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In His Mind
Rhea looked around slowly as the darkness receded, blinking to moisten her dry eyes. They burned a little even now. But wherever she was, she had arrived. Whether at the source or the person who could help them fix it.
The hazy heaviness still filled her ears, not so intense as before yet more compelling. The more she listened to it, the more it droned, lulling her into a peaceful state, willing her to forget and simply exist in this place.
Wherever it was.
She pressed her eyes shut for a moment. No. No lulling away. Time to figure out what was going on. She could do this.
She was here to find the source or the solution. Salanca had formed the connection. Tiehro was strengthening it. She just had to observe and return. She cracked her eyelids open and tried to take everything in.
Hmm.
Not quite what she'd expected.
No longer did she hover above a cavern floor. No, now she was in a relatively small but luxurious chamber. Thick shiny satin turquoise cushions sat on striped rugs. Small carvings rested in shelves carved directly in the wall. But each time she tried to focus on the little carvings, they seemed to dissolve or move. The dark stone of the walls seemed more purple at some points, then more a deep grey, then charcoal. Sometimes indigo if she didn’t focus on them at all.
A wardrobe with serpents, dragons, and other creatures carved into its frame in brilliant detail filled another cubby directly carved into the wall. The floor itself was smoothed dark stone.
As she turned, she observed a large bed pressed up against the wall, rich with bright silk sheets, padded blankets, and thick pillows.
All right. So this was a bedroom. What next? She squinted. Was anyone even here?
The covers on the bed stirred. Then a man sat up, frowning as he looked at her. “Hello?”
Oh.
Hello indeed. Her mouth went dry as she struggled to find words. It wasn’t that she had never seen a man without his shirt or a handsome man half-naked, but he stole her breath just by sitting there. His powerfully-sculpted shoulders and ridged abdominals left no doubt regarding his strength. Yet the striking planes of his face outdid those, his bold features highlighted all the more by tapered lines that curled at his forehead and cheeks as well as over his biceps and shoulders like inky tiger stripes. His hair was a deep, rich-blue, somewhere between cobalt, indigo, and black. Most of it had been bundled back into a series of braids with the odd silver bead and large blue and turquoise feathers worked in.
His eyes though—those stole her breath. Deep jade-green with a hint of gold around the pupils and scattered throughout. Highlighted with speckles of indigo and spots of light-peridot. A complex mixture of caution, sadness, grief, and loneliness overshadowed by a heavy brow. Over the years, she had sketched, painted, and drawn many portraits and often delighted in the depiction of eyes. Capturing personality and nature in a single still image. His would have challenged a master artist.
The man pulled a hunting knife out from under his pillow, pushed the thick shining blankets off, and stepped out of the bed, scowling. His long flowing turquoise trousers hitched up on his right leg, revealing additional stripes along his ankle and calf. “What are you?”
“Can you see me?” She folded her arms over herself, suddenly self-conscious. She hadn't really thought about whether anyone could see her. “Can you hear me? I’m here to help, not harm.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. He lowered the knife, and his expression became less hostile. “Somewhat. You're like a diamond of light. What are you?”
Salanca had said it would be obvious whether someone was the source or the solution. What was she missing? Was it possible that he was something else? She pressed her hands over her heart, a thought flowing to her lips before she even processed it. "I think you're in great trouble."
He scoffed, but the faintest of smiles appeared over his full lips. "You think?"
"Well, many are. There's some sort of plague or curse or attack that keeps happening. It's pouring out through the worlds. And something started it. My family and I used an—something to try to find the source or the solution of this, and before it brought me here, it showed me a naga." A terrifying naga. She'd read about them in stories. A shiver coursed through her. "Then it brought me here. So you're connected somehow. And my gut tells me you're in trouble too."
"Your gut." He blinked slowly, then sat on the foot of the bed. Its black frame rested almost on the floor, low enough she couldn't slip a shoe under it. “This is...rather confusing. I am struggling to keep up. I hate nagas. And snakes. Let’s move this conversation back." He pressed his hands together and gestured toward her. "What are you exactly?”
She slipped closer to him, her pulse throbbing faster. “Just an Awdawm. An artist. An Awdawm artist.”
His smile returned, broader this time. Oh. It made her heart stutter, and as it reached his eyes, they shone with rich-green depths that she could get lost in if she didn’t pay attention. Thank Elonumato he couldn’t actually see her expression. “Awdawms can’t do this,” he said, his tone now far more amiable. “Not unless something has changed.”
“Usually not. But my family includes a gifted Neyeb and Tiablo.” One of whom got access to something arcane and was probably among the Forbidden Arts and was probably going to cause a lot of problems for all of them. “So that does change things a little.”
“And you came here...”
“To get answers.”
He brushed the back of his knuckle against his cheek. “I don’t have any to give. I am as confused as you.”
“Let’s start with your name and where you live? Your world's name? Where are we?”
