be surprised by the spreading darkness.

I don’t know where we are. My vision adjusts and I notice a stand of trees around a small, flat clearing. It’s as good a place as any to make camp. Though everything is wet, I begin to gather wood. The air is brittle, as if I could snap it into pieces and make an arsenal of knives.

In my mind I see Eureka, back at the restaurant. Her head falling back, eyes squeezed shut, her mouth wide open. What made her laugh like that? Maybe she was laughing because it was the last time I would love her. Maybe she was laughing at me and everything I’ve done.

I curse Critias as I drop wet wood onto the wet earth. Did my uncle know I would consume Eureka’s image until she consumed me, until I disappeared into the darkness like a dwindling match? Only now do I hear the drilling sound of a nearby woodpecker, the slosh of the bayou below.

I can’t remember anyone ever speaking frankly about what happens on the Passage. But I’ve always known what’s expected of me: a renunciation of pleasure, of memories I hold dear, of anything or anyone whose appeal borders on dependence. Tomorrow, when I appear before my family to prove that I’m completely free, they’ll open the Seedbearers’ secrets to me. They will have nothing more to hide.

Critias gave me a map that marks the spot where I’m supposed to meet them. It’s twenty miles from where he dropped me off. Why am I rushing toward them? I wonder. I’ve always told myself I want to escape.

“The idiots in this town,” Albion has said at the dinner table. “They tell each other, ‘Wish upon a star, be an idiot, chase your dreams.’”

How would I even begin to chase my dreams? I have no more idea of where I could go now than I did when I was eight.

In the darkness I remember the fire starter Chora gave me. I toss the artificial log on the wet wood and light the yellow wrapper. The paper lights, but the wood doesn’t catch. I rub my hands together, angry at the cold, until I remember once seeing Albion whisper a breath into a reluctant fire. “Wind is the Seedbearer’s to wield,” he said.

Softly, I blow into the flame.

The orange tendril dances from one wet log to another. I have made an impossible fire. I laugh, which inspires a great burst of flames. Shiloh leaps around the conflagration, delighted that something has made me happy, that something is making him warm.

I’ve never felt at liberty to test this kind of power—either normal people are nearby or there’s an elder at my side who is more expert than I think I will ever be. For the first time, I allow myself to feel alone, inhaling, exhaling, manipulating the fire with my breath as if it were a burner on a stove.

I leave the fire roaring and open a can of beans. I set it on a stone near the flames. Shiloh cozies up to me, curling his body around my leg. He sighs and rests his chin on my lap. I scratch his head and remember that I’ll never spend another night with him.

I draw my leg from under him. He nuzzles into me again. Something dark is rising in me. I want him gone. I want to forget I ever loved him. The urge is so strong I begin to shake. I give Shiloh the beans to make myself disgusted by the way he eats. He devours them sloppily, licks the can for a while, then turns to me.

“Okay.” I swallow the familiar “buddy” before it has a chance to fully form in my throat. “Time to go.”

COPYRIGHT: Lauren Kate. All Rights Reserved.