Fragments of a Creative Mind

2010-12-07T19:18:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 35

A quiet group of four sat around the common room dining table a few mornings later, sipping their coffee and reflecting on the events of the last few days. Anthony, Jessica, and Richard had just left to return home, and they were enjoying having just the usual group present, just their own little extended family. Angela and Jimmy exchanged a few words every now and then, usually remarks on the newspaper or the always-unlikely prospects of snow; Darrick and Abby communicated more silently, through squeezes of the hand or, increasingly, through the now-completed bond.

Darrick had yet to stop marveling at the new sensation in the back of his head, this awareness of his wife that never left his consciousness. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking – not unless it was a particularly strong and clear thought – but he knew she was there and had a good idea of how she was feeling, and they were both becoming increasingly adept at using it as a mode of basic communication. But most important was the feeling of absolute love and acceptance it gave him; with this bond complete, he knew he would never feel alone. No, it wasn’t a magic ticket to marital bliss, but it did get them a good bit of the way there. It also left him feeling like a complete idiot for thinking that the incomplete bond was an acceptable substitute. If only I had realized that earlier, think of all the trouble that could have been averted.

His memories of said trouble were somewhat vague. Richard had admitted to “muddling” their memories while they were still asleep. “No one should have to remember what you went through” he had said; normally, Darrick would have balked at such an intrusion, but from what he could recall, he couldn’t help but think that Richard may have been right on that one. Those memories were bad enough.

One thing that was all too vivid in his mind was the knowledge of his parents’ deaths; he knew that Meredith’s was never far from Abby’s. Richard and the Martins had been sketchy on the details, but he knew that they had given his lives for his, and that knowledge was so overwhelming that he had just pushed it to the back of his mind, to be dealt with at a later time, with maybe a little bit of perspective. Even more so was the knowledge that, by saving him, they had saved the world. This was a responsibility he truly could not run away from; indeed, it had already followed him once. It made Richard’s parting wish of “Stay well” have a very different implication indeed.

But for now, all of that was far away. This morning was for one last breakfast with friends.

“So what are ya’lls plans now?” Jimmy asked, taking another sip. Darrick and Abby looked at each other. Darrick could feel her uncertainty through the bond, and it matched his own.

“Richard’s taking care of my parents’ and Meredith’s funerals,” he said, starting with what he knew. They had explained everything to Angela and Jimmy, so they both understood what had happened, even if they were still having a hard time believing it. “So we’ll be there for those, of course. After that . . . we don’t really know. I’d like to finish my degree, but it’s too late to get back in before the fall. And I know Abby would like to work more on her art. But . . .” He trailed off. He and Abby had discussed a few notions, but there was one more idea that had been nagging at him ever since learning of the cost that had been paid to save their lives, and that he had been keeping secret, not sure of what to do with it.

“What my husband is trying to say,” Abby smoothly took over, “is that we would like to finish out the year we had planned with you. I still have more than enough money to keep paying you rent, though I suppose we could put it in the bank and write you a check like normal people now, if you want. If you still want us, that is.” A flash of wry humor came through the bond, to Darrick’s delight. Not too surprisingly, Abby had not been in a very humorous mood the last few days. “We promise no more psychotic breaks, home invasions, or divine interventions.”

“You’re always welcome, dear,” Angela said with a chuckle. “For a year or ten. Though if you can keep things a bit calmer, I would appreciate it.”

“Always a good idea to take some time to clear out your head and think over your options,” Jimmy remarked.

“I don’t think I need to,” Darrick said, his nebulous notions taking clearer shape. Abby turned to him with a cocked eyebrow, and he directed his next words directly to her. “Abby, my love, I’ve been thinking a lot the last few days.”

“Didn’t the doctor ever tell you no thinking for at least five days after death? You’ll get a brain cramp.” Joking aside, Darrick knew that Abby was very curious to hear what he had to say.

“I find it hard not to do a little bit of self-evaluation after death,” he said. “Abby, I can’t help but feel that what happened was largely my fault. I wanted to leave because I didn’t want the responsibility that everyone kept trying to foist on me.”

“You couldn’t have known what would happen, Darrick!” Abby said.

“And there’s no point beating myself up about the past, I know,” he said, taking her hand in both of his. “Everyone’s been telling me that the past few days, and I think I believe it. What I’m concerned with now is the future. I ran because I didn’t want a responsibility I didn’t choose. But what I’m coming to realize is that I did choose it. I chose it when I chose you.”

“Darrick, I’ve never once expected you to bow to Atlantean expectations.” Now she was annoyed and feeling accused. Darrick hastened to reassure her.

“I never said that you did. But when I chose you, I chose your family, your people, and everything that came with it. That’s what marriage is, I think. I can’t just take the fun and leave the responsibilities behind. They’re all one and the same.”

Abby leaning in close, her expression fierce. “Darrick, our marriage should not be a chain to tie you up. Did Richard try to tell you that I secretly want you to kowtow to them? Because if he did . . .”

“Nothing like that. I’m not saying that I think we should just slavishly accept whatever they want to make us into, but we can’t just ignore it all either. There has to be some balance we can find between what we want to be and what they need us to be.”

Abby was quiet for a moment, but Darrick could feel that she was torn. She had spent the last few years of her life trying to find that balance, and had yet to hit it. But, maybe, we could find it together.

“I still want to stay here for a while,” she said, “and maybe some time back in San Francisco. There are so many people there I want you to meet, so many things I want to show you.” Now she was smiling, and Darrick met hers with one of his own.

“I’d love to,” he said. “We have our whole life together ahead of us. We owe it to the world to make it a good one.”

Eventually, Angela and Jimmy excused themselves to take on the business of the day. Darrick and Abigail Knight continued to talk, a nice relaxing morning at home, with their whole bright future ahead of them.

The End

2010-12-07T14:42:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed

Part 34

Darrick and Abby were laid out on their bed. Richard stood beside them, hands upon their heads, chanting furiously, trying to get through the ritual as quickly as he could. It was obvious to all that time was quickly running out; the runaways’ breathing was rapid, their skins sallow. Every so often one would stir and mutter something underneath his or her breath, sometimes in unison, but mostly they lay perfectly still, only the shallow rise and fall of their chests indicating that they still lived.

John, Cynthia, Anthony, Jessica, and Meredith stood at the foot of the bed, watching anxiously, none knowing what terrified them more – the deaths of their children or friends, or what would inevitably come after. Even now, chaos was building in the streets outside. Screams were heard in the formerly-sedate streets of this dignified community as people ran for some semblance of shelter from the threatening firestorm. Elsewhere in the city, and around the world, riots were breaking out as panicked citizens abandoned hope at the end of the world, maybe even driven to their own madness by Darrick’s influence. Angela had locked and bolted the front door, and now she and Jimmy stood guard, making sure there would be no interference as the world fell to pieces around them.

The frantic chanting seemed to go on forever; to everyone in the room, it felt as though no Completion ceremony had ever lasted a tenth as long as this one, and no one knew if that were merely their own fear altering their sense of time, or if Darrick and Abby’s condition was in truth making it more difficult for Richard to achieve the final joining of their minds and hearts. Certainly, the procedure was difficult for them; their murmurs were becoming louder, transforming into cries of pain and fear. Soon, their bodies were no longer motionless, but twitching and twisting in agony.

“Stop! Stop! You’re hurting them!” Jessica cried, unable to watch any more. Richard only shook his head in rebuttal and kept on. She tried to rush forward to yank his hands away, but Anthony’s hold stopped her.

“Trust him, my love,” he told her softly, holding her in a comforting embrace as he turned her head away from the sight. “He’s doing what he can. There’s no other choice.” She buried his head in his shoulder.

Meredith covered her own face with her hands, unable to bear the sight any longer; Cynthia reached out with her free arm, the one not holding firmly onto John’s hand, and pulled her close, letting her cry silently into her chest. She herself could not tear her gaze away, painful as it was.

Suddenly, Darrick and Abby both stiffened in unison and fell utterly limp. Immediately, the noises outside grew louder, as though a cry of utter terror had been ripped from all the peoples of the world. Richard staggered back, his mouth open, the only sound coming from it a choking gasp. His gaze slowly turned from his young charges to the onlookers, his expression terrible. They all immediately knew what had happened, but they waited, frozen in silence, for Richard to confirm their horrible guess.

“They’re . . . they’re dead,” he said, barely able to get the words out around his labored breathing, his voice raspy and harsh. “They were . . . too far . . . the stress was too much. Oh, gods, they’re gone.” He nearly collapsed, saving himself only at the last second by grabbing hold of the bedside table. The complete silence in the room felt a physical thing, battling against the chaos outside, none of them sure what to think, say, do. From the outer room, they could hear the television news. Missiles launched from North Korea. United States announcing a retaliation. That, too, was too much to handle. Each couple held on to each other even tighter, and Meredith’s shaking doubled in strength. No one wanted to ask ‘What now?’. No one believed there was any point.

A wail burst from Jessica, the sound of ultimate loss. It galvanized the room, and tears began to flow from every eye. Every eye save Richard’s. With a lurch, he threw himself back to the bedside and placed his hands once more and Darrick and Abby’s heads.

“No!” he cried. “I will not be the cause of this. I will not let you go yet.” He turned to the others, who were staring at him as though he had lost his mind. “Their spirits cannot have traveled far yet; it’s a long journey to the afterworld. I’m going to call them back!”

“Are you insane?” Anthony asked incredulously. “You can’t . . . you can’t do that! You can’t bring people back from the dead!”

“Yes, I can,” Richard replied. “Theoretically. I don’t know that it’s ever been done, but I have to try. True language rules the world of the living. Let’s see if it can reach the world of the dead.”

Richard immediately closed his eyes and began to chant once more. Or, rather, his mouth moved, but no sound came out. His words were directed elsewhere, to ears existing on a different plane than the ordinary mortal world. To all in the room, it seemed as though the Sun had disappeared from the windows, as though all light had faded to grey. Sounds were deadened, and all around them was the silence of the tomb, a silence filled with the weight of earth and clay, tinged with the cold of the underground and with the smell of decay. Their skins crawled, and all felt unwelcome, their intruding presence resented by the entities that clustered around their warm bodies. All were still and silent, struggling to muffle even the sounds of their own breaths, lest they draw unsavory and dangerous attention. Through all this, seemingly oblivious to what he was drawing down upon them, Richard continued to chant. The dark silence grew greater and greater; their knees became weak as strength left them, and all five onlookers feared they would soon also be drawn into this world, never to return to light and warmth.

Richard jerked and thrashed, his hands losing contact with Darrick and Abby’s bodies. His head fell back, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling; immediately, all felt released from the threat of the grave, only to feel an even greater, grander presence filling the room with a vitality so great none felt they could stand it long.

“The gods speak!” Richard declaimed as his body stiffened ever straighter, so that he seemed to be trying to lift himself up off the floor. “Trying to recall the dead is an abomination! A grave abuse of the words they have given us!” With those words, hope fell, and everyone went to their knees in despair and awe. But the gods were not finished. “Oh, they will be merciful!” Richard said, his tears flowing freely down his face. “They know our situation, and will return Darrick and Abigail to us. But there is a . . . a price. For every life they return, a life of equal value must be given up. The balance must be maintained.” Richard’s expression collapsed into grief. “And my hubris must be punished. Two lives for two lives, given freely. Who will it be?” Richard fell to his hands and knees, released from the hold of the gods; his arms nearly gave out, but he managed to push himself up, though his stance remained hunched over, lacking the energy to reach its full height. The others stood as well, their legs shaky.

