Travelers who pass by the Sōlenz lake don’t stop. They think it’s a land fit for the dead. The soil is grey and chalky like ash, and the few trees that emerge through the cracks look more like fossils than live beings. Some even think the creek is cursed.
But that’s not true. The slippery and squirming creatures in my hands are proof that there is life on the Sōlenz. There are these fish, who dwell in parts of the waters that are less salty than others. There are some shrimp, whose phosphorescent and slightly translucent bodies belie an incredibly sturdy constitution. Sometimes there are birds, who sweep by to prey on the lake’s inhabitants.
And then, well, there’s me.
I dump today’s haul in a bucket and pick up my cast net. Years of living here taught me that the high concentration of salt in the Sōlenz makes fibers brittle, if the mesh isn’t immediately stretched and put to dry. So as I’ve done hundreds of times, I begin the task of hooking the many angles of my net to surrounding trees.
Some sound that I’m not used to hearing in this part of the world causes me to look up at the skies. My eyes widen. Is that a bird? It’s bigger than I’ve ever seen! Most creatures here are lean, brittle things, acclimated to an existence feeding only on the bare minimum. There isn’t much place in Sōlenz for the magnificent and colorful animals that prowl the rest of the Kingdom.
How many meals would a large fowl like that yield? It looks like it could fit at least ten of the chickens I used to eat in my youth.
Except as the figure grows clearer, I come to see that the being soaring through the blue won’t fill my dinner table. A set of arms and legs become more distinct, until I can make out an unmistakably human form.
For a fraction of a second, the wild thought courses through my mind that I’m watching an angel. Because in my nineteen years on Earth – granted, five of which were spent in near isolation in this deserted part of Sōwilō – I’ve never seen a human so finely formed.
My gaze first settles on the glaringly obvious: he’s half-naked, and the half that isn’t covered is glorious in all its chiseled perfection. This angel has the kind of chest my friends Garrison or other guys from the Hunters would kill for.
A streak of radiant copper also catches my eye. His hair blazes in the sun like a flash of fire in the blue sky, and to put it short, he looks superb.
That is, until I catch the movements of his arms and legs. Frantic, and not graceful in the least.
My heart plunges. This isn’t an angel flitting ethereally through the heavens – this a man made of flesh and bone, and he’s about to crash to the ground!
Blind panic suddenly surges through me, yet it doesn’t take me long to run to the last tree and hook my fishing net so it’s stretched taut. Just in time for the redhead to dive into my makeshift safety net. Not without ricocheting back into the air a few times. I wince with each bounce, painfully aware of the agony he must be enduring.
Finally the net settles, and I can see this man who dropped from the sky once and for all. My breath catches. He truly does look like a fallen angel, I think to myself wistfully.
He’s at an age between man and boy, with the strength of a grown male but the loveliness of one much younger. His thick lashes rest limply on top of his high cheekbones. His lips, full with a hint of firmness, are parted lifelessly.
Inside my chest, something breaks. Is he dead? I want to cry. Cry from the horror of witnessing something so dreadful, but also cry for a soul that left much, much too early.
Yet I see something that infuses hope into me once more. The gap between his thick auburn brows creases. The corners of his mouth twitch until they form a feeble but distinctive grimace.
I rush to his side and drop to my feet. Gently I cup his shoulder, which amply fills my hand. I note that he carries a long, silver sword on one hip, and am grateful that at least he didn’t fall on that side.
“Can you hear me?” I pant as clearly as I can muster. “I’m Isobel. It’s going to be alright. I know it hurts, but you have to stay with me.”
His answer comes in the form of an annoyed grunt. I smile despite myself, especially since my fingers detect the sturdy pulse on his throat.
“You sure are a grumpy one,” I tease as intense relief washes through me. “I never thought I would be so happy to see someone scowl at me.”
He brusquely rolls away. Not exactly friendly, but the energy with which he flees soothes my frazzled nerves. I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. He’s alive. He’s going to be fine.
And that makes me angry.
I rise to my full height – somewhere between the fourth and the fifth step of my ladder, the last time I measured. So not too impressive, but so be it.
