Call:3: Never Beat Around The Bushes, Someone May Be In Them

Call:3: Never Beat Around The Bushes, Someone May Be In Them

Ana had been remarkably quiet all day, spending most of it in the study with the door closed. Oisin and Brian were beginning to get worried; it simply wasn’t like her. Hours before, she had disappeared from the house with a bottle of wine and had not returned. Brian eventually sneaked into her study to see if he could find out a reason for her behavior. He knew he ought to have felt guilty, but didn’t since he found exactly what he needed.
“Oisin, today is the anniversary of her grandmother’s death. I found a picture album,” he stumbled over the unfamiliar words. “It was turned to a notice from the broadsheets, a...” He paused, working to remember the word, "An obituary. I hesitate to disrupt what she is doing. She may be performing the Remembrance Ceremony and…”
“I know. But that would have been over hours ago, surely. It is very nearly dark.” He waited a few minutes more, and then stood abruptly. “I’m going to find her. Perhaps I can cheer her.”
Brian shrugged and brought him a little basket full of little cakes. “I was thinking that sweets always make my sisters feel better.” Oisin took it and a dusty bottle he’d taken from the back of his father’s wine stores. He searched the gardens first, getting lost for a time, but did not find her. He left his offerings in the center; he didn’t want to haul them with him into the barn, though there he found only mice and moldering hay. As he came out, he thought he saw movement in the pasture; he followed it to the edge of the woods but it was only a stray dog. He glared at it and it seemed to laugh at him before ducking through the fence. Patchy clouds drifted in the sky. He was very worried now since it had taken an hour to get this far and a feeling of dread had steadily grown in the pit of his stomach.
He turned, intending to search the gardens again. Immediately, he felt a prickle between his shoulder blades. He wheeled. He could see nothing at all in the depths of the forest. Tree limbs began to shake angrily and bushes rattled furiously; the air was dead still. Suddenly, a cold wind from the forest slapped him in the face and leaves raked at his eyes.
“Sidhe!” The wind hissed. He heard a silvery tinkle and glanced beside him to see that a patch of wild bluebells was ringing, strengthening the surrealism of the moment. “Betrayer!” The voice was more felt than heard. He slowly reached for the sword he wasn’t wearing, cursed. He ran as ominous laughter filled the woods and a malevolent glare seemed to burn holes between his shoulder blades.
Moments later, he leaped the gate to the gardens. He instantly felt as if a weight were lifted. Never the less, he did not slow down. He tore down the paths, shouting. “Ana! Irime! Ana!” He was at the turn for he thought was a dead end when something stepped from around the corner. He collided with it and fell. He rolled up into a crouch, instinctively reaching for the dagger that he had left in his room. The moon barely peeked from behind the clouds.
By the faint light, he could see that it was still on the ground. In the back of his mind, warning bells went off, but he ignored them. “Ana!” He hoped that she would hear and run to safety. The thing gained its feet.
“What are you doing?” She asked with enough heat to fry bacon. Uh, oh. He grabbed her and pulled her to him.
“Thank God you are safe! Let’s go, they could be here any moment.”
“They?” He briefly considered flinging her over his shoulder and making a run for it, but her posture changed his mind. She would most likely struggle too much. Dropping her sounded like a Classically Bad Idea.
“The things in the woods.”
“Oh! That’s what I was hearing. They can’t come into the gardens. I don’t think they can leave the woods for that matter.” He was shocked at how blasé she handled it. “Oisin, they’ve never hurt me. My parents and I used to camp in those woods every summer. And I still hunt there every fall.” She smiled wistfully, “I haven’t seen them since I was a kid; I’d thought they were my imagination.”
One thing she said broke through his near panic. “You hunt?” He asked, his emotions mixed. He thought it was very ‘cool’ that she did, but he still disapproved. Women did not hunt the wild places in Arcadia. He shook his head, “But we still ought to go inside, shouldn’t we?”
She shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’d say we’re safer here than inside, actually.” Her thought drew inward and she muttered, “I wonder if that’s why she had me plant the eggs and straw men there.”
