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The numbness is a mental armor and I cling to it. I’m not sure what I feel right now. Angry. Jealous. Exhausted. Rage. Or hell, maybe despair is the right emotion. I need to figure it out, and until I do, I’m going to stay here inside my shell of numb, at least as long as I can.
Dugald grips my arm tight but it’s the only sign he heard me. He looks around in a way that makes me wonder what it is he sees here in the white fog that I don’t. It looks as if he’s noting landmarks but all I see is unending, swirling fog.
“Here,” he says, pulling me sideways, and we’re in a thick forest, somewhere that I can only assume is on Earth since it doesn’t look like the Fae lands.
Massive trees surround us, the trunks of each of them bigger than three people could put their arms around. Sunlight streams in broken rays through the heavy canopy. I assume they’re pine trees because of the smell and the thick carpet of brown needles that cover the ground. I’m not all that familiar with trees in general, but I know that smell. No one else is around but the two of us. We stand in silence, and I listen to the background sounds of the outdoors. The wind rustling the branches, the buzz of some odd insects, and the occasional birdcall.
I jerk my arm free of his grip and move a couple steps away, crossing my arms and rubbing them for warmth. It’s cooler here than home where I was, and the chill is invasive. I glare at Dugald, but his face is inscrutable.
I want him to be angry. I know it’s irrational, but if he’s angry then I have something to fight. Then I know what to feel. Anger brings comfort. I can trade my numbness for anger but he doesn’t give it to me. I study his face, searching for any hint of anger.
When I was really little I feared the drain in the tub. Looking back, it sounds stupid, but I still remember the terror I felt because of it when I was a baby. The first time it happened is one of the few clear memories I have of that age.
We had one of those old tubs with a rubber stopper that blocked off the pipe. My mom was giving me a bath in a couple of inches of water. I was having fun, splashing, and playing with some rubber toys, then she pulled that plug when bath time was over.
The water swirled toward that black hole. The gurgling sound as the air shifted in the pipes, trading places with the water. The whirlpool that formed over the drain felt like it was going to pull me in, take me down into the darkness along with the water.
I screamed then. Now, outside my protective armor, there’s that same feeling. An irrational fear that I’m about to be pulled down into an incomprehensible darkness. A darkness that I can’t fight.
“I need to get home,” I say, turning my back to him.
I can’t look at him right now. On the other side of this numb armor, which is already thin, is the despair and darkness that I can’t fight. I don’t have the strength.
“Quinn, you must return to training.”
“Why?” I ask, and inside my shrinking bubble I hear the notes of despair in my voice. I choke, fighting back tears. “The Druid said I’m not the One. I’m not special at all.”
And there it is. Why does that hurt so much? I don’t want this anyway, but then why am I not happy I’m not the One? If I’m not, then none of this is my problem. Right?
“He’s wrong,” Dugald says, his voice sounds rough, deeper, and huskier than usual.
I hear Dugald but he’s a million miles away. His words are whispers on the winds of despair that buffet my mental armor. As the armor cracks, fear twists in my soul.
Ach, Quinn. What are ya doing, lass?
Duncan. He’s so close I turn my head to look at him but he’s not there. Of course he’s not. He’s hundreds of years in the past. It’s wishful thinking. A desire for the simplicity of that time. Yes, I know I’m glossing over the reality. Yes, it was much harder than I am acknowledging. Survival, my next meal, nothing was as certain as it is here and now, but even that feels better than this.
“How do you know?”
It’s hard to speak. The emotional storm in my head causes a lump in my throat that I can barely force words past. Dugald places a hand on my shoulder. It’s warm and comforting. A part of me wants to turn into his touch and let him wrap his arms around and hold me. I want his help to hold the darkness at bay. I don’t do that, though. Instead, I turn my head just enough to stare at his hand, struggling to keep the storm in my heart from breaking free.
“Because I knowyou,” he says.
I force a chuckle, a tight sound devoid of any hint of amusement.
“You know me?” I whirl on him as the storm breaks free. “Youthinkyou know me, but let me tell you, you’re wrong.”
Our eyes lock in defiance. Now he resists. I sense him resisting, feel his anger, and that gives me something to fight. It’s what I need. A target. The rage that hid beneath the despair explodes like a volcano. An unexpected, surprising eruption that neither of us is prepared for. He takes a half-step back and I claim the space, stepping forward.
“Quinn, you are—”
“Don’t,” I say, gritting my teeth and balling my hands into fists. I shake my head. “Don’t Quinn me. Don’t tell me what youthinkI must do, or who I am, or who I should be. You lost your chance. Get it? I wanted one thing. One. Thing.” I poke two fingers into his chest to drive in my point with each syllable.
“You ask the impossible.”
“Impossible? My going back in time. Impossible. The way I whipped that boy’s ass? Impossible. You and your damned raven? Impossible. Don’t tell me what’s possible and what’s not. My entire life is not possible!”
Dugald holds himself stiff and doesn’t respond but I feel his anger, roiling beneath his cool façade. I feel it, and more than that I want it. It’s like a hunger, but in my soul. I want, no I need him to feel that anger. To give it to me. His jaw tenses and relaxes as his eyes narrow. He furrows his brow, then he shakes his head.
