Stolen Hearts; Chapter Fifteen

Simon skittered stealthily across the barren field, the taste of marsh salt clinging to the air. The loose, dried vegetation and dusty soil shifted and threw up a trail of small sand clouds behind him as he made his way to a cluster of rickety wooden homes, each one barely the size of a single room with low ceilings and very few windows. There were a maximum of seven houses but Simon was unsure as to how many were actually inhabited, the frames and foundations of so many seemed to have wilted with their age, away from the seas prevailing wind as not far east was the shore.

He had traveled south from the school for almost two days and then turned east until he had finally arrived here, in the tiny village of Naranta. Not many people came out this way as the land was rendered useless by the mass of salt in the earth; nothing grew until you reached the marshes which were too wild to even attempt taming.

Simon’s eyes locked onto the house farthest from him and closest to the sea, its woodwork peeled blue paint and white lanterns were strung along its roof connecting it to every other house in the settlement. Nothing moved except the shifting breeze and nothing made a sound except for the light footfall of Simons own presence.

He reached the open frame where you would expect to find a door instead of the simple flap of golden cloth which hung to obscure the view inside. Simon listened cautiously before stepping as sure footedly as he could manage in the daunting silence into the room.

Cluttered was the first word that came to mind. Everything was everywhere, boxes and boxes of things one could only describe as stuff as each object was so decisively unique and the quantity of objects so extensive that it would take forever to acknowledge the contents individually.

The walls were lined with shelves of more ‘stuff’, bottles and books and instruments and trinkets and tools. Thick fishing nets were draped along the far wall, an ancient anchor sat squat beside a bulky sturdy wooden table placed snugly between two solid rows of crates so as to block passage to the other side which wasn’t terribly less cluttered anyway.

On each side of the table stood a single chair, each with a cherry velvet seat and back, feline animal paws carved the arms and feet. Across the table a thin layer of papers encompassed its surface resolutely; a worn fountain pen and ink well placed haphazardly on top and a small metal box sat in one of its corners.

Simon glanced around, nothing had moved since his last visit, which was both reassuring and perhaps disappointing.

"Well, well I guess I should be surprised to see you but I can hear your heart beat a mile off boy, it’s not like you to be so…flustered. Unless this is somebody new and I’m mistaken for the first time in decades?"

Simon turned to see a skinny girl with the face and body of a seventeen year old. Her hair was unruly but stunningly beautiful as its rich fire red flickered across her pale ivory skin. She blinked, waiting for her answer and Simon looked once again into a pair of completely white eyes which held not a single trace of colour. To be born without irises nor pupils was something Simon couldn’t even begin to imagine but he smiled as he saw the odd girl, he knew she had never seen it as a hindrance.

He chuckled faintly, contently and rushed forward to embrace her. She was right of course; Simon’s heart had been pounding on over drive ever since he had left Cala in the hospital ward and the girl before him had just the heightened senses to be able to hear the difference.

He hadn’t been planning on making this trip but after what he’d felt in the ward with Cala he’d felt it necessary to come visit. The girl tensed but returned an affectionately gentle smile as he lifted her up swirling her off the ground at arms length before pulling her into a reassuring hold.

Simon smirked as he saw her eyelids flicker and he knew she was rolling her eyes.

"Alright mister, I thought I only had to put up with you four times a year? It’s only been a month since I last saw you. What have you gotten yourself into this time?" her voice seemed hollow of all that was human but still full, full of something raw but attractive and somehow natural in its own way.

Simon let her make her way past him and watched as she seemed to faze out of existence and reappear on the other side of the desk. It wasn’t teleportation and she hadn’t simply walked through the table, it was one of the many abilities she seemed to have which nobody else had even heard of. She was a clairvoyant, deprived of one sense since birth an extra one seemed to have opened up unlocking a whole door of new abilities.

She sat down on the seat mentioning for Simon to sit in the one on his side of the table. Her long draping pale lilac clothes rustled in whispers as she sat. Simon sunk into his allocated seat and smiled ruefully at her mildly chastising words.

"I thought you might like the company," he murmured under his breath, more to himself than for her benefit but he noticed as she inclined one eyebrow skyward in silent curiosity.

It was disorienting the way she seemed to stare straight ahead but Simon was used to watching the minute muscles that moved around her eyes which betrayed her emotions and the direction in which she was supposedly seeing.

"Soriety …" Simon trailed off not sure how to word what was troubling him.

The second eyebrow on Soriety’s delicate features rose as surprise rose throughout her.

"Now Simon," she sung, for her voice changed her words in such a way as they were no longer just said. God forbid they could be described in a way that was so average, no her voice was not that of words but more that of a tune, something musical, something in its own league altogether.

"It’s not like you to hang on words," she harmonised.
Simon grunted, even after visiting Soriety often her gifts were still so unknown to him and her voice still seemed to have a strange power to lull him. Kind of like the way Cala’s presence seemed to draw him but with Cala it was far more intense maybe even intolerable.

"I’m not sure I know exactly what is wrong," he sighed in disenchantment. Soriety let him sit there for a while until she seemed to realise just how much he was drowning in his own mind.