“I’d still feel better if…” He pulled at her hand. He didn’t remember taking it, but decided that etiquette would allow it under the circumstances. After all, it was a thousand years or more since women would rather be left to roast in a burning building than be unattended with a man. He had a many-greats aunt that had died that way and was praised for it in her time. One of the great poets had composed a lay in her honor. He thought it ridiculous, but many young women sighed over it, still.
She went back down the dead end. At the back wall of field stones, a tiny trickle of water burbled merrily into a small koi pond. He remembered the basket and ran to fetch it. He sat beside her on the stone bench in front of the waterfall. He popped open the wine bottle and wiped the dust surreptitiously on his pants. Jokingly, “What is this? Flower water?” He wondered why she giggled.
“I suppose you could call it that. ‘Tis made of roses.”
She stopped snickering. “Oh. Well, that joke fell flat.” She paused, “What do you think they are?”
“I haven’t a clue. All that I know is that it hated me, that I’m sure of. It called me a betrayer and it knew what I am." Softly, "I hope it isn’t what’s left of my people here.” He searched the clouded heavens, wishing for an answer, afraid he wouldn’t like it if he did. He had been raised to virtually worship love in all its myriad forms, and ‘hate’ did not translate into High Sidhe at all. When he had read it here, he had thought it was a synonym for great dislike. Now he knew.
He was intelligent enough to know that if humans felt it, the nameless emotion was felt by his people as well, no matter how he might wish otherwise. This was an abomination, a denial of all he was raised to cherish. Still, he stared at her a moment, seeing her as truly alien for the first time since he had arrived. Naming a thing gave it power, and only her people had named it. “Do all Humans hate?” She squeezed his hand. He didn’t remember taking it back into his own.
“No. I really don’t think they do. They use the word, but it usually is only distaste. For instance, I say I hate mosquitoes, but I don’t, not really. I think very few people really hate anything. Bethany, Lisa, all my friends, none of them have ever truly hated anyone.” He was comforted by her words until he realized that she hadn’t included herself. If her hand had not been shaking, he’d have withdrawn his. It was a near thing regardless.
“Have you?” Her hand spasmed and she pulled away.
“Yes,” she answered bleakly. “When my mother died along with twenty-eight other people. They were on a ferry and I hated the man who drove the barge that crashed into it; he was drunk. He committed suicide and after a while, I stopped hating him. My father, he saw a man pulling a gun to shoot President Stoffer at a campaign speech. Daddy died and I hated that man. He was executed and I threw a party to celebrate. I stopped hating him after that.”
“Did… Did all of your family die by violence?”
“No. My grandmother had a wasting sickness. Cancer. Her husband fell off his ship in a big storm two months before my mother was born, so I never knew him to miss him. My Daddy’s parents were mostly just old. Pops was seventy-nine when he had a heart attack. Grammy died a year later, on what would have been their sixtieth wedding anniversary.” She smiled sadly, “She was beside us at an opera, the same one where she’d met him. She had a smile on her face. The doctors said her heart just gave out.”
“That’s very romantic,” he said quickly, thinking it was like something out of his mother's books that he wasn't supposed to read. Then he winced because it had sounded so very ridiculous.
“Yeah, I thought so too after a while…” She faltered. He heard her sniffle and knew that she had begun to cry. Overhead, the clouds began to disperse. He took her hand and patted it. She flung herself at him and cried onto his chest. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her. He tried to imagine how he would feel if a man killed his mother. He couldn’t. A sharp stab of homesickness caught him unprepared as music, strange and lovely, floated through the gardens. “Brian is playing again,” she murmured. His instrument sounded like a violin to her, but she was certain that music buffs would disagree.
“It’s a requiem,” he told her. She sighed and listened, letting herself be caught in it. Near the end, the pace picked up and the tone grew lighter, the promise that life would go on. She felt better by the time Brian began another piece. The clouds had cleared enough that the full moon shone down, making the tear that trickled down Oisin’s cheek glisten.