“So that’s it,” he said, his voice whispery and weak. “Two of us have to give up our lives.” Immediately, the room erupted in voices, each inhabitant offering their own life for the salvation of their loved ones and the entire world. Richard held up his hand. “That’s not all. The gods said lives of ‘equal value’. That means that the life given up has to be equal in magnitude to the one they would have had. John, Cynthia, Anthony, Jessica – I’m afraid that disqualifies all of you. And me, for that matter. We’re twice the age of these children, if not more. Our lives are too far gone. That leaves . . .” Everyone turned to Meredith, who stood straight, but trembling. She bit down on her quivering lower lip, then nodded.

“I understand,” she said, her voice quavering but sure. “I’m the only one the gods will accept.” She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. “I will give my life up gladly to save Abby’s.” The smile she attempted was an uncertain thing, but no one doubted the sincerity of her words.

“Thank you,” Jessica said. “Thank you from all of us. You don’t know what this means.” Meredith turned to her and shook her head.

“I know exactly what it means,” she said. “I heard once that no love can be greater than one that gives up her life for her friend. Well, this is my chance, and I won’t let her down.” To Richard, she only said, “What do I have to do?”

“Wait,” John broke in. “Your gods wanted two lives. But we don’t have another young person. What about Darrick? We can’t leave him as he is.” Outside the window, the world was growing louder with the sounds of utter panic in the streets. And somewhere above them, they all knew, the missiles would be flying. “Without Darrick, we’re all lost.”

They all looked at each other, hoping to see the answer in another’s face. Patrick would have been their only other option, but he was gone, disappeared. And no one knew if he could have been persuaded to give up his own life, even for the sake of the world. Despair began to overtake them. To come so close to righting all the wrongs of the past six months – maybe the past twenty-one years – only to fail now. It was more than could be borne.

“The gods require an equal sacrifice,” Cynthia broke in, putting together her thoughts even as she spoke them. “What if we don’t have to use a single life? What if we can use two?” She looked over at John, who nodded at her to go on, following her logic. “John and I both together would probably equal out to the rest of Darrick’s life. Will you take the two of us?”

Richard raised up his eyes once again, and for a moment everything was silent. Then he stiffened once more, and his voice deepened. They all knew that what they heard now was not Richard, but the words of a god.

“IT IS SUFFICIENT,” the voice said from Richard’s mouth. “THE SACRIFICES WILL JOIN THEIR HANDS.” Wordlessly, Cynthia held out her hand to Meredith; she reached out to take it, but paused and turned to Anthony and Jessica.

“Tell Brendon, tell my parents, I love them,” she said, working hard to control her tremors. “Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them I died to save a friend.”

“We will,” Anthony assured her; Jessica just nodded.

Meredith took Cynthia’s hand and pulled her close, holding her trembling body tight. With her other hand she held firmly on to her husband.

“Take care of Darrick,” she told Anthony and Jessica. “He’s your son now. Do better than I did.”

“I don’t think we could ever do more than you’re doing now,” Jessica replied. Any further comment was cut short.

“DO YOU GIVE YOUR LIVES FREELY SO THAT THESE MIGHT BE RESTORED?”

“I do,” the three answered in unison.

“THAN IT IS DONE.”

The bodies of John, Cynthia, and Meredith collapsed limply to the floor; Darrick and Abby each gasped, then settled into deep, even breathing. Richard sagged. Anthony and Jessica hurried to the bed, where Darrick and Abby were now sleeping calmly and quietly.

On the television, a news flash. North Korea had self-destructed its own missiles while still in the air. Their bluff had failed. They were ready to talk.

And the world went on another day.

2010-12-06T23:59:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 33

Anthony and Patrick quickly left the lights of the Little Five Points neighborhood behind, the strip on both side of the road descending into shadow. This made Anthony nervous – not because he feared being accosted by unseen assailants, but because he feared missing Darrick in the dark, especially if he were lying hurt or unconscious somewhere off the road. He considered calling for the missing man, but didn’t know if he would come towards them or run away, so he decided to remain inconspicuous, trusting to his own vigilant eyesight to spot the runaway. Looking at Patrick, though, he saw that his son did not share his dedication; instead of constantly scanning the shadows, he walked with head down and arms crossed, deliberate in his inattention.

“Stay alert, Patrick,” he ordered. “I need your pair of eyes. Your sister’s life is riding on this.” Patrick mumbled something underneath his breath. Anthony couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable. “What was that?” he asked, his own tone brooking no denial.

“I said, what’s the fucking point?” Patrick spat out, each word emphasized clearly. “You can give me all that crap about taking care of the people you love, but we both know that’s a load of bullshit. It. Doesn’t. Matter. Anymore. We’re all going to die in the next few hours, so why should I spend my time trying to find the mongrel who stole my sister away and then killed her by running away himself?”

Anthony cursed the Command Richard had laid on him. If I could only tell Patrick that this isn’t necessarily the end, that saving Darrick would be saving ourselves. He’d cooperate then. Surely he’d cooperate then?

“You’ll do it because I’m your father,” Anthony said, resorting to the only method that showed consistent success. “I’m your father, and you are still unmarried. Do as your told, and hopefully I’ll be able to explain later.”

Patrick stopped still, raising his gaze to stare his father full in the face.

“No,” he said simply and firmly. “I refuse to waste the last few hours of my life searching for that half-breed. I want to spend my final moments with Elizabeth, the woman you chose for me to spend the rest of my life with, but your dragging me off to this outsider warren has robbed me of that opportunity. So I will find some place to be alone, so I can spend my life with the only true and pure Atlantean in this city. Myself.”

“Stop right there,” Anthony ordered as Patrick turned. Most likely out of habit than anything else, Patrick stopped. “You will spend your last remaining moments with your family, trying to save your sister’s life. Or does your Atlantean family mean so little to you?”

“My sister became an outsider the moment you bonded her to that . . . that thing,” Patrick snarled over his shoulder. “It’s only fitting that she die here.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Anthony said, his anger with this monster in the shape of his son overwhelming his control. “When did you become this hateful, bigoted person? Is it Elizabeth? We didn’t teach you to be like this!”

Patrick spun back to face his father, his own features livid. “This is exactly what you taught me. You taught me that the outside world is a dangerous, corrupt, wicked place. That Atlanteans have to remain separate so that we won’t lose who we are and become just like them. That we have to live in the outside world, but we can never be of it. And you were right! Just because you bonded my sister to some half-breed degenerate because you wanted his name doesn’t change the truth.” He pointed an accusing finger, shaking slightly from emotion. Anthony had to fight to keep himself from flinching. “You’ve left the true Atlantean path, not me. So don’t ask me where I learned it. Ask yourself when you forgot it.”

“And does Abigail deserve to die to preserve your purity?” Anthony demanded.

“Abigail made her own choices,” Patrick said, turning away once more. “I didn’t force her. You can’t blame me if she suffers the consequences for them. Though I’m sure you’ll try.” He walked briskly away, leaving Anthony to stand staring into the darkness. He knew there was no point in trying to follow. Patrick’s made his choice. I only hope he lives long enough to regret it.

* * * * *

Richard and John made their way slowly back towards the boarding house, all the way hoping to spy Darrick’s form, either somewhere along the road or curled up along the side. They walked slowly, and by the time they stepped onto the road leading to their destination, the eastern sky was starting to lighten with twilight. Soon, it would be time for everyone to meet again, Richard realized, heart sinking. No one had called. That meant Darrick had not yet been found.

Richard had a hard time looking at John, who was expending all his attention on the search, calling out his son’s name and occasionally veering off the road to examine a particularly dark shadow just in case it might be hiding Darrick’s inert form. He had barely spoken a full sentence to Richard the entire night, and Richard wasn’t surprised. He could feel the tension between them. Eventually, he had to say something.

“I’m terribly sorry for what happened to your son, Mr. Knight,” he said. “As a father myself, I understand what you must be going through. But rest assured, if we find him, I will do all I can to heal him.”

“I should hope so,” was John’s distracted reply. “You’re the reason he’s like this, after all.”

“I didn’t tell your son to run away,” Richard said, hurt by the accusation. “Had he approached me on the matter, I would have encouraged the opposite.”

“No, you just used him as a tool in your own grandiose plans,” John replied. “Next time you try to bring world peace, could you leave my son out of it?” The sarcasm, Richard felt, was deeply unfair.

“Mr. Knight, I did not make your son who he is,” he said, a calm reminder of basic facts. “He would have determined the course of the world no matter what I did. I was simply doing what I could to make his path as pleasant as possible.”

“By using a magic you didn’t fully understand,” John answered, as angrily as he could while still devoting his attention to the search. “You said yourself that you should have studied more when you were younger. But you still had no problems using it on Darrick, because you just assumed you knew better. You set the whole thing up behind the scenes, certain that you knew what was best for everyone. For the entire world! How arrogant is that? Did you ever think that, maybe, he would be happier living the life he chose, instead of the one you chose for him?”

“You agreed to it at the time.” John deflated a bit at the reminder.

“For my wife’s sake. I didn’t realize it would spell the end of our marriage, even if it did take twenty years.” He turned his face away, but Richard could hear his grief.

“I’m very sorry for that as well,” he said. “A bonding is supposed to bring families together, not tear them apart.”

“Strange to hear that, seeing as how tearing families apart is one of the things you people do best.”

“I don’t know what you are saying. The family is all-important to us. That’s why the bond is so important. It guarantees healthy families. Or at least helps them tremendously.” Richard thought of his own bond, of the many joyous years he had spent with his wife, united beyond normal human comprehension. Yes, he thought. The bond is a good thing. I cannot believe Darrick would have been happier without it.

“So all-important that you tear them apart?” John asked incredulously. “Maybe you don’t realize what that does to the ones you send off on their own, to live in that outside world you spend their entire childhood teaching them to avoid. Cutting them off must make it easy to pretend that they’ll do just fine.” He was getting angrier with each word, his diction becoming clipped and forceful. “But I watched what your exile did to my wife year after year. I watched her battle loneliness, depression, a sense of abandonment and distrust that I could never get through. But you must have trained her well, because she never took it out on you, never said ‘To hell with those people who threw me away and everything they stand for’. No, she took it out on her true family, the one who chose her out of love, instead of chasing her away out of fear. Me.” He fell silent once more, glaring off into the night, his head swiveling back and forth like a searchlight.

Richard didn’t know what to say. He knew the necessity for what they did to the younger children, knew that it tore out the heart of every parent who had to send a child into that cold, bleak outside world, but who did it anyway for the good of all Atlanteans. But he didn’t blame John for not understanding this. How could he, raised in a society warped by its unnatural emphasis on individuality, so dedicated to the notion that free choice and self-interest should take precedence over the good of all that they couldn’t support a functioning government, couldn’t effectively punish their criminals, couldn’t properly teach their children. No, he couldn’t expect John to understand, or think less of him for this failing. But he couldn’t let his ignorance sway him, either. It was for everyone’s well-being, including John’s, that he remain resolute. But I don’t have to argue with him either. Especially not right now. He took what he felt was the wisest course and remained silent as they continued to search.

The sky was lightening to a grey pre-dawn as they approached the house, their spirits sinking with every step that passed without a report of Darrick’s discovery. Richard wished he had a better idea of their time-frame, of how much longer they had left before everything went up in flames. The quiet of the street began to give way to the sounds of life – cars passing, morning conversation drifting out of open windows, dogs being walked. Richard hated to think of it all being wiped out in a single instant, and wondered if John maybe had been right about him being somewhat responsible. I should have studied harder. I should have known more. It was my duty, and I failed in it. I chose to be lazy when I was younger because I thought it would be more fun, and look where that got us. Duty must come first. I should have told him that.

