THOMAS DIDN’T have to wait long. A boy, maybe twelve, with light blond hair and dressed in a blue tunic, burst into the Thrall. A yellow bandanna wound about his head. He spun on his heel for a quick look around and then turned and ran backward, urging someone else to follow.
“Come on!”
He was followed by the woman Thomas recognized as Rachelle. She wore the same red satin dress but now with a bright yellow sash draped over one shoulder.
The thrill of the sight was so unexpected, so sudden, that Thomas found himself frozen in the corner shadows.
“Do you see him, Johan?” Rachelle asked, glancing around.
“No. But Michal said he would be here. Maybe . . .” Johan saw Thomas and stopped.
Rachelle stood in the middle of the floor, staring into the corner where Thomas stood watching.
Thomas cleared his throat and stepped into the light. “Hi.”
She looked at him, unabashed. For a few long seconds, all motion seemed to cease. Her eyes shone a rich jade, like a pool of water. She was fully grown and yet slender. Early twenties. Her skin was bronzed and milky smooth.
A soft, shy smile slowly replaced her thoughtful gaze.
“You are very pleasing to look at, Thomas,” she said.
Thomas swallowed. This sort of statement must be completely normal, but because of his amnesia, it felt . . . ambitious. Daring. Wonderful. He had to play along as Michal had demanded.
“Thank you. And so are you. You are very”—he had to stop for a breath—“pleasing to look at. Daring.”
“Daring?” she asked.
“Yes, you look daringly beautiful.” Thomas felt his face blush.
“Daring!” Rachelle looked over at Johan. “Did you hear that, Johan? Thomas thinks I’m daring.”
Johan glanced from one to the other and laughed. “I like you, Thomas.”
Rachelle looked at him, amused, like a young, shy girl, but she wasn’t bashful, not in the least. Was he supposed to do something here?
She offered him her hand. He reached for it, but, like before, she didn’t shake it. Without removing her eyes from his, she gently touched his fingers with hers.
He was so shocked by the touch that he didn’t dare speak. If he did, surely idiotic mumbling rather than words would come from his mouth. Her caress lingered on his skin, sensuous yet completely innocent at once.
Thomas’s heart was pounding now, and for a brief moment he panicked. She was touching his hand, and he was frozen to the floor. This was the Great Romance?
He didn’t even know this woman.
She suddenly took his hand in hers and pulled him toward the door. “Hurry, they are waiting.”
“They are? Who are?”
“It’s time to eat,” Johan cried. He threw the door open, pulled up, and then rushed down the steps toward two men on the path below. “Father! We have Thomas Hunter. He is a very interesting man!”
Two thoughts struck Thomas at the comment. One, Rachelle was still touching his hand. Two, these people seemed to have no shame. Which meant he had no shame, because he was one of these people.
Rachelle released his hand and ran down the steps. The man Johan had called Father embraced the boy and then turned to Thomas. He wore a tunic that hung to his thighs, tan with a wide swath of blue running across his body from right shoulder to left hip. The hem was woven in intricate crossing patterns with the same colors. A belt of gold ran around his waist and held a small water pouch.
“So. You are the visitor from the other side.” He clasped Thomas’s arm, pulled him into an embrace, and slapped his back. “Welcome. My name is Palus. You are most welcome to stay with my family.” He drew back, frowning, eyes bright, delighted. “Welcome,” he said again.
“Thank you. You are most kind.” Thomas dipped his head.
Palus jumped back and swept his arm toward the other man. “This is Miknas, the keeper of the Thrall,” he said proudly. “He has overseen all the dances and celebrations on the green floor for well over a hundred years. Miknas!”
Miknas looked about forty. Maybe thirty. Hard to tell. How old was the firstborn, Tanis? Thomas dismissed the question for the moment.
“It’s an honor,” Thomas said.
Miknas stepped forward and embraced Thomas in the same way Palus had. “The honor is mine. We rarely have such special visitors. You are most welcome. Most, most welcome.”
“Come, walk to our house.” Palus led them down the path.
They stopped at the arching sapphire entrance of a home close to the Thrall, and each took turns embracing Miknas farewell, bidding him a wonderful meal. Palus led them down several rows of homes to a cottage as brilliant green as its surrounding lawn, then up the walk and past a solid green door into his domed abode.
Thomas entered the dwelling, hoping that here, in such intimate surroundings, the familiarity of his past would return. The wood here in the home had the appearance of being covered in a smooth, clear resin several inches thick. The furniture was carved from the same wood. Some pieces glowed a single color, and others radiated in rainbow moirés. Light emanated from all the wood. The light was not reflective as he had first guessed but came from the wood itself.
Incredible. But not familiar.
“This is Karyl, my wife,” Palus said. Then to his wife, “Rachelle has touched his hand.”
Thomas smiled at Rachelle’s mother awkwardly, eager to avoid any further discussion on the matter. “You have a beautiful home, madam.”
“Madam? How quaint. What does it mean?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ve never heard this expression before. What does ‘madam’ mean?”
“I think . . . I think it’s an expression of respect. Like ‘friend.’”
“You use this expression in your village?”
“Maybe. I think we might.”
They all watched him in a moment of silence, during which he felt terribly conspicuous.
“Here,” Karyl said finally, stepping toward a bowl into which she dipped a wooden cup, “we invite with a drink of water.” She brought the cup to him, and he sipped. The water was cool at his lips but felt warm all the way to his belly, where its heat spread. He dipped his head and returned the cup.
“Thank you.”
“Then you must eat with us. Come, come.”
She took his arm and led him to the table. A large bowl of fruit sat in the center, and he recognized the colors and shapes. They were the same as those Gabil had given him earlier.
