The Crossing (Book 1)

Chapter 8

     Brae jumped, grabbed the edge to the passage, and pulled himself out of the hidden chamber. Turning to Cera, he held his hand out for her to grab onto so that he could pull her out. Cera tried not to stare as she watched Brae effortlessly pull himself out of the chamber. Telling herself he was just very attractive and to not let that distract her almost had her laughing out loud. Deep down she knew she was wholeheartedly enthralled by him and no amount of denying it would convince her otherwise. Cera tried to clear her throat quietly and thought of Tom with very little admiration. Tom always made it sound like a chore to get up from the ground, so Cera marveled at the ease with which Brae pulled himself up to the passage entrance and was suddenly overwhelmed with joy that he found her. She couldn't even imagine what it would have been like to be trapped in what she could only see now as a coffin. The amazement that she had felt about finding a cave had worn off with her first slide and then the fall from the passage. Jumping with more effort than Brae had used, Cera grabbed onto his forearm as tightly as she could. Brae pulled her up into the passage as if he had picked up a feather from the ground. The moment she stood in front of him she flinched at the stiffness running along her side.

     "Are you alright?" Brae frowned.

     "Yup." Cera tried to stretch without being obvious, "Just starting to really feel those stumbles I've taken."

     "You're sure?"

     Cera watched Brae's eyes search her face, "Yes. Thank you." Cera felt her cheeks flush as he guided her to step away from the edge. When she stood safely next to him, he raised his hand in front of the opening of the passage.

     "Flame."

The fire that was settled in the middle of the ground in the chamber died out while a flame slowly rose in the middle of Brae's palm. Cera's eyes widened and her mouth slightly opened as if to say something. Brae looked down at Cera's astounded face and smiled.

     "Ready?"

     No words escaped Cera's mouth. She hadn't even noticed that she was holding her breath until she exhaled and blew at the flame in Brae's hand. Rubbing the side of her head, she checked again for any bumps that she may have missed. "Sure." Turning she shook her head and thought at any moment she was going to have a cerebral hemorrhage and die. Cera and Brae slowly made their way up the passage until they were sure that the dirt under their feet wouldn't slide out from under them. Once Cera was completely sure, she practically ran through the passage and before she knew it she was emerging from the tree. "Tom," Cera turned in circles, "Tom." Looking at the opening of the cave Cera saw that it was raining outside just before she noticed that her backpack was not where she had left it.

     "Who's Tom?" Brae slowly walked toward Cera and balled his hand into a fist to extinguish the flame in his palm. A wisp of black smoke rose from his hand and disappeared. He quickly rubbed his hands together as Cera watched with disbelief.

     "He's my...we're um..." Cera couldn't understand why it was so hard to tell Brae who Tom was. "He's my fiancée."

     Brae tilted and shook his head, "What's that?"

     "We're going to be married."

     Brae had the exact same look on his face that Cera had when she saw the flame rise from his hand. His heart seemed to drop into his stomach at the thought that she was going to spend her life with somebody else. Brae tried to put it out of his mind and failed. He had perfected his wall long ago and couldn't understand why he had to use all his energy to put his tumultuous emotions in check. He knew he had to get her to his Aunt Trill as quickly as possible. She would be able to tell Brae if he should be having these feelings about someone he doesn't even know, someone he obviously couldn't be with. These feelings were new to him and he needed someone to try to explain them to him. Brae was hardly ever wrong and the thought that he was wrong for feeling what he did was quickly starting to weigh too heavily on his mind.