Falling Skyward

Chapter Six: Questions and Confessions

Lana shivered.

A rigid hand clasped her shoulder, spinning her around.

"Lana, what are you doing?" Direc hissed, not even attempting to hide his contempt as he eyed her companions. "I made a promise to your uncle that I would keep you away from these people. Does my word, my honor, mean nothing to you?"

Barbs of guilt and anger prickled Lana's skin.

"I'm sorry, Direc," her tone was insincere, haughty. "But I am nearly nineteen years old, with sense enough to make my own decisions. Maybe you should consider that the next time you decide to make a promise that dictates another's behavior and limits their free will."

Crimson blotches seeped along Direc's forehead and cheeks. "We're leaving." The words were concrete, unarguable.

"I couldn't agree more," Lana responded. "The fireworks are about to begin, and I'm sure Katalia, John, and Talen will be waiting for us."

Lana let the silence between her and Direc expand until she felt isolated from the jostling crowds—trapped with only her questions. What had the old woman meant about her future, about her past? Could she have known her mother?

Among the only details Orrick had told Lana about her parents was that they were poor farmers from a remote village. Nothing spectacular or extraordinary ever wandered into their lives. How would her parents have come to know a gypsy seer?

Brilliant bursts of fireworks flitted across the sky. Lana found her cousins and they huddled on the grass to watch the show. Light blazed and sparks danced into wonderful shapes, leaving fingers of smoke stretching across the stars. Even as the last embers churned and spiraled from the sky, Lana allowed her thoughts to wander, revolving like those glowing bits of ash floating in the wind. The ash tugged at Lana's first memory as she recalled the charred field still wreathed in wisps of smokes. Despite the dying blaze, Lana could still feel the cold that whipped across her face and sunk into her marrow as a bitter storm descended. If her uncle hadn't found her at that moment, hadn't wrapped his coat across her bare shoulders, she would have died—like her parents.

Drowsy from a night of excitement, Lana's cousins and Direc remained quiet for the walk home, leaving her more time alone with her thoughts. But the more Lana questioned, the further she strayed from finding answers. Once they reached the front gate, Direc grabbed Lana's hand, then retracted his arm, uncertain.

"Wait, I . . . can I speak with you for a moment." Lana nodded and gently pried Gailen's curled, sleeping form from her shoulder. Awakened by the movement, he rubbed his eyes as she handed him to Talen to carry to bed.

"What is it?" Lana's voice was tired but resigned.

"I think you already know."

Lana nodded. "I understand. You don't owe me or my uncle anything."

Direc shook his head, his words rapid and mumbled, as though he were chewing them rather than speaking them. "I—I've been envisioning things about my future, well, our future, actually. And . . . and, you see, tonight wasn't all I had pictured—I mean, you must understand . . ."

Lana's composed face couldn't hide the smile that brushed her eyes. "I do Direc, I really do."

"Yes. Well, I knew you were always, you know . . . odd, and not just as far as appearances go. But I don't mind that, and I don't mind that you are old. I mean, beauty has never mattered to me. I would rather have a strong wife, one who's not afraid to work, one who can survive—one who doesn't mind quiet. I thought we were getting along pretty well—in general, but after tonight . . ." Direc's voice trailed off before coming back firm and sincere. "That's why I think we need to be married right away."

"What?" Lana's breath rushed from her lungs.

"We can't delay any longer. It's clear you've been on your own for far too long. You've already developed too much . . . independence. You need to begin thinking of survival—not just from the winter, but through generations. You—and I—need to begin thinking of having a family, and not be fritting time away with gypsies. I don't think we have much time to waste, especially considering your age."

"But Direc, you just admitted we are incompatible. What in Brevishaven would compel you to still marry me?"

"The town already knows. I've made my intentions clear. To back out . . . to change would be cowardly."

Lana looked down on Direc, suddenly realizing how much shorter he was than her as he fidgeted with the collar along his neck.

"Direc, you have no obligation to me or my family. This—us, it just doesn't make sense. We are opposites in nearly every possible way. And, as you pointed out, I'm practically a spinster, but I see no harm in it. Why try and force this on us?"

"Because I . . . I have no other options. No, that's not . . . what I meant to say is, I at least want someone. Aren't you ever afraid of ending up alone?"

Lana closed her eyes, feeling raw inside and tired, so tired.

"I'm sorry Direc, but I think marriage would be a mistake."

"You don't know what you're saying. The carnival has confused you, has mixed fantasy with real life. Few in Brevishaven can survive the dark season on their own. How long do you intend to be a burden on your uncle? Do you really prefer isolation and death to living with me? Enough of compatibility will come with time. Talk it over with your uncle and I'm sure you'll come to your senses. I can finish a place for the two of us before the bitter storms begin, and there should be enough time yet in the summer to plan a wedding."

Lana tried to speak, tried to force her lips open.

"I'll be back in two days for your answer." The gate crashed shut, echoing forlornly through the skeletal trees.

"It won't change," Lana said to Direc's retreating shadow as it fell into the night.