In the span of a few minutes, they were joined by the other two search parties, all heading back to the house to regroup. It only took him a few seconds to notice that Patrick was missing, which was doubtlessly the reason Anthony was talking quietly to Jessica, who was reacting with tears. He would ask about it later, if there was time. He deliberately refused to think the words ‘if there is a later’. With some uncertainty, Cynthia walked next to John and quietly took his hand; he, just as quietly, held on tight. They all walked somberly silent for a time, until they turned the corner and the boarding house came into full view. Cynthia gasped. Richard didn’t understand why for a second, then he saw the dark form, only half-visible in the dim light, curled up on the doorstep. They all burst into a run. Richard was the last to arrive to see Cynthia holding her son’s comatose form in her arms, rocking him back and forth, crying his name over and over. Time for this later!

“John. Anthony.” Richard’s voice cracked through the morning air. “Pick him up and get him inside. Lay him next to Abigail. Hurry!” Darrick was still breathing, but only the gods knew for how much longer. He had to work fast.

2010-12-05T22:23:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 32

There was no sign of Darrick at or around the Star Bar, so the group split into pairs, agreeing to meet back again at 6 AM to discuss a change of plan if Darrick had not yet been found. Cynthia and Jessica headed north on Moreland Drive, Anthony and Patrick south, while Richard and John veered off down Euclid Avenue back into Inman Park.

The night was quiet, eerily so; Cynthia wondered if everyone were indoors, eyes glued to their television sets, wondering if the world were going to end in the next few hours. Cynthia wondered how she would feel if she were in their place, watching worldwide tensions rise seemingly without reason or cause, with nothing to do but sit and worry. If Darrick were still missing, I don’t think I would care. He’s all I have left. Without him, my world has already ended. She looked over at Jessica, her former friend. Another lost relationship, even with her walking nearby. Once, she had thought that their friendship could never be broken, when they were children and the outside world seemed far, far away, nothing that could ever hurt them. But Jessica had barely spoken to her since Darrick and Abby’s elopement, severing their tie only a bare couple of weeks after it had been renewed. Now the woman kept her eyes on the road before them or the shadows to either side, avoiding her gaze; the few times Jessica looked her way, her expression was colder than the wind which occasionally stole the breath from their mouths. Eventually, Cynthia could take the tension no more.

“This isn’t just Darrick’s fault, you know,” she said. “Abby wanted to leave as well.” I can’t let her put all the blame on me. We both screwed up. If she would just admit it, maybe she’ll talk to me again. But Jessica’s reply was not exactly what Cynthia wanted.

“Your son hit my daughter,” she hissed through gritted teeth, not even bothering to turn in Cynthia’s direction, still devoting her attention to the search, not even lessening her stride. “Do you think she agreed to that?”

“You heard Richard,” Cynthia protested, her own guilty feelings stinging her. “That’s not Darrick’s fault. His mind is being distorted, just like Abby’s. He wasn’t in control of his actions.” That managed to pull Jessica’s attentions.

“I don’t think this is the time to talk about it,” Jessica said stiffly, still avoiding Cynthia’s eyes. “Let’s find Darrick so Richard can heal them both. Then we can sort out the blame.” She didn’t look at Cynthia as she spoke, but Cynthia still felt her accusing glare.

She thinks this is my fault. She’s blaming me for what Darrick did. Again. “I have done nothing to Darrick, nothing that would ever cause him to hit another person.” A tiny doubt inside her stole some of the force from her words. What if she’s right? What if this is my fault? A competing impulse cried No! I did everything I could! “You have no idea of how hard it was, raising him alone, with an outsider husband. You were the lucky one, the firstborn daughter. You had the bond, the proper marriage, the whole of Atlantean society to help bring your children up right.” Cynthia snorted. “I was exiled, sent away into the outside world to make my own way, with no one to help me. I had to live with a man who cared nothing for proper Atlantean ways, who was so afraid that our son would leave him behind that he forbade me to tell him the truth for twenty years. Considering all that I had to endure, I think I did a damn good job raising my son. In his right mind, he’s never done anything but made me proud.” Jessica just rolled her eyes.

“By the gods, we are all sick and tired of your self-pity!” she exclaimed, finally stopping and turning to face her. “Other exiles have married outsiders and lived happy lives. Most of the ones who marry do as well as any other outsider couple. All they have to do is accept their place in life.” She poked a finger into Cynthia’s chest. “But you never could do that, not even when we were children. Now you’ve wasted your whole life wishing for something you can’t have, making both you and your husband miserable.”

“That’s so easy for you to say,” Cynthia cut in. “You have the bond. You’re connected with your husband in a way I can never be. You have no idea how hard it is to live with someone without it.”

“Outsider couples do it every day!”

“Outsider couples?! The divorce rate for outsiders is fifty percent! And how many of the other fifty percent are miserable?” Cynthia thought of the married couples she knew, how many were staying together for the kids, or out of religious conviction, or for some other superfluous reason. “You have no idea how good you have it. Your marriage will never be in danger, you will never be out of love. Outsiders would kill for what you have.” Cynthia felt her throat close up as her chest constricted. The weight of all she never could have, the unity with her partner she could never experience, felt as though it were pressing on her heart. “I would kill for it.”

“Oh, what utter rubbish,” Jessica snapped, but she visibly forced herself to continue in a softer tone. “Cynthia, it’s you who doesn’t know what she’s saying. You’ve never experienced the bond, but you could have at least listened to what you were taught about it, instead of constructing your own fantasy.” She shook her head sadly. “The bond doesn’t force a good marriage. Yes, it gives you that first rush, that infatuation, and it molds your personalities to make things easier, but that’s not everything. Marriage takes work no matter how well you’re matched. Did you ever try to work on your relationship with John, or did you spend your time wishing for something better every time you had a difficulty?”

Cynthia almost protested instinctively, but couldn’t think of anything to say. Jessica’s words struck too close to home. I wanted to make it work. I’m not sure it was even my choice to get married; Richard said it was that geas that made me do it, to preserve the royal line. But I never wanted it to fail. It just seemed to happen that way.

“I know I screwed up with John, but I did the best I could with Darrick, I promise.” Cynthia didn’t know if that was enough, but it was the best she could do. For her part, Jessica looked a bit sheepish herself.

“I know that,” she said. “I’ve never doubted your devotion to your son.”

“Then why have you shut me out these past six months?” Cynthia remembered the hurt of her newly-rediscovered people casting her out a second time, snatching from her the best source of support she had after her son had disappeared. “If you know I did the best I could, why did all of you blame me?”

“I didn’t shut you out. You shut yourself out!” Jessica threw up her hands in disbelief. “Yes, I said a few things in the heat of the moment, things I’m not proud of. So did you! But you should have realized that I, of all people, understood what you were going through. I understand what it is like to have a rebellious, headstrong child. I didn’t blame you or Darrick for making her run away, not once I cooled down and was able to think straight. I knew she was perfectly capable of doing it on her own! But you wouldn’t even let me tell you that. Every time I tried, you assumed I was just being polite, pretending that everything was alright. Well, everything was alright, with us anyway, until you assumed otherwise. Just like now. I don’t blame you for what Darrick did. I’m not even sure I blame him. That doesn’t make me any less angry that my daughter was hurt, but I was doing my best not to direct that anger at you until you pushed it. But you couldn’t see past your own self-pity long enough to realize that.” Jessica crossed her arms and regarded Cynthia with an exhausted frustration. “You make your own problems, Cynthia. You always have. The world, even the outside world, isn’t nearly as harsh of a place as you make it to be.”

Jessica turned sharply and walked back down the road, continuing the search. After a moment, Cynthia did the same, staying just a step or two behind her former friend.

2010-12-04T23:07:00.003-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 31

The Star Bar was a small, dark, one-room club, not exactly what Darrick had had in mind when he had suggested clubbing, not really matching the tales Darrick had heard of crowded, loud clubs filled with pulsating music and flashing lights, but Carmen had said that it was the only real option in walking distance. A band played on the stage at the center of the room, while two bars to either side served customers looking either to quench their thirst or further their inebriation. Still, the band was decent, and the floor before them filled with gyrating bodies, so Darrick supposed that was good enough.

He and Carmen had been dancing for what felt like either hours or minutes, Darrick wasn’t quite certain. Flailing wildly about had provided the perfect outlet for his pent-up energy, and he had lost himself in the sheer physicality of motion, at times losing his contact with the outside world completely, dancing more to the flashes of color and images in his head than to any outside stimulus. It was a completely new situation for him, and he had not known that anything could be so exhilarating. Though he had to wonder just how much the small pill Carmen had given him on their arrival had to do with the experience, and if he could get more.

Also exhilarating were the moves Carmen was making just in front of him, and sometimes directly on him. Sure, Abby could be forward sometimes, but she had never shown the kind of raw lust that Carmen projected in every gyration. Even now, her arms were around his neck and her thigh pressed into his, the motions of the dance producing a very pleasant friction that only added to Darrick’s wild energy. The look in her eyes left little to Darrick’s imagination. Again, a little voice deep in Darrick’s soul protested, pleading with him to run away as quickly as he could, run back to his wife’s side and take care of her. But, as before, the voice was easily ignored, even more so because a new voice suddenly spoke up, sounding to Darrick almost like a whisper in the ear, so real he didn’t know if it came from inside him or out.

Take her.

“What?” Darrick said, startled. “Who said that?” His voice was swallowed whole by the band’s volume.

“What did you say?” Carmen asked, her mouth right by his ear, her breath warm.

Take her now. Abby doesn’t ever have to find out. It’ll be fun.

“I . . . I can’t,” he said. Yes, he was angry at Abby, and dancing was one thing, but he couldn’t go all the way with this girl. Could he?

You want her. You’ve always wanted her. Take her.

“You trying to say something, honey?” Carmen said. “Why don’t we go outside and talk about it?” The motion her leg made against his made it fairly obvious what kind of “talking” she had in mind. Carmen took his hand and led him out the front door and around to the dark parking lot out back behind the club, pulling him into the shadows against the wall. Immediately she was on him, her body pressed fully against his and her lips on his lips, then at his neck. Darrick felt heat like he had never felt before, not even during his wedding night with Abby, and his conscious mind was swallowed up in sensation, his only thoughts coming from that voice still whispering in his ear, urging him onwards. His hands moved down her blouse to the zipper of her jeans, where they were stopped by a playful slap.

“Now, now, Darrick,” Carmen said teasingly, “don’t you know you’re supposed to let the girl set the pace? We’ll get there soon enough.” She laughed, a low chuckle in her throat.

The slap was nothing, a playful tap; to most guys at most times, it would have been more of an encouragement than otherwise. But that, added to her apparent rejection, faux though it was, switched something in Darrick. The voice which before had urged him on to carnal pleasures now pushed him towards very different emotions. And soon it was joined by even more voices.

Watch out! She doesn’t want you! She wants to kill you! Kill you, rob you. She wants Abby for her own!

Oooh, that’s hot. Maybe she’ll let you watch.

It’s a setup! They’ve been working together! Abby wanted you to go out with Carmen tonight so she could take you out of the picture! You’ve seen the looks they give each other!

Abby likes to listen to Carmen at night.

They’ve been meeting behind your back!

Darrick roughly shoved Carmen away, gasping in sensory overload at he held his head in both hands, almost falling to his knees in the unexpected onslaught.

“Get out!” he screamed. “Get out of my head!” Carmen, frightened, took a cautious step back towards him, but she stopped when his head shot back up, and a look of terror seized her features.

“Get away from me,” Darrick snarled, his voice almost bestial. He felt like a small animal stalked by a predator. “Go away or I’ll kill you. I know what you want. Go!” Without a word, Carmen ran off, her own muffled cries of fear fading quickly into the noise of the bar beside them. But even with her gone, the voices would not go away.

They’re all out to get you. Your parents, Abby, all the Atlanteans – they’re plotting together. You’re walking right into their trap. They can track you with the bond! They put it in you to keep tabs on you. You have to outrun it! You have to get away, run away, where they’ll never find you. Can’t go back home. Must run. Find safety. Find hiding place. Hide until they forget you. Live your own life. Can’t let them control you. Then you can make them all pay. Run!