“What in the world were you falling down the cliffs for?” I bark as my fury soars. “Do you realize you could’ve broken your neck, or even worse,” the words catch in my throat, but I force them out all the same, “died? What happened? Did you slip? You have to be careful where you put your feet! Yes, even a strapping, sturdy fellow like you! All that brawn won’t do a thing when you crash to the ground, your bones will shatter all the same, your skull will –”
As I list all the tragedies that the man narrowly escaped while he sneers in silent irritation, an awful doubt enters my thoughts.
What if he jumped on purpose?
I gasp and let my gaze wander once more over his robust, vigorous body. So full of energy, while mine is gaunt and feeble, slowly but surely withering away…
“No! You couldn’t have – right? You can’t! You’re so young and strong, there’s still so much you can do in the world! How dare you throw away the life you were given, how –”
“Do you ever shut it, or do you always drive people crazy like this?”
His voice suits the rest of him. Rough, but laced with softer notes that are quite pleasing to the ears.
Flabbergasted, I cross my arms. Perhaps it’s true that I spend so much time alone that I sometimes forget the difference between thinking and speaking out loud. The Hunters only stop by about once a month. But still, the rudeness of this man…
“That’s no way to speak to your savior!”
At long last, his eyes flutter open. They’re glaring at me with a world of annoyance, but no matter. Because the shade of his irises is the color I love most in the world. Like the barren landscape around us that nursed me back to life when it found me on death’s precipice five years ago.
They’re grey.
A foreign emotion invades me as I sense his gaze sweep over my form from head to toe. The sensation is like tiny red ants biting my toes, tortuously crawling all the way to the very roots of my mousy hair. My cheeks burn. I resist the urge to feel them with my hands in astonishment.
Is this embarrassment? It’s been years since I’ve felt embarrassed. My sole company these days, the Hunters, aren’t exactly the kind to blush. They’re all men, and not the most well-mannered ones at that.
Yet this prickly affection finds its way into my lips. It’s when I’m overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him that I understand what’s happening to me.
Oh. I’m attracted to this guy.
The realization doesn’t fill me with dread – on the contrary, it thrills me. The adventures of the heart is a subject that crops up often among Garrison, Ehren and the others. I always feel left out, and wonder if I’ll ever get a chance to experience passion as well.
It seems my chance has come.
“What’s that?” He grouses, pulling me away from my musings. He makes a vague gesture of the hand towards the top of my head.
I brush a few wisps away from my forehead. “It’s a style I invented. Maybe I don’t get many visits, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t devote time to my appearance. Look at you, for example, you just dropped from the skies! So I gather small branches around the lake and weave them into a coronet. Kind of like a crown.”
One of those slate eyes narrows. “Looks more like a bird’s nest to me.”
As intensely as the thrill of attraction rushed through me, I’m suddenly crushed with a self-consciousness that’s just as novel. When late at night, the gatherings of the Hunters veer towards sentimental affairs, the women they describe are tall and svelte or short and voluptuous, ravishing brunettes or fair blondes.
I’m none of that, I realize with dismay. I’m short and flat as my front door, with hair that’s neither dark nor light but a sort of dull in-between that blends into the Sōlenz scenery a bit too seamlessly.
I can see it in his gaze. He doesn’t think I’m pretty.
But before I can ponder upon my disappointment any longer, the man clutches the hand he was pointing at me and moans in bloodcurdling pain.
“What is it?” I gasp as I kneel by him once more. “Did you break anything?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snarls as he tugs his arm out of my clutch, only to turn paler as another wave of distress hits him.
“Of course it matters!” I hiss no less vehemently. “It’s your hand, silly. How can you get by without a hand?”
The redhead sneers and avoids my scrutiny. “I told you. I don’t care.”
I hate the look in his beautiful eyes. They’re like two chips of stone. Cold, hard, empty.
My earlier suspicion that he may have attempted to take away his life grows stronger. This time, instead of throwing me into a bout of panic-infused anger, my heart breaks. No, I still don’t understand how a healthy young male could possibly give up his own existence. The very notion of it doesn’t appall me any less.
But only because I can trace my scars with the tip of my finger doesn’t mean some wounds don’t hide beneath the flesh. Whatever caused this handsome, hardy man to jump from a cliff must ache as excruciatingly as the dreadful end he was ready to endure.
“Let me see,” I order, though the edge has left my voice. “I know a fair bit about wounds, you know.”
Indeed, the Hunters often rely on me after battles. Years spent fighting against the progress of my own injuries has made me quite talented with those of others.
