The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 23

The more Lucas watched this invariably angry, disgruntled man take on this maternal disposition, what began as an ambiguous feeling, now took on sharper resolution—it was an embodiment of his mother. He nearly fainted. Was he really seeing his mother, in the way Qulin acted? He turned away, unable to stomach these intimations. How could his thoughts be so cruel?

Qulin stopped nuzzling the orchids and briskly approached the cell ready to proceed. He clenched his fist and placed it up against the anterior cell wall. A thick burst of radiant blue zig zags and green bars suddenly formed, revealing the entire prison cell. The cell dissolved away just as fast.

"Come forward," Qulin commanded.

Lucas stepped forward, cheered on by the mice and into a strange sense of tentative freedom in the center of the basement. Mom? The strange intimation called out in his mind. He dug his fingernail into the side of his thumb, the burst of pain effectively expelling the thought.

Qulin returned to the exam table, and added all the elixir ingredients into the orchid pots and mixed the soil emphatically, as he'd done time and again. "Okay," Qulin announced, and pulled Lucas to the front of the exam table. "Give me my halos."

Drenched in Qulin's looming shadow, Lucas exhaled and set his eyes on the limp, lifeless orchids. He was apprehensive to return to his mind, in an effort to recall the halos for fear of reviving those strange comparisons between Qulin and his mother. He glanced at Som hoping his black and feathered body would jump start some much needed halo recall. But having stood idle for nearly five minutes staring at the crow, he became acutely aware that Qulin was driving a rigid set of inquisitive eyes right into his back. He reached out and took the wrinkled orchid petals in his hand. Form, he commanded the petals telepathically, make those stupid blue halos, now! The petals denied his request. Okay, so mentally willing them to form was a waste. Maybe the petals just needed a little affectionate coaxing. He started to knead the petal slowly, rubbing them side to side as if he was rolling dough until it was clear that it wasn't working either. Next, he gently touched each petal, one by one, with each of his ten fingers pressing down on them like he was playing piano. Gentle taps became fretful thumps and subsequently no halo formation. An army of sweat beads formed at his hairline and threatened to charge down his forehead. He was never going to get out of this basement. Positive the basement walls would close in, intent on holding on to him permanently.

Qulin grunted, releasing his arms from their position across his chest. Growing impatience radiated from him.

Lucas moved his hand to his face as if he was in a deeply focused analysis, racking his brain for the proper method. Sacrifice. Where touching the petals didn't work, maybe it required a special facial expression? It sounded loony, but he was on his last leg. He crouched down to meet the bulbs at eye level as Qulin watched on beginning to shift as to doubt was moving in.

No matter, Lucas continued on with this act, squinting and glaring, even winking and in desperation offered up the old deer-in-the-headlights approach. But the damned orchid remained dead.

Qulin jerked towards Lucas. A tremble in his voice. "What's the problem?"

Lucas felt the longing in Qulin's labored petition strike him like a hot poker, a gut-wrenching appeal to follow through on his commitments, his promise—Why don't you ever pick up your phone when I call?—Lucas shuddered. It was the same longing his mother conferred in her simple requests. The ones he ignored. He stared blankly at the orchid bulbs, his pupils seemed to become their own dark halos. Was he doing the right thing, lying to Qulin? If he wasn't going to see his mother again, was there any other chance to be good?

"What's the problem?" Qulin said again, raising his voice sharply.

Lucas shuddered, speechless still. Why don't you ever pick up your phone when I call?

Qulin slammed his hands down on the exam table causing Lucas to tumbled backwards, crashing hard onto his back. The shelf above the exam table fell loose. Mason jars shattered, knocking the orchids from the table just out of the reach of Qulin's extended hands. The orchids and pots smashed on the floor tossing heaps of soil and broken clay and glass across the floor. Qulin dropped to his knees and brought his hands to his head. His face was beyond fury, his eyes filled with thick tears. He groped at the shredded petals, crumpled bulbs and torn stems. "These are my last orchids, everything is lost."

"Qulin, wait," Som shouted, hovering down to the floor. "There's one in the cupboard, above the fridge."

"I don't keep my orchids there, you know that," Qulin scolded, while scooping the soil back into the pots with his hands.

"No, no you don't. But I do."

Qulin stopped and looked up at Som. "What do you mean?"

"I've always thought it a good idea to tuck one safely away, as an insurance policy, just in case of emergency. See, I'm a lot wiser than you give me credit for."

"Well, don't just flitter your beak, retrieve it now."

Som quickly disappeared up the staircase.

Qulin whirled back to Lucas. "You are lying to me, aren't you?"

Lucas grabbed the sketch pad, pulled the pencil from the binder, his mind working through a fog and stumbled upon an idea: I need my voice.

Qulin glared contemptuously, refusing to respond.

Lucas nodded, writing faster: I've been kept down in a dark basement for who knows how long, and my memory has been rusty, yours would be too, if you hadn't seen the light of day in so long. It has taken me a bit of thinking but now, that I've had time to work it out. I really remember, it was my voice, I'm certain it was something I said.

Qulin's eyebrows drew towards the center of his forehead, creating a jagged fleshy shoreline where incessant waves of desperation pummeled fiercely. There was no second guessing nor apprehension as before, he had reached the end of resistance and had nothing but achieving the halos in his sight.

"I will return your voice," Qulin said, "promise you will not yell this time."

Lucas nodded. Promise...the very same appeal his mother once requested.

Qulin lifted one hand and swirled it in a single revolution. Lucas felt that same tingling and cooling sensation on lips. He exhaled deeply, feeling the lively vibrations of his voice chords.

From the stairs, Som wobbled down with a white coffee mug snug between his wings, one limp orchid tucked safely inside.

Qulin snatched the mug, and studied the tiny orchid. "Som, do I have any extra pots and soil in the shed?"

Som conspicuously cleared his throat—"Yeah. Should be some. Want me to grab them?And to add insult to injury, we're out of Toad's Breath." He pointed to the smashed mason jars on the floor.

"What's Toad's Breathe?" Lucas asked, hoarsely.

Som jumped back. "You gave him his voice back?"

Qulin ignored Som, remaining fixated on the single orchid. Serendipity had given him one more chance. His grip tightened around the mug. "I'll fetch them. The sooner we prepare, the faster we can continue on," he said, "the Toad's Breath, can only be captured at night."

Som hopped onto the exam table, studying Lucas. "Never expected you'd sound like a rusty bugle horn." Lucas smiled tentatively, his attention elsewhere.