Darrick obeyed, running off into the night, through the streets of Little Five Points where the Star Bar was located. He ran through traffic lights and over the homeless beggars sitting on the sidewalks. He was barely aware of them. The world melted and ran together in his sight, a mass of color and lights and darkness. Every person he passed was a potential assassin, sent by Carmen and Abby to do him in, or an informant, sent by the Atlanteans to track him down. Soon, he began to scream as he ran, hiding his face from passers-by so they couldn’t kill him or report him. Must hide! Hide! was all he could think, and his legs obeyed this simple compulsion, instinctively taking him along paths he had followed many times before.

Finally, he reached a place that felt familiar. He did not recognize it in the dark and twisted place the world had become, but it felt right to him. Felt safe. There was something here that whispered to him of home and love and hope. Of good memories. He lay down and curled into the smallest ball he could, hoping to evade their gaze, hoping the goodness of this place would shelter him from harm. Soon, his consciousness faded, his last thoughts retreating deep into himself from the terrifying place the outside world had become.

* * * * *

Carmen ran back towards the house as fast as she could, still not quite believing what had just happened. We were just having some fun. That’s all. What made him go so crazy? Did he have some kind of weird reaction to the Ecstasy I gave him? But I’ve never seen anyone on X act like that before. In the end, though, it didn’t matter. She had to get back to the house and tell Angela what had happened. She would get rid of both him and his stuck-up prig of a wife in a instant if she thought he was a danger to her other boarders. Her pursuit had been fun while it had lasted, but she knew when to call it quits.

Her cell phone rang in her purse. Slowing to a walk – to the great relief of her burning chest – she took it out and checked the Caller ID, hoping that it wasn’t Darrick trying to apologize for his unforgivable behavior. She didn’t think the number was his, though she didn’t recognize it, so she answered.

“Hello. May I please speak with Darrick Knight?” said the polite, cultured male voice on the other end. Polite or not, though, Carmen was in no place to deal with anyone who would have anything to do with Darrick. Her fear was rapidly transmuting to anger, and this stranger made as good of a target for it as anyone.

“Is this that friend of his he called earlier?” she nearly yelled into the receiver. “I’ll have you know that Darrick just nearly attacked me. Your friend is crazy!”

“I’m very sorry about that,” the voice said soothingly. “I’m not the friend he called earlier, but I am his friend, and I’m very concerned about him. He’s very sick, and he needs our help. Can you tell us where he is?”

“Sick, yeah, that’s one way to put it,” Carmen said in a huff. “I left him at the bar, but I don’t know if he’s still there. I doubt it.”

“What about Abigail Martin? Do you know her? Where she would be?”

“You mean Darrick’s wife, Abby?” Martin, huh? I’ll bet they’re not really married. Miss Holier-than-Thou isn’t so holy after all. “I’m sure she’s still at the house, wallowing in self-pity.”

“Can you give me the address?”

“Why should I?” Carmen asked, suddenly suspicious. “I don’t know who you are. Maybe you’re one of Darrick’s crazy buddies. I’m not telling you where we live.”

“Give me the address.” The words reverberated in Carmen’s ears and through her head, touching something deep inside of her with an irresistible command. Before she knew what she was doing, she was rattling off the address for the boarding house. Only after she had finished did she realize what she had done; she knew she should be frightened by it, or at least disturbed, but she couldn’t seem to summon up the emotion.

“Thank you,” the voice continued. “We will be there within a few hours to get both of them. You have been of inestimatable service, young lady. Good-bye.” The phone went dead. Carmen looked at it for a few seconds, uncertain of what had just transpired, then remembered what she had been doing before. She started off once more at a run, determined to get back home and report to Angela before Darrick returned.

* * * * *

Angela was shaking Abby, hoping desperately for some response, when Jimmy and Carmen walked into the room, followed by a small crowd of strangers – an older gentleman, two pairs of middle-aged men and women, and a young man and woman. The resemblance of several of the newcomers to Darrick and Abby were clear, and all doubt of their relationship to her two young borders were erased when one of the middle-aged women gasped and ran quickly to Abby’s side.

“Abigail!” she cried, falling down to her knees next to the couch, examining Abby quickly for signs of consciousness and, like Angela, finding none. “Oh, my baby girl, what have you done to yourself?!” Taking Abby’s head in her arms, she wept over her as the others approached more slowly.

“Jimmy,” Angela asked as she stood, “what’s going on here?” Though she thought she could guess the answer pretty well. Looks like the family she ran away from finally caught up with her, and just in time for this. I wish I knew if that were a good thing or a bad one. Before Jimmy had a chance to respond, the other older woman stepped forward and quickly scanned the room.

“Do you know where Darrick is?” she demanded. “Where’s my son?”

“Slow down, Cynthia,” the elder, white-haired man said. “You heard what Carmen told us.” But neither Cynthia nor Angela heard his gentle rebuke. As soon as Angela heard this woman, this intruder, refer to Darrick as her son, she knew what she had to say.

“Some mother you are,” Angela said angrily, standing toe to toe with Cynthia, whose expression only grew darker with the remark. “Your son is a monster! Did you raise him to beat on women?” Cynthia’s eyebrows drew downward, but the older man stepped between both of them, forcing them apart.

“Calm down, Cynthia,” he said, with a hand on her shoulder. Cynthia’s fury did not abate.

“You heard what she said, Richard,” she hissed, not taking her eyes from Angela. “She said Darrick –”

“I heard,” he said as soothingly as possible. “And it’s probably true.” Cynthia turned her glare on him, but he didn’t back down, though he visibly had to stop himself from stepping back. “It’s not his fault, Cynthia, and you know it.” He turned to look at Angela. “Darrick isn’t a monster, ma’am. He and Abby both are under more stress than you can comprehend, more than any of us could stand. But we can help them both.”

“Stress is no excuse for what he did,” Angela stated, standing firm. “And it wasn’t just the slap, though that would have been enough. He then decided to go out on the town with that floozy.” She pointed an accusing finger at Carmen, who looked as though she wanted to sink into the wall behind her. Angela made an instantaneous decision. “I want you out of the house tonight, young lady. I don’t care what you do with your own life, but I will not tolerate making trouble with my guests.” She turned to Cynthia as Carmen slunk out of the door. “And the same goes for your son, as soon as he turns up.” She walked back to Abby’s side, addressing her parents, both of who were now hovering anxiously over their daughter, oblivious to all else in the room. “Abby can stay as long as she wants. Rent free. I just want to see her recover.”

“Abigail will not be staying,” the man who was obviously her father said. “As soon as she is cured, she will be returning with us.” To the cult, Angela thought, but she didn’t know what she could do about it. Well, maybe if they really can fix her, she’ll be able to stay on her own.

“Speaking of which,” Richard said impatiently, cutting in, “I can only fix them both if I have both of them here. Carmen said that he was still at the bar when she left him, correct. We’ll start there. If he’s gone, we’ll split up into teams to find him. Someone should stay here in case Darrick comes back.” He turned to the young woman. “Meredith, could you stay and wait?”

“Of course,” she said with a solemn nod, moving over to Abby’s side. “I want to keep an eye on Abby anyway.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for one of us to stay?” Abby’s mother said, gesturing at herself and her husband. “Or maybe even both? I don’t want to leave my daughter.” Richard shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s safe for Meredith to be going out. She has little experience with the outside world, and Atlanta at night is no place for a young, inexperienced woman.” The woman started to protest, but Richard cut it short with an upraised hand. “No, it’s better for her to be the one to stay behind. Trust me, Jessica; you will be doing Abby far more good by searching for Darrick than by staying behind.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” Jimmy said, nodding his approval. “I’ll go with you.” But Richard shook his head.

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” he said. “We can handle things from here. Darrick and Abby are both our family, either figuratively or literally, and this is family business.” Angela wasn’t about to stand still for that.

“Now, listen here, mister,” she said, walking over to stand beside Jimmy in a show of solidarity. “We’re all family here, too. I don’t know what you people have been doing with either of them for their entire lives, but I’m not going to let you barge in here and push us out of the way. Jimmy and I care about Darrick and Abby too, and we want to see them safe just as much as you. Besides, we know this area of town, and I’m guessing you don’t. We’re coming too.” Richard sighed in response, and made a peculiar request of Abby’s father.

“Anthony,” he asked, “what are the latest news reports saying?” Anthony took a phone out of his pocket – one of those new fancy ones that could go online and looked like just a single smooth piece of plastic – and ran his fingers across the screen a few times.

“North Korea is threatening to fire its nukes on the South and Japan if the U.S. doesn’t withdraw all of its troops immediately.” His voice was calm on the surface, but his furrowed brow and tight lips betrayed his tension. “They’re claiming that they even have rockets than can reach California. The U.S. is saying they’ll retaliate if they detect so much as a single launch, and China is saying that they’ll fire back on us if we do.” No one else had been speaking, but as soon as Anthony finished, the quality of the silence changed. The room felt dead, frozen, everyone reflecting on the implications of what they had just heard.

“Do you hear that?” Richard asked, rhetorically and – Angela felt – completely unnecessarily. “World War Three is about to start. Our time is running out. We no longer have time to bicker or fight amongst ourselves. There are larger things at stake.”

“So why are we even bothering with my sister or her outsider husband?” the young man finally spoke up, arms crossed in a sulk. “The world’s about to end. We’re all going to be dead anyway. So why do we care if they go a little bit before the rest of us?”

“Be quiet, Patrick,” his father ordered. “It matters.”

“Why?” Patrick replied insolently.

“Because –” Anthony began, and then choked off, fingers rising to his throat as his mouth silently dropped open. Richard stepped in smoothly.

“Because it does,” he said. “Because it doesn’t matter if the world is ending around you. You still have to take care of the ones you love. And that—” he turned to Angela and Jimmy – “is why you can’t come with us. We may all have only a few moments left. Call your families, your children or grandchildren. Spend your last few moments with them.” Angela’s mouth opened instinctively to dispute, but the sense of what he said struck her. If the world was about to end, she should take the time to call her siblings and tell them she loved them, to say good-bye. She saw Jimmy nod as he obviously came to the same conclusion. But she wasn’t going to abandon the situation completely.

“You will let us know when you find him,” she said, a statement, not a request. If Darrick really was just sick and not a bastard, she wanted to be sure that both he and Abby were okay, even if the world went up in flames five minutes later. This really could be the end, couldn’t it? Strangely, she did not find the thought as terrifying as she would have assumed. She’s lived through scares before, and if this time turned out to be the real McCoy . . . well, she’d had a good life, hadn’t she?

“Of course we will,” Richard said as he waved them out. He continued to speak to the others as the door closed behind them. “You heard what Anthony said. We have no time to lose . . .”

2010-12-02T20:46:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 30

Angela headed straight towards Abby and Darrick’s room as quickly as her aging joints would allow. She wasn’t sure what she would tell her young friend once she got there; she wasn’t completely sure what it was she had just seen. Half a year with him living here, she thought, and I’ve never seen him behave like that. He was like a completely different person. He’s always doted on Abby, and I’ve seen him dodge Carmen like the plague. And then he runs right to her as soon as his wife is a little under the weather? And that wild look in his eyes. It’s like a completely different person took his place. And what should I tell Abby? I warned her about that Jezebel, but I can’t say ‘I told you so’. That’s the last thing she needs. Oh, this’ll kill her.

To twist the knife even further, she heard muffled sobs even before she opened their door. Bracing herself, she walked in to see Abby curled up on the couch, crying into a pillow, her wiry body shaking with the force of them. At the sound of the opening door, however, her head shot up with a hopeful expression. It broke Angela’s heart to see it crash with disappointment as soon as she recognized her visitor.