His sudden hunger for the fruit surprised him. Everyone had taken a seat at the round table now, and he was aware of their eyes on him. He forced himself to look away from the fruit, and he met Rachelle’s eyes.
“You’re most kind to have me in your home. I must admit, I’m unsure of what I should do. Did they tell you that I’d lost my memory?”
“Michal mentioned that, yes,” Palus said.
“Don’t worry, I will teach you anything you need to know.” Rachelle picked up a fruit topaz in color, looked him directly in the eye, and bit into it. She chewed and lifted the fruit to his lips. “You should eat the kirim,” she said, holding his eyes with hers.
Thomas hesitated. Was this like the touching of hands?
“Go ahead.” Now Karyl urged him on.
They all waited, staring at him as though insistent on his tasting the fruit. Even Johan waited, anticipation painted in his bright, smiling eyes.
Thomas leaned forward and bit into the fruit. Juice ran down his chin as his teeth broke the skin and exposed the flesh. The moment the nectar hit his tongue he felt its power ripple down his body like a narcotic, stronger than the fruit Gabil had given him earlier.
“Take it,” Rachelle said.
He took the fruit, brushing her fingers as he did. She let her hand linger, then reached for another fruit. The others had reached into the bowl and eagerly ate the fruit. It wasn’t a narcotic, of course, but a gift from Elyon, as Michal had explained. Something that brought pleasure, like all of Elyon’s gifts. Food, water, love. Flying and diving.
Flying and diving? There was something about flying and diving that struck a chord. What, he didn’t know. Not yet.
Thomas took another bite and beamed at his hosts. Johan was the first to begin laughing, a bite of yellow flesh still lodged in his mouth. Then Palus joined in the laughter, and within seconds they were joined by Rachelle and Karyl. Still chewing slowly, Thomas shifted his gaze around the table, surprised at their odd behavior. His mouth formed a dumb grin, and he rested his eyes on Johan. He was one of them; he should be laughing as well. And now that he thought about it, he wanted to laugh.
Johan’s shoulders shook uncontrollably. He had thrown his head back so his chin jutted out, his laughing mouth facing the ceiling. A nervous chuckle erupted from Thomas’s throat and quickly grew to laughter. And then Thomas began to laugh uncontrollably, as though he had never laughed before, as though a hundred years of pent-up laughter had broken free.
Johan slipped out of his seat and rolled onto the floor, laughing hysterically. The laughter was so great that none of them could finish the fruit, and it was a good ten minutes before they gathered themselves enough to eat again.
Thomas rubbed the tears from his eyes and took another bite of the fruit. He was struck by the obscure idea that he must be floating through a dream. That he was in Denver having an incredible dream. But the hard surface of the table told him this was no dream.
The scene was surreal to be sure: sitting in a room lit by drifting colors that emanated from resined wood, seeing the hues of turquoise and lavender and gold hang softly in the air, eating strange and delicious fruit that made him delirious, and laughing with his new friends for no apparent reason other than his simple delight at the moment.
And now, sitting in silence, except for the sound of slurping fruit, feeling totally content without uttering a word.
Surreal.
But very real. This was supper. This was the common eating of food.
Johan suddenly sprang up from his chair. “Father, may we start the song now?”
“The song. The dance.” A grin formed on Palus’s face.
Without clearing the table, Karyl rose and glided to the center of the room, where she was quickly joined by Johan, Rachelle, and Palus. Thomas watched, feeling suddenly awkward, unsure whether he was expected to rise or stay seated. The family didn’t seem concerned, so he remained seated.
He noticed the small pedestal in the center of the room for the first time. The four joined hands around a bowl perched on the pedestal. They raised their heads, began singing softly, stepped gingerly around the pedestal in a simple dance.
The moment the notes fell on his ears, Thomas knew that he was hearing much more than just a tune. The plaintive melody, sung in low tones, spoke beyond its notes.
It quickened and broke out in long, flowing notes containing a kind of harmony Thomas could not remember. Their dance picked up intensity— they seemed to have forgotten him completely. Thomas sat, captivated by the great emotion of the moment, stunned by the sudden loss of understanding, surprised by the feeling of love and kindness that numbed his chest. Johan beamed at the ceiling, exhibiting sincerity that seemed to transport him well beyond his age. And yet Palus looked like a child.
Rachelle stepped with distinguished grace. Not a movement of her body was out of place. She danced as though she had choreographed the dance. As though it flowed from her first and then to the others. She was lost in innocent abandon to the song.
He wanted to rush out and join them, but he could hardly move, much less twirl.
Then they each sang, but when young Johan finally lifted his head, smiled at the ceiling, and opened his mouth in a solo, Thomas knew immediately that he was the true singer here.
The first tone flowed from his throat clear and pure and sharp and so very, very young. The tones rose through the octave, higher and higher until Thomas thought the room might melt at his song.
But the boy sang higher, and still higher, bringing a chill to Thomas’s spine. No wasted breath escaped Johan’s lips, no fluctuation in tone, no strain of muscles in his neck. Only effortless song spun at the boy’s whim.
A moment’s pause, and the tone began again, this time in a rich, low bass deserving of the best virtuoso. And yet sung by this boy! The tones filled the room, shaking the table to which Thomas clung. He caught his breath and felt his jaw part. The entrancing melody swept through his body. Thomas swallowed hard, trying to hold back the sentiment rising through his chest. Instead he felt his shoulders shake, and he began to weep.
Johan continued to smile and sing. His tune reached into each chamber of Thomas’s heart and reverberated with truth.
The song and dance must have gone on late into the night, but Thomas never knew, because he slipped into an exhausted sleep while they still sang.