He shrugs me off at first, but I eventually coax him into showing me his wrist. I suck in my breath as I note the angry swelling and nasty bruises beginning to form. After some inspecting and prodding, I assess that the wound isn’t as bad as it looks.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break your wrist. It looks like it’s just sprained.” Taking hold of his uninjured hand, I give it a pull. “I’ve got everything to patch you up at home.”
The stubborn man won’t stand, and I can’t possibly lift someone twice as heavy as me. I try to ignore the fact that the sensation of his warm skin on mine gives me butterflies.
“Come on,” I insist. “I promise I’m not an evil witch leading some poor unsuspecting passersby to her lair.”
One of those dark copper brows jots up cockily. “You live here?”
“Yes.”
That makes him pause. “Why?”
I shrug, casting a look around me. It’s true that I never would’ve chosen such a place, had circumstances not led me here. Yet five years after, I couldn’t dream of a better home.
“The strangeness of the landscape grew on me,” is my vague response. “Now, I even find the Sōlenz beautiful.”
He shoots me a smug look, as if my words couldn’t be more absurd. “It’s not. There’s a reason why everyone calls it the Barrens.”
The smirk that grows on my face is equally as wide as his. “And what about you? Does everyone call you Mr. Sourpuss?”
He rolls his eyes. Though he’s irritated – and no less irritating – I’m relieved to see the flash of fire in his slate gaze. Anything but the chilling emptiness with which he seemed to throw away everything good in life.
“It doesn’t rhyme with ‘Dane’ at all.” Suddenly he looks sheepish, and glances away. “That’s my name by the way.”
I appraise him under the light of this tidbit of information. Dane. I like it. It sounds like a warrior’s name, befitting the hardy, valiant man he could become – provided he stays in this world long enough.
“Well come on, Dane,” I huff with a second tug at his hand, which I never let go. It’s funny how his touch already feels familiar. “Let’s get you healed, so all this can become nothing but a bad memory.”
“And what good can you do? You’ve got about as much muscle as a shrimp.” His words are proven true by how unperturbed he stays despite my insistence on getting him up.
I let an exasperated sigh escape my lips. “Physical strength isn’t all there is, Dane.”
“Yes it is.”
His response comes so fast I eye him curiously. As far as bulk goes, Dane is certainly more remarkable than anyone I’ve seen to date. Yet his voice is laced with a strange nervousness.
“I don’t think so. Brawn is about as useless as a blowfish next to a needle if you’ve never been hurt.” I nod towards his sprained wrist. “You’ve been injured, but it’s the healing that will make you strong. Real strength is about how much hurt you can endure, and how you can turn it to your advantage.”
I don’t mention that it’s because I’ve been hurt so thoroughly that I know how to heal him. As he studies me in silence, I hope that I’ve said enough to convince him – to come into my house, but more importantly, to not throw himself from a cliff the next time life deals him a hard blow.
To my great relief, Dane finally rises. He’s over a full head taller than me, and somehow seems even more impossibly handsome when standing at his full height. I suddenly feel oddly jittery inside, so I let go of his hand.
As we head towards my house, the contrast becomes all the more apparent. He stoops down to walk through the door, and then promptly bangs his head on the ceiling the second he straightens.
“Did a bunch of elves build this hut?”
I attempt to send him a glare, but I can’t stop my lips from twitching as he grumpily massages his scalp.
“It’s a cottage. And no, I built it.”
Though it had been but a rudimentary shack when I first laid camp on Sōlenz grounds at fourteen, little by little I learned to turn those ramshackle walls into a sturdy, comfortable abode. Of course, friends from the Hunters helped me, but I still feel like my home is mostly my own making. It makes me quite proud.
Even prouder as for the first time since Dane fell from the heavens, he looks duly impressed.
“Why don’t you take a little stew? I make it myself, and it never fails to put some strength back into my arms.”
“Honestly, it doesn’t look like it’s working”, he grouses, but he accepts the bowl.
I watch him bring the spoon to his mouth, eager to hear his appreciation. Focusing on his lips kindles that ticklish feeling within me.
He spits the concoction out before even swallowing a sip.
“By Gods, that’s foul! What did you put in this? The bottom of the Sōlenz lake?”
I snatch the bowl away before he can complain any more, more vexed than I care to admit. It’s true that the fish in these waters have a strong taste, but with a little imagination it doesn’t taste half as bad.