“Oh, poor dear,” Angela said, hurrying to Abby’s side, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe the tears from the young woman’s face. She was reaching out to apply the elegant piece of cloth when she noticed the red mark on Abby’s cheek. A red mark in the shape of a palm. Angela almost couldn’t believe her eyes, but the imprint was clear, red and raw. Soon, it would begin to turn purple. The hand holding the handkerchief clenched into a fist. “Abby, what happened? Did he do this to you?” Abby’s only response was to burst back into tears and collapse into Angela’s waiting arms.

For a few minutes, Angela simply held her weeping, shattered friend. There was nothing else she could do. I can’t tell her about Carmen, not right now. That’s not really important anyway. Not next to this. Eventually, she regained the presence of mind to gently stroke her hair, making comforting noises all the while. The lack of words began to get to her after a while, though, and she searched for something to say.

“I’m so, so sorry, Abby,” she started. “I can’t believe he did this. Poor girl, to hide from an abusive boyfriend only to be abused by your husband. You don’t deserve such rotten luck.” But Abby was shaking her head violently, her words muffled by Angela’s shoulder. “What was that, dear?”

“Not true . . . so sorry . . . lied to you . . . no boyfriend.” Abby’s words were broken up and made incoherent by her sobs, but they continued to pour out of her, as though released from a long captivity, to Angela’s increasing surprise and alarm. “Never had . . . boyfriend before Darrick . . . parents picked him when we were young . . . we ran away . . .”

“Wait a minute,” Angela said, turning Abby’s face to meet hers, not quite believing what she thought she had heard. “Are you telling me your parents forced you into this?” Angela’s anger now had a new target. How can any parent do this to their child, force her to marry a monster! But Abby was shaking her head again.

“No . . . wanted him . . . bonded . . .” Her words again degenerated into sobbing, and she slid down into a slump.

“I don’t understand,” Angela said. “Is this something your people do? But Darrick’s American, I thought. Are you in a cult?” Only increasingly frantic weeping answered her. “Well, this can’t be legal. I’m going to call the police.” She reached for her cell phone, but stopped when Abby’s hand shot out and latched on to her arm.

“No!” she said, a wild look of panic on her face. She paused a moment to regain her breath and speak again through her tears. “Trust you. Can’t tell anyone. Must stay secret.”

“Abby, the police need to know about this. Your family or cult or whatever can’t keep doing this to their children.” But Abby kept shaking her head, to Angela’s frustration.

“Promise,” Abby said. “Promise me.” She looked so desperate that Angela didn’t have the heart to refuse her request, not completely.

“Fine. I promise I won’t tell. For now.” At Abby’s look of alarm, she amended, “Until you’re feeling better. Then we’ll talk about it. Okay?”

“Thank you,” Abby said, then lay back down on the couch, her further words descending into a muttered mixture of talk and tears. “Can’t tell. They’ll find us. Must let Darrick go. Yes, for the best. No good. Oh, please be quiet. Get out of my head. Yes, I know. You’re right . . .” Angela couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, and after a minute or so, the distinct words blended together into a continuous mumble which eventually faded away, Abby’s face pointed into the seat cushion. All the tension visibly faded from Abby’s body.

Oh, good, she’s asleep. That’s the best thing for her right now. Things will look better to her in the morning. They always do. Angela reached over to switch off the still-running television, then pulled a chair out from the table, intending to wait until her friend woke up or Darrick returned, whichever came first.

It was several hours later that Abby gasped loudly, awakening Angela from a sound if rather uncomfortable sleep in the chair. Abby’s eyes were open, and she lay staring, oddly still.
“Did you have a bad dream?” Angela asked, rising stiffly. “It’s okay. You’ll be alright.” There was no response. “Abby?” Nothing. Worried, Angela gently prodded her friend, to no avail. Abby just continued to stare off into space, no matter how Angela tried to reach her. Abby was breathing, but showed no other signs of life.

* * * * *

The caller ID on Roger’s cell phone showed a number he didn’t recognize; even the area code was unfamiliar. Curious, he flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“Roger! How ya doin’?! I’ve missed ya, man!”

Roger could barely believe his ears. “Darrick! Wha . . . how . . . what’s going on?”

“I’m in Atlanta!” Something twitched at the back of Roger’s mind, but he couldn’t quite identify it. “I’m going out partying with a hot girl and I thought you’d love to get in on that! Come on down!”

“Atlanta!” Roger managed to stammer through his shock, his brain feeling two steps behind in this conversation. “That’s hundreds of miles away. I can’t just ‘come down’. Are you feeling alright? You sound really hyped up.”

“I’m feeling great! Better than I’ve felt in ages! Carmen and I are going clubbing all night!” Roger could hear a woman’s laughter in the background.

“Carmen? I thought your wife’s name was Abby?” None of this was making any sense to him, and Darrick was beginning to worry him. Nothing for six months, as per his own word the last time they had talked, and now here he was, calling him up out of the blue – six months ahead of schedule – and talking nonsense in a very loud, excited voice. What’s happening to him down there? Is this what those people have done to him?

“Oh, Abby’s being a stick-in-the-mud tonight, so I’m going out with Carmen instead. It’s a shame you can’t come down, man.” Now Roger really could not believe his ears. Sure, Darrick could run through girlfriends like a hypoglycemic through a candy shop, but he had never known him to be unfaithful to one while they were still together. He was starting to be seriously concerned.

“Darrick, are you sure you’re okay?” Darrick laughed on the other end.

“I’m fine! Better than fine! Sorry you can’t join us. Gotta go now. Talk to ya soon!” The line went dead to the sound of more wild feminine laughs and playful cries. Roger closed his phone, wondering what the hell had just happened. Then, in response to an urge of unknown origin, he flipped it open and dialed a number that sprang into his head unbidden. What am I doing?

“Hello?” A man’s voice, tired.

“Darrick’s in Atlanta.” What’s going on? Roger had never experienced anything like this before; he thought he should be terrified, but instead he felt oddly numb, almost robotic. On the other end of the phone, there was a long silence, followed by a huge sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” the voice said in a tone of utter sincerity. “May the gods bless you, son. Did he call you?”

“Yes.” Roger desperately wanted to stop, to hang up his phone, but his voice and his hands wouldn’t obey.

“Can you give me the number?”

Roger rattled it off from memory, even though he had only given it a passing glance.

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful,” the voice said. “Listen to me carefully. I’m sure right now that you think you’ve betrayed your friend, and you’ll probably feel horrible about it later. I’m telling you right now, don’t. You haven’t betrayed Darrick. You’ve saved him. You’ve saved all of us.” Suddenly, Roger felt himself released from the strange compulsion, back in control of his own voice and body.

“Wait, wait, please!” he got out as quickly as he could. “Who are you? What’s going on? What did you do to me?”

“You were just following instructions, Roger. You did a great job. Everything will be fine now. Now hang up and go back to whatever it was you were doing before.”

And Roger did exactly that.

* * * * *

Richard Dawson hung up the phone, a sensation of profound relief and hope suffusing his body. Thank the gods I thought of using Roger. After Abby and Darrick had left, their parents had been certain that they had told their friends more than they had wanted to admit. But both Meredith and Roger had remained firm in their insistence that they didn’t know any more than anyone else. So Richard had left Roger with instructions to call should he ever learn Darrick’s location, instructions he could neither resist nor remember. And after six months of waiting, of all their other trails leading nowhere, his idea had finally bourn fruit. There was still a lot of work left to be done, but now they had a fighting chance. But not much time, he thought, remembering the latest news reports he had seen. The situation in the East was about to blow wide open, maybe literally. They had to work quickly.

Picking up his phone once again, he began the task of contacting everyone to let them know what he had found. They had to make their plans quickly.

2010-12-01T21:10:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 29

By late that afternoon, Abby had indeed made it out of bed, but only so far as the couch, where she sat watching TV in her robe, eating a bag of chips. Darrick wondered if she even saw what was on the screen, her face looked so dead, showing neither interest nor pleasure. The only part of her that appeared to have any life at all was the hand that brought chip after chip up to her mouth, and the jaw that chewed mechanically away.

Darrick, on the other hand, felt so full of life he could burst, and he was nearing the end of his patience with Abby’s sudden lethargy. He had been trying all day to find some way to spur her to action, or at least to some minimum activity, but all he had accomplished was to move her from one stationary rest to another. Even Angela, coming by to take her to lunch, had been rebuffed. Darrick could feel the clock ticking away, his carefully-laid plans for the special evening falling into naught.

“Can’t you please get up?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time. “You’ll have a good time, I promise. Just get dressed and come out with me.” Darrick was hopping from foot to foot in his eagerness to get out and away. Their rooms were becoming oppressive, the walls closing in on him. He had to get out, get moving, before he screamed. What do I have to do to get her going? This isn’t the girl I married.

“I don’t want to go out, Darrick,” Abby finally responded, her words so lazy they almost blurred together into an unintelligible slur. “Just leave me alone.” She muttered something underneath her breath.

“What did you say?” Darrick asked. “If you want to say something to me, say it!”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Abby said, petulant. She curled up and lay down on the couch, eyes still not leaving the TV screen.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Darrick thought, eyes darting around the room. There’s no one else here, is there? Did she tell someone about us? Are they coming to take us back? Darrick grabbed her arm and tugged.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said, continuing to pull. He wasn’t sure if he was just trying to encourage her, or actively attempting to pull her manually out of her slump. Either way, the physical action felt good. “You’re not going to ruin my plans like this. Now get up and get dressed!”

“Let go of me!” Abby shrieked, showing more energy in one phrase than she had in all of the past day. She sat up and pulled her arm away, shrinking away from him to the opposing side of the couch. “You don’t want me with you, so don’t pretend! I’ve seen the way you look at Carmen. I know you want her! So go get her! She’s one of your kind, so you should be with her.” Her eyes darted to the side, and her tone sunk to a whisper. “Yes, yes, I know he does. He’ll be happier with her. Better he find it out now than later.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Daniel roared. His previous questions solidified to certainties. He knew what was going on. “You told them, didn’t you? You sold us out, and now they’re coming to take us back! You’re talking to them with some kind of Atlantean telepathy or something. You sold us out, you bitch!” Almost of its own accord, his hand flew out and slapped her firmly across the face, the crack echoing around the room. Abby flinched, then her sobs broke forth. Darrick barely noticed; he was too busy watching the windows for approaching figures. “I heard what you just said. ‘One of your kind.’ You mean an outsider, don’t you? That’s still how you see me! To Hell with you and your kind. They can have you, but they’re not going to get me!” Darrick could feel their eyes on him, their footsteps closing in. I have to get out of here. Now! He grabbed his coat and headed out, ignoring Abby’s weeping pleas behind him.

“Please, Darrick, I didn’t mean it! I didn’t tell anyone. I don’t want her to have you. Please come –” The slamming door cut short her cries.

Lies! Darrick thought as he stormed down the hallway towards the common room and the exit. It was all lies! She never loved me. It was just a setup. I’m just a toy to them, a puppet to dance on their strings. Abby, Mother – I was just their tool. Well, not anymore. From this moment, I’m free! In a flash, his anger was gone, replaced by a sensation of absolute elation. He felt light, unencumbered. He could run. He could dance. He could fly! I’m going to celebrate tonight! Celebrate my freedom after six months of captivity!

Entering the common room, he saw Jimmy, Angela, and Carmen huddled around the television, watching the news. It was one more boring report on North Korea. Maybe another time, Darrick would have been interested; maybe another night, his face would have worn the same look of worry he saw on theirs. But not tonight.

“I’m going out,” he announced to the room at large. “Jimmy, you wanna come with me?” All three turned to him with expressions of shock.