Slowly, she reached up and caught it on her finger and touched it to her lips. His breath caught in his throat. He had always prayed that a woman besides his or Brian’s mother would do this. It translated into English as ‘your pain is my pain,’ which he thought sounded trite, but meant far, far more. Solemnly, he caught a shining tear on his fingertip and lifted it to his lips. She cupped his cheek with her palm. He would have been shocked at the familiarity of the gesture if he were not immediately embarrassed. He had forgotten to pluck the sparse stubbles again. “I thought Sidhe were supposed to be hairless as little girls.”
He blushed, very thankful for the dim light. “We have a little. But I thought Humans were supposed to be covered in hair. Dwarves are. You don’t look anything at all like the descriptions I have heard of your people.” He reached for a lock of her hair, heart pounding with the fear that she would not allow it.
“Oh, really? What did you expect? I think I’d like to hear this.” He could hear the smile in her voice. She captured a lock of his hair and toyed with it.
He lifted the hand he held and made a show of examining it. It could belong to any noblewoman. “Well, to start, I see no dirt caked below your nails. They are not rough or callused. You have more hair on your arms than a Sidhe woman, but it isn’t the near-pelt I had been led to expect. You haven’t anything even faintly resembling a beard, either. Your skin is softer than mine is and best described as silky. I thought Humans had very rough, cracked skin. You are supposed to be very dirty, dirtier than any peasant, but you, dear Lady, spend far too much time in the shower.”
He lifted her hand slowly and, though it broke no less than eight rules of etiquette, he kissed her fingers. He thought a little slap would be worth it. But she only gave a sweet sigh. Emboldened, “And I have heard that Humans have a terrible stench. Yet I smell nothing from here.” He leaned down closer to her. “Or from here.” He leaned closer still and did possibly the most audacious thing of his life to date. He delicately sniffed the bit of skin just below her ear and let his skin brush hers for just an instant.
Had a Sidhe Lady’s father seen this, he could expect a duel. She had no father; he felt guilty for taking such advantage of it. He’d been dreaming of her for a week now, dreaming of touching her face and lips. He sat up slowly. Their eyes met. His heart fluttered. He was not aware of moving until their lips touched. It was his first real kiss.
He thought his heart would burst. He almost stopped her when she pulled back. “You are beautiful, exotic, the stuff of dreams, Lady.” He took a deep breath to gather his nerves—his thoughts were still scattered as leaves in the wind. Very deliberately, he kissed her fingertips, palm, and wrist. Her pulse fluttered against his lips like moth’s wings. Her perfume was sharp and spicy, but sweet. He dared not raise his face; he was too afraid that she would not accept.
She lifted his face with her hand on his cheek and very gently kissed him. She’d accepted! He was her suitor. And he had seen no evidence of any others, though the man Les might well be one. If so, she rarely mentioned him, which could only be a good sign. He’d never courted anyone before. He had been considered too young until last year and none of the young women had caught his mother’s attention. His mother would never approve of a Human, but he thought that he might be falling in love. What else could this nervous fluttering be? Surely she would understand that; his parents were a love match.
She parted her lips and he hesitantly raised a shaking hand to her hair. When she didn’t pull back, he cautiously cupped her cheek with his other hand. She put her arms around his neck. He almost pulled back in surprise when he felt her tongue, but he quickly caught the trick to this new kind of kissing. It felt deliciously indecent. He was completely unaware of the internal dialog she was having. “This is really stupid, Ana. You shouldn’t do this. But he’s been nothing but sweet. You barely know him. So what? It’s just a kiss. Looking like he does, you know this is nothing new to him. Even more reason not to do this. Remember the rule about never dating anyone with prettier hair than you have? Who said anything about dating? It’s just a kiss. And Goddess Above, I’m lonely. This is really stupid, Ana.” So entranced were they that neither of them noticed when the last strain of music died away.

