Water and Wind

Chapter 37

Lucifer

Arian's hands on his back is nerve wracking. Half of him is terrified his friend will pull a knife out and stab him, or just strangle him with his bare hands, but the other half is sentimental, like this was just like old times. He shakes his head, flinging hair over his eyes. He can't afford to get sentimental now.

When Arian starts to speak again, he sounds like his throat has been cut by a buzzing razor, angry and hot. The words are harsh, abrupt as they squirm their way into Lucifer's ear. "You said you loved her once. Prove it."

He stares out into the river. Once. Not once. Arian is wrong. Before his eyes, he sees her laughing blue eyes, the waves of her honey brown hair when loose, the shine of her smile. His ears tune out the drone of Arian's cutting words, and instead he hears her voice, singsong and lovely, like a rainbow out of the mist, or maybe bright sunshine on a clear blue sky day. "Lucifer, Lucifer, Lucifer."

Once he loved her. Not once. He's never stopped loving her.

Without hearing anything Arian is saying, he extends his hands out in front of him, with just the thrum of the river and the sound of Nimue in his head. He inhales, then exhales slowly as the image of her beautiful face, alight with joy, swims before his eyes.

He's not doing this for his former brother, who stole his girlfriend the moment he left, but for Nimue, the only love of his life all these years. And maybe a part for himself too. He needs to see her. There's something he needs to do.

And right before his eyes, although he's not seeing anything, the rushing current slows to a mellow trickle and the droplets part aside.

Arian

He did it. Arian knew he would, if Nimue were involved. Now if it had been him dying and on the other side, he knows that Lucifer wouldn't have so much as lifted a finger to move a single droplet of water.

He pauses at the brink of the path, thinking hard. Would he have helped Lucifer? After all his friend had done? He thinks back to their childhood, of the pacts they made, the secrets they shared. Did that count for anything? How was he expected to weigh one against the other? Which was counted for more?

He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. Now is not the time. With one hand, he directs Lucifer through the path, his eyes still closed, his hands still out. And with the other... well, with the other he lets his pain, his anguish, his worry, everything, be known to the world in one too tight fist.

Nimue (earlier)

When the water parts, she keeps her eyes closed. She can just sense that it's there, that it's opened. She walks as a blind woman in the real world, but sees it all in the spirit world. One step. Another. Her feet sink into the sand of the bottom of the river, and her sandals come off. She doesn't notice. Now is not the time for petty things anyway.

With a few quick, purposeful strides, she is across, and only then, with the river behind her, does she relax her hands, shaking the tension out of them slightly, and feeling the water rush to fill the small temporary canyon she created. It takes her breath with it, the breath she didn't even know she was holding, whooshing out of her like the water flowing into the closed gap.

Her blue eyes open, blinking against the bright sunlight, and she continues on her journey. Her bare feet leave the sand, trading it for the soft squish of earth and the snap of twigs underfoot. She doesn't need her eyes, though, to feel the difference.

On this side of the river, the air is colder, denser. Almost chilly, which is ridiculous for a perfect summer day. There is now a light mist clouding her vision, and her hands instinctively go to her arms, trying to rub out the chill of the setting.

Farther and farther she goes, until the waves of the river wash out of her hearing. Each step she takes leaves her colder and colder, until she's shivering in her thin dress. Then, when she thinks she can bear the cold no more, she reaches it. The old cabin in the heart of the woods lies in front of her, stone cold and solemn among the whispering trees. There is no light, no warmth, no joy, just an empty shell.

And in front of the shell is a woman, arms crossed as she leans against the cabin, her mouth pursed. Her voice comes out in a whisper. "I've been waiting."