“Weren’t you going out with Abby tonight?” Angela asked, still looking concerned. Darrick shrugged.

“Not anymore,” he said. “She’s not up to it. So, wanna go?”

“Son, I’m a bit old to go traipsing out at all hours,” Jimmy said. “It’s your anniversary, isn’t it? If you’re wife’s not feeling well, maybe you should stay in with her.” Darrick’s ire rose at the note of disapproval, and it doubled when he saw Angela’s obvious agreement. With another shrug, he dismissed them, refusing to let his wonderful mood be sullied by such considerations. They don’t know what she really is. They’ll find out soon enough.

“What about you, Carmen?” he asked, turning to her, to the shock of both Jimmy and Angela. “Care for a night out?” She smiled like she had won a prize, and quickly slipped her arm into his, pressing her lush body firmly against his side.

“What a fantastic idea,” she whispered into his ear, her lips just barely grazing his earlobe. Darrick hadn’t thought that he could feel any more euphoric than he already did, but he very quickly discovered heights to his excitement that he could never have before imagined. Carmen’s tone made promises that summoned a host of images in his mind, each more arousing than the one before.

“Darrick, what are you doing?” Angela said in horror.

“You’re a married man,” Jimmy joined in. “Don’t forget that. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

From deep within Darrick, something responded. A small, familiar voice, crying out to him to listen to this man. To turn back and apologize to his wife. To tell her that he loved her and would never leave her. But it was a small voice, easily overwhelmed by this new excitement, and very quickly it receded to the recesses of his mind; once it was gone, Darrick felt all that more eager to be gone.

“Believe me, I’m not,” he said, as much to himself as to Jimmy, and turning, he and Carmen walked out of the front door, arm in arm.

The cold hit Darrick in a bracing wind; his breath caught, and Darrick felt more awake, more alive, than he could ever remember. He let loose a loud whoop, jumping up, releasing the energy he could no longer restrain. Carmen laughed, a deep, throaty sound.

“So where are we going?” she asked, her arm reaching around him. “Someplace private?”

“No,” Darrick responded. “There’s so much around here I don’t know. Take me someplace loud. Loud and filled with people. I’m tired of living like a recluse.” Darrick wondered why he had never cared for loud crowds before; they sounded like such an exciting idea. He had to share it. “Here, give me your cell phone. There’s somebody I have to call.”

2010-11-30T18:20:00.000-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 28

Abby woke up the next morning alone. Stretching her hand over to feel Darrick’s side of the bed, she realized that he had never made it under the covers; not only was the cloth still cold, but the blankets on his side were still neatly tucked in. Puzzled, she lay silently for a while, listening to see if she could hear him moving about, but the only sound she could hear was the creaking of the old boarding house. Then, the memories of the previous night came flooding back.

He’s left me, she thought, feeling dead inside as she did so. He went out last night, and he’s never coming back. The thought was answered by others, and it felt to Abby as though they were coming from some place outside herself.

Of course he left you! You panic just from having to shop for paint, then you spend the rest of your day moping around. You’re pathetic! What use would he have for you? Abby pulled her pillow over her head to drown out the voice, but it was of course no avail.

He doesn’t really love you, you know. It’s just the bond. How could he love you if he had any choice in it? You’re just some silly, sheltered girl desperately faking the confidence you don’t have. What could he see in that? Just stay under the covers. Stay safe in bed. You’re just a millstone around his neck, might as well admit it. That’s all your worth anyway. Darrick would be better off without you.

“Please stop,” she pleaded in tears. “It’s not true. Darrick gave up everything for me, and I gave up everything for him. He loves me. It’s real.”

He never wanted to be bonded. He never wanted you. He told you himself. And now he’s stuck with you. You’re dead weight. You can’t do anything but lie around the house and take up his time. What are you? An artist? Where is your art? What can you contribute to him? To anybody? Everyone would be better off if you weren’t around. Your parents wouldn’t have to deal with your embarrassments any more, and Darrick could find someone to make him happy. Everyone would be happier if you were dead.

By now, Abby had no words with which to respond, and no energy to use them if she did. All she felt she could do is lie in the bed and weep, trying to make herself as small as possible, hoping that the voice would go away and leave her alone. In a way, she was glad Darrick was gone; she didn’t want him sullying his memories of her by seeing her like this. But she was not to get her wish. She heard the door to their living room open and Darrick enter noisily. She heard the plop as he tossed his jacket over a chair and the thud of his feet as he approached the small bedroom. He threw open the door with a loud bang and nearly ran to her bedside. Abby tried to cover herself with the blanket, but he enthusiastically tore it from her.

“Happy six-month anniversary!” he declared in a loud, clear voice. Abby winced, both at the noise and at the reminder. Six months. Surely he’s tired of me by now. “Want to start the celebration now?” He was in the bed a few seconds later, stripped of everything but his boxer shorts. It was only when he went to place a kiss on her lips and got her ear instead that he noticed something was wrong.

“What is it?” he said, the excitement in his voice undermining the concern. “I can’t believe you’re still in bed. Are you sick? You already slept so much last night.” Darrick barely gave his words time to form, rushing on to the next almost before finishing the last. Abby wondered how he could breathe, and wished she had one-tenth of his unusual energy. She herself could barely speak, but she summoned up enough willpower to answer.

“I’m not sick,” she said. “I don’t want to get up.” There was more to be said, of course, but she had exhausted her energy reserves with just those two statements.

“Why not?” Darrick asked, then rushed on before she could answer. “It’s our anniversary. We were going to do all sorts of things today!”

“I don’t feel like sex,” Abby replied.

“That’s a first,” Darrick replied, and Abby had to admit he was right. But she couldn’t deny how she felt, and right now she wanted nothing more than to be left alone. But the thought of being alone terrified her, and she reached out a hand to hold Darrick’s arm. “Abby, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t leave me, Darrick,” was all she could say. Any more, and she wouldn’t be able to restrain the despair inside her. He’s going to leave you. Leave you and be happy. It’s what you deserve. Abby could feel her heart racing again, her breath quickening.

“I’m not going to leave you,” Darrick said. “I want to celebrate with you. We can go out tonight, someplace nice. I got tickets to a concert at the Variety. And then we can go somewhere for a drink. It’s gonna be great! Come on, get up. Ow!” Throughout his speech, Abby had felt herself growing more and more panicky, her grip on Darrick’s arm tightening until she had finally hit his limit. At his final exclamation, she let him go and pulled her arm back under the covers as quickly as she could.

“I’m sorry, Darrick,” she said in alarm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please don’t be angry with me.” I’m groveling. What’s wrong with me? But she couldn’t stop herself. All she could feel was terror at the idea that she had hurt Darrick and he would leave her, while at the same time wishing that he would. Leave! Don’t see me in this state! She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She felt as though she were suffocating, the rational part of herself being submerged ever deeper and deeper into this frightened, quivering thing that she was becoming. With a huge effort of will, she managed to exert a little control.

“Darrick, please just go away for now,” she said, as calmly as she could. “I just . . . I need some rest. I promise I’ll be up for dinner tonight.” She even managed to coax a smile from her lips, though she feared it did not reach her eyes. “And, afterwards, I’ll let you have your way with me.” She leaned over and kissed him, and for a second, something stirred inside her. An old, familiar, welcome feeling. But then, it was gone, and she felt twice as empty and cold as before. Darrick started to respond, but before he could get too far, Abby rolled over and put her back to him. She heard him sigh.

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” he said. “Is there anything that you want?”

“Just go away,” she said, already face down in the pillow. She waited a few eternal, agonizing seconds, then she felt and heard him get up and leave. She suppressed the urge to cry out for him to come back, holding her breath until the door slammed shut once more.

2010-11-28T22:17:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
Part 27

Cynthia Knight watched silently as her husband stacked his bags next to the front door, no tears left in her after six months of weeping. John put down the last piece of luggage and stood staring down at it, still looking a bit conflicted. Cynthia didn’t know if she cared if he was leaving or not; all she could think of was the eternal quiet of the empty house once he was gone.

“So you’re leaving me too,” she said flatly, feeling hollow. So maybe I do care, just a little.

“You left me long ago,” John replied. He didn’t sound bitter or angry, just resigned. They had both known for a long time that this moment was inevitable. The only thing they could not have predicted was the exact circumstances of his departure. “Maybe with me gone, you can go back to your own people. Erase the taint of my existence from your record.”

“And what about your son?” Cynthia asked, finally able to summon some anger at her abandonment. She wondered why she cared; surely, six months ago, she would have, if not welcomed, at least been indifferent to his departure. Now, with everything else she loved torn from her grasp, she wanted to hold on to whatever she could. “Should I erase him from my record as well?” Unfair, she knew, but she felt justified in fighting dirty. John turned to face her, and she could tell that she had managed to get through one final time.

“Are you sure you aren’t the ones who want to erase him?” John said, snatching up his first bag. “What have you people done to find him? Have you gone to the police? A private investigator? What have you done besides sitting around twiddling your thumbs?”

“What would you have us do?” Cynthia said, summoning the energy to rise from her seat and raise her own voice. “What should we tell the police? That my twenty-one-year-old son has eloped and not told us where he was going? They’d laugh in our faces. You know that we’ve done everything we could. Every trail has turned up cold. They’ve fallen off the face of the Earth.” Her voice choked. Gone. Darrick’s gone. And with him had gone her connection to her own people. With few exceptions, everyone’s blame for Darrick and Abby’s departure had fallen squarely on her shoulders; she was more exiled from her people now than she ever had been during her marriage. And she didn’t think that John’s departure would change that. “How could you think I haven’t done everything I could for my only child?”

“You’ve done nothing,” John said angrily. “Nothing that could possibly reveal yourself to the world.” He picked up the remote to the television and turned it to the news. As it had been for the last few hours, the news anchor was reporting on the worsening situation in Korea – an American submarine sunk, increasing skirmishes along the border, louder bluster from both sides. “Look at this!” John said, pointing towards the television screen. “You know what this means. It’s already started. North Korea’s got nukes, you know. This is the beginning of the end of the world. And you know what – I care less about that than about what it tells me about my son. What does it tell me, Cynthia?” He nearly shouted the last question. Cynthia didn’t want to look, but she was as aware of it as her husband.

“It means they’re already going mad,” she said, her throat closing until she could only manage a whisper. “They don’t have much time left.”

“Exactly,” John said. He didn’t sound triumphant, or even angry any more. Just tired. “Our son is going insane, and he won’t survive long after that. We should be screaming from the rooftops, doing everything we can to get their attention, or the world’s. But you people are so afraid of being discovered that you won’t do anything except in secret, even when it could mean the end of everything. Including our son. Well, I’m not going to put up with it any longer. I’m going to do whatever I can do to find him, and if it gets all of you arrested or studied or just mobbed with paparazzi, I don’t give a damn. There are bigger issues at stake.”

What can you do? Cynthia thought. There are no bank records to trace after that initial withdrawal. No cell phone or email records to consult. No trace anywhere of a couple with their names. They’ve done well. I would be proud if it weren’t so disastrous. All you can do is stand on the street corner and scream about the end of the world. I guess that’s as good as anything.

“And if you find them, what then?” was all that she said.

“I’ll let you know,” he said. “I’m not so stupid to think I can fix them by myself.”

“So you are coming back?” Cynthia asked, feeling foolish to be feeling as much hope as she was. John shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “If I find them, maybe. I know it will hurt Darrick to see his parents separated. If we don’t find them . . . then I guess it won’t really matter.” He picked up a second bag. “I think I may still love you. I know you don’t love me. I suppose I’ll have to decide if that’s enough.” He walked out the door, leaving Cynthia alone in a very empty, quiet house.