Brian lovingly laid his instrument back in its case. He went to the kitchen to discover, to his great annoyance, that Oisin had once again drank all the orange juice and put the empty container back in the fridge. He sat down to read, but caught a glance at the clock. “They should have been back by now.” He scratched his head a moment in indecision. He checked the rest of the house to see if he simply had not heard them come in. He sighed and put on his jacket. He grabbed a bit of graph paper and a flashlight; it wouldn’t do to get lost in the gardens while looking for them. He paced his way down the winding paths until he reached the hedge maze. He moved more quickly now that the paths were straighter.
Near an intersection, he heard Oisin’s voice and relaxed. He leaned nearer the hedges and grinned. Eavesdropping had always been his downfall; indeed, a fair portion of his childhood had been spent in exile to his room for such transgressions. He felt the familiar rush of mixed emotions: shame, excitement, the thrill of naughtiness. “Your lips are wine! I am growing drunk,” Oisin whispered hoarsely. The rest was muffled. A smile split Brian’s face. He could not wait to leap around the corner and surprise them. In all fairness, Brian expected to see Oisin on his knees before her, perhaps holding her hand if he were very bold. He was completely unprepared for what he saw.
Oisin had one hand tangled in her hair, pressing firmly. His mouth worked at hers as if he was trying to crawl inside her. His other arm was locked around her back, holding her in place beside him. Brian stood gaping and then did what any good man would. He came to her aid. There was a quick scuffle and Oisin fell to the ground. He rolled neatly to his feet, wiping blood from his lip and Brian began to shout. Ana stood watching a moment, unsure of what was going on, and decided that they were probably not going to hurt more than each other’s feeling. With that thought, she decided the best thing was to get out of there and let the men settle their differences alone.
“See how she runs from you? How could you! Have you gone mad? I—”
Oisin cut him off, “She was willing enough!” They yelled at each other a moment more, not really hearing what the other was saying. Brian finally turned his back on Oisin in disgust and strode back to the house. He knocked on Ana’s door, but she did not answer. He went to his room and locked the door. He knew that many of the young aristocrats, and even some of the old ones, took advantage of young women, especially the common ones. Yet he had never heard even a whisper of an Airgead doing such; it was part of why they were loved by their people. Oisin could often be an ass, but still… He fell asleep while still wondering what had gotten into his friend.

Ana sat in her attic, going through an old trunk. She didn’t want to see anyone and was fairly certain none would think to check here. “Ana,” she told herself, “you are an idiot.” She’d been about to end things herself when Brian had interrupted since she’d had absolutely no intention of going beyond a little kissing. He had impressed her though. He’d been a perfect gentleman, never once groping her. Most men she knew would never have kept their hands only to her arms and back. Of course, she’d carefully kept her hands to his upper torso lest he get any ideas. Moreover, when she’d sat on his knees so she could kiss him without craning her neck back uncomfortably, he hadn’t tried to pull her closer.
She thought could almost hear her grandmother telling her, “Don’t let this one get away, girl. You won’t find his like again. Not even in another life.” She snickered to herself, stretched, and broke into a yawn. She was emotionally exhausted, as she always was at the end of this day. She came across a packet of old love letters to her grandmother from her grandfather. They were very sweet and poetic. She fell asleep reading them.
Oisin sat in the hayloft with an old saddle blanket wrapped around him. “What did I just do?” He shook his head and bit his lip. He was a swirl of mixed emotions and had no idea how to go about straightening it all out. His people had very strict rules about who could do what and to whom and when. He’d broken about half of them tonight. One did not kiss a woman even on the cheek unless she was your mother or sister. One could sneak a kiss on the hand of one’s betrothed without anyone being terribly upset. However, a man most certainly did not kiss any woman but his wife on the mouth. One did not touch tongues even with one’s wife, though he was fairly certain that some couples broke that rule. Maybe all of them for all he knew.
He ended up convincing himself that she was going to hate him for taking advantage of her, so he did not return to the house. He was often arrogant, and knew it, but he was also very insecure about certain things, particularly the opposite sex. The only experience he really had with them was his mother and the village girls he grew up playing in the mud with. It did not help that at twenty-six, he was proportionally seventeen. He fell asleep in the hay, attempting to come up with a plan to win her forgiveness.