Water and Wind

Chapter 38

Arian

They're on the other side now. A chill runs through him the second his toe lifts from the dry riverbank. He doesn't take the time to marvel at the height of the walls of water Lucifer has created, nor at their sheer majesty, glimmering in the sunlight as the river's pulse, its heartbeat, goes from a fast thump thump to a slow, relaxed whoosh.

He turns around, feeling a cold breeze envelop him. It's like someone has cut out the sun, which, as he glances at the other bank, is still shining. There's a mist around him that doesn't swirl around the other side. The river cuts apart the two worlds.

His gaze falls down the split, the rift that Lucifer has created. Lucifer, who is still standing in the center of the path, staring at one wall, unmoving. Arian feels his own mouth purse and frown. How many times must he remind him that they haven't time for this! Honestly, Lucifer is slowing him down. He could be by Nimue's side right now.

He closes his eyes and channels him emotions, swaying them into a breeze-like mist that swirls inside him. He exhales, then allows his mind to wander the trodden paths crisscrossing his brain. Nimue. It's hardly a whisper, until he thinks he feels a light hand on his shoulder. He knows if he opens his eyes, it won't be there. But he waits with patience. The hand is cold, fluttery, and trembling, as if it were no more than a gossamer butterfly. There is no weight that accompanies it, save for the lightness of a feather.

I wait.

Was that his mind, making up the words, or is actually her voice? He strains his mind harder, feeling his eyeballs bulge beneath their sockets, but the silence is dead and ringing louder than a gong in his mind. Please Nimue! Send me a sign! He's desperate now, but trying in vain to calm his heart rate. Fast hearts don't listen, Delphine always told him.

Breathe.

Breathe.

His heart calms, and the hand lifts, its feather lightness leaving a surprisingly gaping absence, a lightness too light. Was that her sign?

And that's when he hears his name.

Lucifer

He's motionless in the middle of the water walls, because of a voice, a stupid voice. And even stupider, it's a memory. A memory that he told himself over and over was not worth revisiting. But here it is, and once the floodgates open, the rain does not stop.

"Water has a memory." Four stupid words that give him an even stupider reaction. He wants to cry. Why? Because of the water in front of him, those tiny clear drops. Imagine. Wanting to make him cry. Him. Lucifer.

With a blow on them, he can see Nimue, feel the traces of her hovering with the trembling water, hear her voice in their song, breathe her air in the dampness of the tunnel. His hand slides over to the wall of water, pressing the palm flat against the shimmering surface which doesn't give as if it's glass, harder and harder as if he pressed enough, he could draw out Nimue.

There's a suctioning.

Then a whooshing.

And something in the wall gives. His hand draws back, and then that's when he cries out in surprise. "Arian!"

Arian

Shocked to hear his name, his first reaction is disappointment. It's Lucifer calling, not Nimue. Lucifer who is standing there, gaping at the water wall and doing nothing but turning panicked eyes to Arian. And something in him, despite the gap that's only grown larger between them with time, causes him to hurry over to Lucifer's side.

Lucifer

He's silent, nearly unmoving as Arian joins him, knowing that showing him what he sees will only bring about anguish. And some other part, some selfish part of him inside, wants to keep the sight just to himself. But he started this journey with his old friend, and if they're to finish it, both steps must match. All the way.

Arian

Arian pauses a few inches from his former friend, still determined to keep the distance between them, however small it may be. He averts his eyes from his counterpart, turning them instead to studiously study the wall in front of him. Except... he blinks again. Water can create mirages, that he knows. He blinks again, and the object still doesn't disappear. Steeling himself and glancing over at Lucifer, who, clearly surprised, gives a slight, curt nod, he reaches out to the wall of water and extends his fingertips, stretching for the object.

His hand passes through the wall as easily as it would the surface of a pond, and he withdraws the object out with a squelch of protest from the water that falls back in place, shifting to fit the space the thing has left.

The weight sinks into his hand, yet he just stares at it, fingering everything about it. It's a sandal, golden and well-woven, with strong, tight stitches and a fine, careful hand. He should know. This is Nimue's.

Lucifer

Glancing over at Arian quickly, he allows himself a quick peek at Arian's inner feelings. The time in the forest taught him much, but the time out taught him more. Without even having to look at Arian staring down at the sandal in his flat hand, he feels.

The weight. It's light, but heavy in Arian's mind. The stitches, by Nimue's hand. The braid, the weave, by her meticulous fingers. The small white flower tucked into the strap. Freshly picked every day. The sole, still not yet worn because Nimue usually went barefoot.

He knows this because they are not just Arian's thoughts, they are his as well.

And something else, something that is neither of theirs. The emptiness, the gap. The missing of its pair. He stares at the lone sandal in Arian's hand, and something melts away inside him.

Arian

His mind is completely blank. Half a second ago, it was full of plans, full of ideas, of concern, rescue attempts, anything that he hoped would distract him from the present. But the minute he touched the sandal, felt the straw and the lightness of the fragile petals that have retained their beauty after being submerged, the steady drip of the droplets as they empty out of the shoe, it's as if his thoughts have been erased. He does nothing but stand there, forgetting about the world, about Lucifer who is now eyeing him from the side, about Nimue, and everyone else waiting for them back on the stage. He just stands there. And stares. All at that one little sandal.

His hurry is gone. His mind is gone. So are his thoughts. To his surprise, it's Lucifer who wakes him up, his harsh voice jabbing at Arian rather like the rooster's call at sunrise, signaling the transition from the dark night to day. His voice is like a crow's caw, dark and punishing as he glares at Arian.

"Quit playing Cinderella. Next thing you know she's going to be dead."

Right. He'd forgotten about the time constraint. How could he? He is such an awful person, grimacing as he cradles the shoe, shakes his head and exits the riverbank for the chilly unknown.