2010-11-28T22:14:00.002-05:00

With Day 26's installment, I have officially passed 50,000 words and become a NaNoWriMo Winner! Obviously, the story still has a while to go and I will do my best to keep updating daily, but I'm no longer going to concern myself with word count and such.

2010-11-26T15:01:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 26

Even before he opened the door to their room, Darrick could hear the subdued weeping coming from within. Alarmed, he walked in on guard, adrenaline already rushing through his system in response to all that he imagined he might find there. Instead of finding wrathful family or the victim of some accident, however, there was only Abby sitting in a chair with her head in her hands, and Angela bending over her with a comforting hand on her shoulder. Darrick couldn’t see Abby’s face, but her shoulders were shaking slightly in time with her sobs.

“What happened?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth trying to locate the source of Abby’s distress. Even though he could find no visible threat, his agitation did not lessen; rather, it focused on the easiest available target. “What did you do?!” he demanded of Angela as he rushed over to see to his wife. Angela’s eyes opened wide in surprise as she straightened to talk to him.

“I didn’t do anything,” she responded, a bit annoyed herself. “Abby had a panic attack at the art store. I brought her back. Now calm down and don’t make her any worse.” Darrick almost didn’t notice the rebuke; he was completely focused on Abby.

“A panic attack?” he asked, confused, going down on one knee to talk to his wife face to face. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Abby responded roughly, removing her hands from her face. She reached out and touched Angela’s hand. “Thank you for bringing me home, Angela. I’ll be alright from here.” She tried to smile, but it was a weak, sickly thing. Angela looked doubtful.

“Yes, thank you,” Darrick said, ashamed of his earlier accusation. “Let me talk to her.”

“Okay, then,” Angela said eventually. “If you need anything,” she said to Abby, “just let me know.” Turning to Darrick, she added, “Be easy on her, Darrick. She’s had a rough day.” She waited until Darrick nodded his acknowledgment, then left.

“So what happened?” he asked once Angela had left. Now that the initial rush was over, he was feeling jittery, but he forced himself to focus on Abby. She stayed silent for a minute longer, breathing deeply to try to calm herself down; finally, she recovered enough to speak.

“I’ve . . . I’ve never felt anything like it before,” she said, looking at Darrick with a look of rising agitation. Darrick was worried that she might be panicking again, but before he could say anything she continued. “Angela called it a panic attack, but it’s not like any kind of fear or panic I’ve ever felt before. I was trying to buy art supplies, and I just couldn’t do it. There were too many choices. I couldn’t make a decision. I didn’t even know where to begin.” She tried to smile ironically, but it came out more like a grimace. “I’ve certainly never had any doubts knowing my opinions any other time. I . . . I had to leave. It was so embarrassing, I couldn’t bear the thought of everyone looking at me.”

That’s pretty silly, Darrick thought, but he knew enough not to say it out loud. Still, Abby appeared to be recovering from her scare, so Darrick started to stand up.

“NO!” Abby exploded, her hands striking out to grab his arm, her expression wild. “Don’t leave me!” In response, Darrick’s agitation, building for days, suddenly transmuted to anger; he nearly snatched his arms away, wanting nothing more than to be away from this weeping girl who was suddenly a stranger to him. He was able to restrain himself in time, stopping his words even as he opened his mouth to tell her roughly to get a hold of herself. In the same instant, Abby appeared to realize what had happened, and pulled her own hands back. She looked down at them as though surprised at their actions. They both stood in frozen, stunned silence, each unsure of what next to say or do.

“I’m sorry,” Abby finally said in a whisper. “I don’t know what came over me. I felt like you were going away, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” She closed her eyes and visibly pulled herself together. When she opened them again, they seemed clearer, and her whole body relaxed. “I think I’m doing better now. Crazy girl’s back in the asylum. Or she’s no longer in control, at least.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Darrick responded, even though he hadn’t said anything. But for a moment there, he had been unreasonably, unpredictably furious; for a moment, he hadn’t loved the frightened girl in front of him, he had hated her. Now, just a minute later, he couldn’t imagine why. All he wanted was for his wife to be happy. Why would he be angry just because she didn’t want him to leave her? “Is there anything I can do for you?” Abby shook her head.

“No, really, I’m fine now,” she said, taking one final cleaning gulp of air. She ran one finger down the front of his shirt, hooking it finally around his belt. Her smile widened wickedly. “Though, if you really want me to feel good, there is one thing you can do . . .”

Darrick captured her finger and brought it to her lips, and pulling her up out of the chair, they both stumbled their way into the bedroom, laughing all the way, both eager to find a way to put the last few minutes behind them.

* * * * *

Late that night, Abby lay awake in bed. She was exhausted, drained from the day’s extremes, but she couldn’t manage to fall asleep. She still couldn’t believe what had happened earlier. Not just what Angela had called a panic attack, though she had never experienced anything like that before, and had not believed that a person could be so terrified, especially by such a commonplace experience. It was what had happened afterwards that was truly bothering her. For a few moments, she had become something she had never believed she could be – a weak, simpering damsel in distress, helpless until her heroic prince came along to rescue her. And he hadn’t even done anything; she had been terrified just by the idea that he might walk across the room without her. I lived on my own for two years to prove that I could, to find out who I was without my family or my betrothed, and one fright is all it takes to send me running for him to save me. Pathetic. Why would he want me after that? Is this the bond? Is this what Darrick wants? What if it is exactly what he wants? I don’t want to be that person! No, I can’t believe that of him. I know him; he wants someone strong, not a woman who can’t support herself without him. But the nagging doubt remained, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Darrick was only just tolerating her now. That he didn’t really want her, couldn’t really want her, the bond notwithstanding.

She supposed that she could ask him, but he yet to come to bed. She knew that she had turned in early; she had been fighting the desire to go to bed for hours, and had finally given in to the urge before ten o’clock, well before Darrick felt like retiring. Their bedroom romp earlier in the day, as nice as it had been, hadn’t had the affect on her that she had hoped. Instead of energizing and reassuring her, it had only left her feeling more empty and lethargic, and she had struggled to function for the rest of the day. Darrick, on the other hand, appeared not only energized but actually hyper. He had not been able to sit still afterwords, not to cuddle in bed, not even to watch television or read a book. Instead, he had taken to cleaning and organizing their room. Not because it was necessary – indeed, their sparsely-furnished room stayed clean and neat almost automatically, because there was so little to clutter it up – but because he did not seem able to stop himself. What if he’s avoiding me? What if he can’t stand to talk to me or even look at me anymore? Maybe staying busy is better than having anything to do with me! Stop it! Has the evil count locked you in the tower? Then stop playing the helpless lady waiting to be rescued! Abby couldn’t understand herself. She wasn’t the kind to obsess about what others thought of her; she had always practically dared others to take her as she was. But now she couldn’t stop wondering what Darrick thought of her, if he was disgusted by her cowardice. She wanted to slap some sense into herself.

Looking at the bedside clock, she was astonished to find it was two in the morning. Two in the morning, and Darrick had still not come to bed. Two in the morning, and she had still not slept a wink. She pulled the pillow over her head, praying that her mind would quiet and sleep would come, but the nagging thoughts would not go away. Then she heard the front door slam, and her heart plunged into her feet.

Oh, no. He’s gone.

* * * * *

Outside in the living room, Darrick was circling, unable to find anything else to do with his energy, but unable to bring himself to go to bed or even sit down. He had not before realized how incredibly boring the world was at 2 AM. Abby was doubtlessly asleep, so he had to be quiet – he didn’t want to disturb her rest after the rough day she had had – and the added pressure to not make noise was just adding to his nervous energy. He had the TV turned on to CNN, but the sound was off, leaving only the type along the bottom of the screen to follow what was going on. He had hoped that the television could provide something to occupy his racing thoughts, but it wasn’t nearly enough to completely hold his attention. Every now and then he would pick up some little object – a cup left on the table or a book on the couch – but then set it right back down, unsure of what to do with it. Not only was his extra energy unwanted, it was apparently also useless.

Even worse than his physical overdrive were his jumpy emotions. In just a few moments, he felt in turn excited, anxious, angry, elated. They even weren’t directed at anything in particular; indeed, his mind felt incapable of focusing on any one thing in particular. He just felt, and what he felt kept shifting. He just wanted it to stop. He envied Abby. Yes, her bizarre panic attack had left her drained and frightened, but she was able to sleep through it. No doubt she would awaken tomorrow completely recovered, ready to take on the world with her usual abandon. How he admired that in her. She was such a remarkable woman. Surely today had been an anomaly; after all, he had never seen anything like that in her before, and they had barely been out of each other’s company for the past six months. No, she would be fine tomorrow. Darrick only wished he could say that of himself.

Okay, this isn’t doing anything. Maybe if I had more than ten feet to go in either direction, I could walk this out. He grabbed his jacket and his keys. He was almost to the door when he wondered if he should wake up Abby to go with him. They both loved walking at night together through the neighborhood; the old houses and broken brick sidewalks set an incredibly romantic mood underneath the bright moon, and they had enjoyed more than one late-night romantic interlude in the park, seen only by the ducks who gathered around hoping to be fed. He almost turned back to see if she would join him, but stopped himself at the last second. No, she’s sleeping. At least one of us can get some. If I still feel like this tomorrow, I’ll suggest it then. He headed out the door, not realizing that he had slammed it behind him.

He hadn’t noticed that he had left the television on. A silent reporter was discussing the rising tensions on the Korean border, which had just now led to a small exchange of gunfire. Talks were proceeding to try to defuse the situation.

2010-11-25T17:19:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 25

Abby perused the selection of paintbrushes, gently running her fingertip along the shelf, trying to decide exactly which sizes she would need for the project she had in mind. Behind her, Angela idly scanned the aisles to either side, trying to find something that interested her. She’s probably wondering what she’s gotten herself into, Abby thought, wondering if she had taken undue advantage of the older lady’s enthusiasm for taking her young friend shopping. She had originally proposed the trip when she had noticed that her newest boarders were wearing the same few articles of clothing, going through their entire wardrobe in a week or so. Angela had been especially appalled that the young bride appeared to possess an even smaller selection of clothing than her husband – an unfortunate, if necessary, result of taking up valuable luggage space with her wedding dress, Abby admitted. Not that the result hadn’t been worth it. Still, it had left her with an embarrassing dearth of suitable clothing, and no sooner had Angela recognized the lack than she had began to schedule shopping trips with the “poor young thing”.

Abby smiled to herself as she slipped a few brushes out of their niches and into her shopping basket. Angela worked to make all her boarders into a family, but she had taken a special interest in Abby. Or, to be specific, she had taken a special interest in the young woman fleeting an abusive ex-boyfriend with her new husband, the two of them living in secret to avoid being tracked by the man who had already found her several times before. Abby had come up with their story off the top of her head as Darrick had been negotiating with Angela to let them live there on a cash-only, no-last-name basis. He had picked out the boarding house originally because it looked to him to be a place that might not need all the official paperwork of an apartment complex, but Angela had been reticent to take in two strangers with such unusual requests, even with Darrick offering to pay twice the asking rent. Acting on a sudden inspiration, Abby had taken her aside and told her the first thing that had come to her head; after that, Angela had been more than willing to protect their secrecy and take their cash. Darrick remarking that she really was the smarter one of the two of them was only icing on her ego’s cake.

Since then, Angela had checked on her at least two or three times a week, making sure she was feeling safe, that she was emotionally recovering from her harrowing ordeal, and taking her on outings for necessary “girl time”. Normally, they spent their time in the little boutiques and used clothing stores in the nearby bohemian district of Little Five Points, where Angela appeared to derive as much pleasure from helping Abby spend her seemingly inexhaustible money supply as from buying anything for herself. Abby knew that $75,000 was hardly inexhaustible, but it was surprising how far it went when monthly rent and food were one’s only real expenses. Recently, though, spending her days with Darrick in their little room or out with Angela on shopping trips had begun to pall; she needed more to occupy her mind. She had to admit that even a perfect partner wasn’t enough to satisfy her twenty-four hours a day. She wanted to get back to her art, to start creating again, and so she had asked Angela if they could drop by an art supply store instead of their usual destinations. Angela had agreed gladly once Abby had explained her feelings, but now she was obviously bored and somewhat lost, though she would never be so gauche as to say so.

