Page 20 of The Garnet Daughter
“Not interested in that either.” He laughs.
I jump up from my hard metal seat and head toward the quieter part of the plateau, where it meets the dark forest. I weave through the ruined technology already drowning in thetall grass and fern-covered ground. The day is hot even with the sun’s strange eclipse glow. Humidity mixes with the fine layer of sweat on my forehead as I leap over a large, fallen tree that pins a thick metal pole. The thin top of the beacon is in pieces, yet the flashing light that adorned the peak still blinks under the debris.
I walk up to the snare I can tell from a distance is empty, still propped together and waiting for small prey to fall victim. August’s weak stomach is spared, but mine will suffer if I don’t eat something other than bread and berries today.
I cover some of my tracks instinctually and decide to rest in the shade while he works across the field. The trees above are thick and old here. Without my ward blocking Selene’s gift, I can sense them more keenly, their secret language that only she understands but I still enjoy.
I’ve debated many times in recent few days how to bring up that I don’t think I should return with him again. That he should leave me here, and as much as I want to help, I may cause more harm like before. August possesses a gentle and empathetic nature. He has comforted me and given me space to heal from what happened in that temple. He is a good friend and the last person who deserves to be caught up in the consequences of my actions.
He shouts suddenly, his whole body tense before he steps back as if something has struck him or he received a bite from a venomous creature while I was not looking. Panicked, I call out his name and stand from my resting spot.
Before I realize it, I am in front of him, his shocked eyes meeting mine before a brilliant grin crosses his handsome face.
I folded. I heard him in pain and folded across the field.
“Are you ok?” I ask, biting my lip to hide the joy that my gift remains intact.
“You folded, Calliape.” He laughs so close to my face, his breath tickles my cheek.
I can’t help but partially join him. “I wasn’t trying to. Did you?—”
He raises the hand he holds between us. “Just a shock. Scared me more than it hurt.”
“You screamed very loud.” I smile. “I thought a snake bit you.”
His eyes widen slightly at the possibility, and then he gets an expression I can’t quite define, but it makes my stomach flutter.
“It is nice to see you smile again.” His gaze is on my mouth.
Suddenly I realize how close we are standing, inches apart with my back to the beacon, pinned between both forces.
“Are you not hurt then?” I point to his palm and push past him to speak more comfortably.
“This? No.” He takes a big, expectant exhale before looking away and gesturing to the beacon. “The wires are tricky, but believe it or not, a shock isn’t bad news. Means we are on track. It’s still in commission.”
I nod, but my thoughts are only on folding again. My skin itches for the quick sensation of being in a location, then immediately somewhere different. The muscles in my legs ache after sitting around for days waiting, not knowing if my gift would ever cooperate again. I want to run, to fold and prove that I am in control, that crossing the distance between worlds was an isolated event.
“Do you think—” August clears his throat, nervous to proceed. “Could you fold us back, or should I keep at it? I don’t mind getting shocked.”
“I shouldn’t even try,” I confess. “It still feels a little . . . involuntary.”
“Start small, back to the village.”
“Maybe.” I scan the plateau as if the answer is tucked into the lush vegetation.
The beacon box flickers, dozens of sparks dancing into the air like quick flashes of lighting. August curses and starts fussing with the interior as if embers didn’t come from that very origin. “Go on and practice. I have to finish rewiring this mess.”
I worry my lip, unsure. “Just back to the village. If it starts working, come get me.”
He grumbles a halfhearted promise with his head disappearing into the metal base, entranced in his work.
I close my eyes and take a large breath, trying to slow my heartbeat. I can do this. I’ve folded every day since I remember. I picture the hearth of my fireplace, the pot that hangs over it, and the cast iron lid I’ve burned my fingers on more times than I am capable of counting. I can almost smell the interior air of the kitchen, dried spices and the breeze coming in from outside, where neighbors smoke meat.
After an intentional step, I note the ground feels different, more stable. The living carpet of the plateau grass has left, replaced by the cushion of a woven rug. I open my eyes a crack and see the very hearth I pictured, as if my gift never gave me issue.
I should be happy, but the edgy feeling of not knowing if my gift will ever come so easily again won’t shake. I don’t like that I am not in control of it, that my subconscious brought us across the space between when I did not command it.
I decide folding the distance once is sufficient enough and resign to walk to the rest of the traps I’ve set near the tree line of the village. No skilled hunter focuses on these areas, but rabbits and other small game are known to stay close to the village for an easy pick of someone’s garden.