"Not like you at all," she murmured softly. She reached her hand across the table towards his cheek, Simon closed his eyes and let her satin skin brush across his own as he smelt the salt on her skin and then something else, he smelled lavender wildflower. It was sharper and sweeter both at the same time, nothing like her usual salt and sea smell. No, it was not the smell of Soriety at all.

Cala’s face suddenly smashed into the forefront of his vision, her hands were on his back, her warm smooth skin, he could feel her heart beat, her panic and power, he could feel her breathing as it got faster under their touch and he could feel his own heart roar as it pounded to compete with hers.

He remembered the switch. The way a torrent of feral emotion had obliterated his senses. The way he had to use all his concentration just to stop his hands from ripping at her silky skin, from tearing at her, from destroying her. The way he’d had to scrunch his eyes to stop the image of her from drawing out all of his power, when all of his power had been screaming at him to kill. He’d wanted to; he’d never wanted anything more in his life.

Kill, kill, kill. A scratchy voice chanted through his memories.
Soriety gasped as sparks of the memories flowed through their current contact and into her mind. She felt his disbelief, his horror, his sudden shocked innocence but more than that she felt his yearning to raze the girl now in her own mind. She felt his desperation to murder, to slaughter, obliterate, annihilate, to commit every definition of harm he could to her. There was no stronger feeling for a second that felt much longer than a second, so long a second in fact that Soriety started to wonder how Simon had ever managed not to act on these ostensibly unyielding impulses.

Then Simon’s eyes softened around the edges as he remembered the next tidal wave of emotions that had ripped through his mind. He’d pulled up her shirt, grazing his fingertips over her figure again, feeling the joy, the ecstasy of being so close to her body, her warmth. Simon remembered holding on to her waist, his hands remaining, not wanting to let go.

This time they wanted nothing more than to covet her, hold her, make her laugh, make her smile, make her eyes crinkle around the edges with enjoyment. He’d wanted to hold her so close that her body fit his perfectly, wanted to talk to her for hour and hours and enjoy just being there with her. He'd wanted to protect her. He’d wanted to love her.

Then back again but with subtle vengeance his hate had returned, it had drugged him. He remembered drawing one hand behind his back to reach for his hand knife, one swift movement and she would have been dead, she was in such a vulnerable position.

Simon remembered marveling with intense ecstasy at how lucky he was to have such a good opening, how could she let her guard down so badly. How could she trust him, he was barley more than a stranger to her and he’d smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching and looked up to see the dying eyes of his kill. But then he’d spotted something that had interrupted everything and suddenly he’d felt normal again.

Simon shuddered at the memory of the intensity of the feelings with a sense of fear and dislike towards both. Soriety withdrew her hand sharply and hissed at the unfamiliarity of the memories. This was nothing like Simon; she’d been in his head before. He wasn’t malicious enough to want to kill badly enough to actually yearn for it nor was he soft enough to want to care for someone so completely.

"Well you’re right," she hesitated "Even I would have difficulty trying to explain that," she sang through gritted teeth.
Simon looked up, his head having fallen. Suddenly he was exhausted, he was battered, and realising those emotions again had taken something alive out of him.

"Do you know why? Soriety please tell me why that happened and what I can do to make sure I never feel like that again," Simon sank his head onto his folded arms above the table, his eyes half closed and his skin a shade too pale.

Soriety stroked his hair gently for a few minutes while they both calmed down.
"You don’t know what it was, do you," Simon muttered desolately not asking but more stating. To his surprise Soriety hesitated cautiously and then sighed.

"I have a theory but you aren’t going to like it," she stopped stroking his hair and stood up as Simon lifted his head to frown. She walked farther back into the room and disappeared through another curtained door frame. Simon took the chance to regain some normality; he ruffled his hair and shook his head once sharply as if to throw the strangeness out of his mind and sat up straighter.

Soriety returned with a small leather bound book and returned to her seat placing it neatly in front of Simon.
"We’ve had the basic discussion before," Simon realised Soriety was trying to hold eye contact with him "Last time you said you’d keep an open mind so mind you keep to that promise," she warned sternly.

She pushed the little brown book further towards him shifting some of the loose papers below. Simon sighed realising the lines of thought she was trying to drag him down again.
"Soriety…I’m not one of them. I can’t be, I’d know about it!" he said compellingly, stress warping his words.

Soriety scowled, the expression looked foreign on her features but the look was firm.
"Page fourteen," she sung through her teeth, patience was not always her forte where Simon was concerned "Read it aloud until you realize just what you are,"

Simon daren’t refuse, if he wasn’t going to get answers the least he could do would be to humor her so he flicked through the book to the appropriate page. The pages were worn from age not use, thick and tan, the text was bold and fashioned.

"She who walks by no living tree,
Whose eyes are shrouded like mist and sea.
She who came from fire not dust,
Who calls the first with murder and lust."

Simon faltered and looked up at Soriety but continued slowly.

"Name thee as the Betrayer,
Who sought to run from thy creator."

"Page one," Soriety chimed, knowing from Simons silence that she was having an effect "Read it aloud," she ordered joyfully.
Simon unwillingly complied and turned to the first page.

"To tell the new ones from the old,
Feel their skin go hot and cold.
Watch their eyes with searing fright,
Grey as stars in the night,
One for Adam, one for Eve,
Hidden up the Devils sleeve."