“Sit here,” I order as I pull out a stool, and stifle a giggle when I see squatting would be the more appropriate term. “Don’t move while I bandage this to your wrist so that it stays still.”
His eyes narrow when he catches sight of the fork I brandish in lieu of a splint.
“I’m not sure I trust you.”
I sigh as I place the silverware and wind the plaster around his burly forearm. “You don’t have to. But I think a woman with a fork has more to fear from a man with a two foot sword.”
And then, to my consternation, he chuckles. It isn’t the widest beam I ever witnessed, nor the most boisterous laugh I ever heard. But he smiles, and it’s definitely a step up from the scowls he’s been sporting since our impromptu encounter.
My heart skips a beat. Now Dane doesn’t merely look handsome – his face lights up and he’s positively radiant. His dark air dispels like clouds after a storm, all that is left is pure, utter glory.
“I’m sure you could wield your way with a fork. You’re small, but from what I see you’re pretty crafty.”
I bite back a grin, pleased at the compliment. “I don’t let circumstances weigh me down. Not even when they come in the form of a three-hundred pound male landing in my fishing nets.”
To my delight, Dane laughs again. A little louder, a little more easily. Carefree still isn’t a word that would suit him in a thousand years with his heavy brows and grave grey eyes, but at least the bleak look he’d had outside is gone.
“That must’ve been frightening for you.” All of a sudden his good mood vanishes, and his gaze drops. “Did you… see me falling?”
Guilt and shame lace his husky voice. Still fastening the bandage, I crouch slightly to capture his attention.
“I did,” I say softly. “That’s why I stretched my nets just in time.” An incredulous air passes over his face, and I understand he hadn’t realized that I purposefully saved him. “Of course I would, with such an impressive haul flying straight to me.”
One corner of his mouth twitches again, until it forms a half grin. Close as we are, I’m once again hit with the absurd urge to kiss him.
“There’s nothing impressive about me,” he mutters, and I can tell from the low timbre of his tone that he isn’t used to sharing this particular thought.
As I tie the final knot in the gauze, I didn’t intend to trap his hand within mine. He shoots me an air of surprise.
“Not in my eyes,” I pledge with a tiny grin. “And even if the opinion of a near stranger doesn’t mean much to you, well there’s at least one thing you should remember, next time you find yourself near a cliff.”
It’s like we’re drawn inexorably to one another. I blink, and the next instant his irresistible face hovers a mere snail’s breath away from mine.
“What is it?” Dane rasps.
I bite my lip to keep it from reaching out to his, and struggle to remember the crucial thought I wanted to communicate to him.
“That you still have plenty of time to be impressive,” I tell him earnestly, unable to look anywhere but at those solemn beams of grey. “You’re strong, you’re able, and you have more presence than the entire army of Sōwilō put together. You’re someone who can do all kinds of things in this world…” I let a small smile curl across my face. “If only you stick around to achieve them.”
For a few endless moments, Dane continues to study me with that intense look of his. I can see my words have weaved their way into his thoughts, and I couldn’t be more glad.
But it also means my purpose is done. My short stint in the story of this man with the glorious copper hair is over. Hopefully he will go on to live many adventures, and I can only pray that never again will he set foot near the Sōlenz lake. He doesn’t belong here in the Barrens, where life is only half of what it can be.
“It looks like I’m finished here,” I force out in a tight voice. “Make sure to keep your wrist rested for two days, and don’t hesitate to put ice over the wound if it aches. Maintaining your arm above chest level also helps. In two to three weeks, you should be fine.”
Dane doesn’t get up. I’m not certain he even processed my advice. He’s still staring at me, as if something is holding him back.
“You can go now,” are my whispered words.
This time, Dane gets the message. He rises, mumbles a few words of thanks, and bows down to fit through the door. The sun already began to set, and the reddish hues dance bewitchingly in his bronzen strands.
“Have a safe trip back,” I say as I grip the handle a little too forcefully.
I think Dane’s lips twist into a small grin, but it’s so subtle I can’t be sure. He gazes at me more searingly than anyone before, and that tingly feeling rises within me once more.
“Goodbye, Isobel.”
And then he leaves. I follow his hulking form through the white steppes, until it disappears into the dark forest that borders the Sōlenz.
That’s the first time he said my name, I muse wistfully. What a shame that it’s also the last.