She’ll have to hang on just a little while longer, Abby thought. I’ll make it up to her, paint her portrait for the common room or some landscapes for the boarder’s rooms. She’d like that, I think. The thought of producing even a basic landscape was exciting; it was a reclamation of a part of her she had left behind, that she had feared she might never get back. That was before she had known what Darrick was like, before she had known that he would want his own life as much as she did; now that she had the opportunity to explore her art once more, she was angry at herself for wasting six months of it. Well, maybe it wasn’t a waste, she thought as she remembered the highlights of the past six months of her life – entire days spent never leaving the apartment, sometimes never leaving the bed, Darrick and herself simply enjoying each other’s company; the two of them taking long, scenic walks; the long conversations that stretched hours into the night, never growing tired of each other’s company. No, not a waste. Never a waste. But the time had now come for something more.

Leaving the brushes, she turned back to leave that particular aisle, searching for the next items on her lists: the paints. Angela kept pace with her, and took one of the brushes from Abby’s basket, gently touching the bristles with her fingertip.

“I never knew you were a painter, Abby,” she said with a patient smile. “You always see these people with their easels out on Moreland and Euclid, and I was always jealous of them. It looks so relaxing. Rewarding, too, I guess. I never had the knack myself, though.”

“Have you ever tried?” Abby asked. “I’d be happy to give you a few pointers. Give me a few months, and I’ll have you painting as well as some of those roadside artists on Moreland.” She snorted. “Give me a few hours and I’ll have you painting as well as some of those hacks on Moreland.”

“Oh, I dabbled,” Angela responded, nostalgia lightening her voice. “Back in the sixties, you know. Everyone was writing poetry or playing music or painting or something back then. I even went out to San Francisco for a while, like you, lived in the Haight. But I’m afraid that my talents lie purely in unbridled capitalism.” She shook her head ruefully.

“And in watching out for young couples on the run,” Abby said. She wished that she could tell Angela their whole story, but she and Darrick had agreed early on that no one could know. She was fully behind their decision, but she still felt guilty about deceiving her friend, winning her sympathy through a fraudulent sob story. Especially when she thought the true story could have gotten them sympathy enough.

“Well, you know Albert and I never did have any kids,” Angela said, referencing her dead husband with a sigh. “With him gone, I need someone to watch out for. Jimmy thinks he can take care of himself – though I was able to get him off those horrible cigarettes, at least around the house – and Carmen . . .” She shook her head in disapproval.

“Too far gone?” Abby asked rhetorically, recalling the woman’s amorous nighttime exploits with a blush.

“I’m no prude,” Angela protested. “Like I said, I went through the sixties. Free love, drugs, the works. But that girl’s a bit too free with her love, if you ask me.” They walked into the paint area, the walls and shelves lined with every shade imaginable. “Normally, I would say live and let live. Her business isn’t my business. But I’ve seen the way she looks at your husband, and I don’t want to see you get hurt. Watch out for her.”

“Oh, that doesn’t worry me,” Abby said lightly. “Darrick wouldn’t ever do anything with her. Let her try; she’ll just get frustrated. Then she’ll be really fun to listen to at night.” She chuckled. Angela looked as though she were about to say something more, but only shook her head silently, with a shrug that Abby interpreted as “whatever you say”.

“So, what do you need?” Angela asked, gesturing to the gallons and gallons worth of paint on display, all in little bottles arranged in neat rows. Abby had a list in her head, based on the picture she could already see in her mind, but looking at the massive amount of shades on display, she wondered if she could ever find them all. The rows seemed to extend back into infinity, every bottle a slightly different shade she would have to search through to find the perfect one, the exact color without which her work would be nothing but an amorphous blob with no meaning or emotion. She realized that she couldn’t even remember the colors she needed, or see her planned painting in her mind; all that she could see were miles and miles of tiny little bottles, labels blurring together and mixing up. How can I ever choose? What am I doing? I can’t do this! There’s too much! I can’t make a decision! A sharp pain in her chest told her that she wasn’t breathing, but she couldn’t bring herself to take a breath; the blood was roaring in her ears as her heart thrust it through her body double-time. Oh, gods, what’s happening? Have to breathe. Must breathe. She forced herself to take a breath, and suddenly she was sucking in great gasps of air, unable to calm herself down to a normal level. On the edges of her perception, she was aware that Angela had her hand on her shoulder and was asking what was wrong, while behind her a crowd was gathering, drawn by the loud sounds of her massive breaths. I can’t be seen like this! I can’t be seen at all! What if they tell my parents? What if they think I’m a freak? What if they tell Darrick and he doesn’t want me anymore? I have to get out of here!

“I have to get some fresh air,” she finally managed to whisper to Angela. “Here, hold these.” She shoved her basket into her friend’s hand and ran out of the shop as quickly as she could manage without completely losing her dignity, only stopping when the cold outside air once again stole the breath from her lungs.

By the gods, what is happening to me?

2010-11-24T21:32:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 24

Six Months Later . . .

Darrick sat on the couch in the common room of Angela Bowen’s Boarding House, idly twirling a beer in one hand and a pen in the other, one eye on the TV and the other on the blank notebook on his lap. He wanted to look as though he was writing, but he had found that all that was necessary to maintain that illusion was to chew on his pen and make a few introspective noises at irregular intervals. The fact that his page was blank fit his story of being an eccentric author; should anyone ask, he would respond that he was awaiting his muse, and that the beer and television were there for inspiration. Beer would serve as a poor-man’s substitute for absinthe, and the television added the perfect postmodernist touch.

Of course, the real reason the TV was on was that he was bored; he was hoping that the beer would also help with that situation. Abby was out shopping with Angela, and that left Darrick with very little to do in their sparsely-furnished room on the second story of Ms. Bowen’s establishment, an old six-bedroom domicile in the Inman Park neighborhood of Atlanta. It was the kind of place invariably described in real-estate listings as “charming”, and Angela had decorated the common room in such a manner as to only encourage such platitudes. Living there was pleasant enough, though it might not have been Darrick’s first choice in other circumstances, but they had chosen it because it seemed as though it would attract the kind of people who would accept a few idiosyncrasies in their housemates, and given their circumstances, Darrick and Abby both knew that they could never pass for a completely normal couple. And that had proven to be more or less true; Darrick and Abby had found their own niche quickly enough, and uncomfortable questions were few and far between. No one had objected when Darrick had positioned himself as an author, the kind of job he felt could best explain their steady supply of funds as well as his utter lack of a work schedule. He couldn’t help but wonder if he were doing a disservice to real writers, but if playing on the stereotypes would keep their lives peaceful and – most important – below the radar, he was willing to risk it.

Casting another glance downwards at the blank page teetering on his leg, Darrick reflected that it was fortunate that his “work” was only a sham; he felt too restless today to apply himself to anything so concentration-intensive as composition. His thoughts jumped around from one subject to another, seemingly unable to alight on any one for very long. Taking the remote control, he flipped rapidly through the channels, the clicking of the buttons in time with the up-and-down jiggling of his knee, an unconscious echo of his racing mind. Nothing he saw interested him, nothing could catch his attention. Five hundred channels, he thought, and there really is nothing on worth watching. God, I want something to do! He tossed the remote down in disgust, leaving the television on some cable news channel. He took another swig of beer, finishing off the bottle, and was preparing to stand up and pace around the room when a rough voice interrupted his agitation.

“So whaddya think of this whole Korea thing?”

Darrick jumped as Jimmy McDonal, a fellow boarder, sat down on the easy chair to Darrick’s right. Jimmy was an older man, very country in both voice and habits. His skin was tanned and wrinkled from what Darrick assumed was a life working in the fields, though some of the wrinkles could be explained by the nicotine stains on his fingers. Angela Bowen was very strict about smoking indoors, though, so Jimmy had converted over to chewing tobacco, and never seemed far from a spit-cup, a habit Angela tolerated so long as he was certain to never miss. To Darrick’s surprise, Jimmy had taken a shine to him, chatting him up whenever they were in the common room together, which was often, as Jimmy was living on his pension and therefore had no job to keep him occupied.

“Um, what?” Darrick responded, having some difficulty placing Jimmy’s question in context. Jimmy waved at the television.

“You’re the one watching the news, son,” he said. “I try to avoid it, but goddamn if you can’t get away from it nowadays.”

Darrick blinked and looked, paying more attention this time. The headline read North Korea Masses Forces on Border. Darrick vaguely remembered hearing something about some diplomatic crisis earlier that week, but he hadn’t been paying much attention; that was about the same time his annoying restlessness had started building.

“I think that you guys were supposed to have taken care of this sixty years ago,” Darrick said, and Jimmy laughed, then coughed.

“You’re picking up a smart mouth from that wife of yours, Darrick,” Jimmy said in mock reprimand. “It wasn’t easy, y’know. Those guys were crazy, and the ones they have in charge now are even crazier.”

“Do you think they’ll do anything?” Darrick asked, feeling a burst of sudden alarm. Jimmy shrugged.

“Eh, who knows? They’ve been wanting to start something ever since we stopped ‘em last time, but all they ever do is bluster. Why would it be any different now?” He leaned back in the chair and flipped up the leg rest. “I’m getting too old now to care. They’ll not send me over again. Worrying about stuff is for young men, like you.”

You have no idea, Darrick thought. Sometimes Darrick felt like all he did was worry. Worry about being found by the Atlanteans, worry about what would happen if they were. Worry if Abby was really as happy and content as she claimed to be. That last one was particularly persistent. Darrick knew she was accustomed to a lavish lifestyle. How could she be happy renting a room in a boarding house hundreds of miles away from her family and the life she had always expected to live? Sure, she had lived away from it before, but that had been wholly her own choosing. What if he had pushed her into this? What if she resented him? What if—
“Didn’t mean to scare you there,” Jimmy said, and Darrick realized that he had once again gotten caught up in his own thoughts. He shook his head, partly in response to Jimmy’s assumption and partly just to clear it.

“Sorry,” he said, “that’s not it. I was just thinking.”

“Nothing good, by the look of you,” Jimmy said, too astutely for Darrick’s comfort. “Are you okay?”

“I need to stand up,” Darrick mumbled, mainly to himself. “I think I need some fresh air.” He matched action to words, nearly tossing the decoy notebook to the floor in his haste, catching it only at the last moment and slipping it under his arm, regretting the time it took to do so. He waved a goodbye to Jimmy and was nearly out the front door when he all but ran directly into Carmen Moraz, who responded to the near-collision with a flirtatious smile.

“Now, Darrick,” she purred, “you know that if you want to get closer, all you have to do is ask.” The look in her eyes let him know exactly what he would get if he did ask. Carmen was a very attractive woman only a couple of years Darrick’s senior, and her comment made his heart beat even faster than it already was. Rather than excited, though, Darrick felt annoyance. The woman just wouldn’t accept the fact that he was quite happily married; indeed, she seemed to see it as a challenge.

“The only person I’m asking is my wife,” he said flatly, and skirted around her as best he could; she certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Just like sleeping, he thought. There were many nights Abby caught a fit of the giggles listening to Carmen in the next room over; Darrick wasn’t convinced that her exaggerated noises weren’t at least partially for his benefit. There were several mornings-after he had caught Carmen casting surreptitious glances in his direction, attempting to gauge his reactions. Abby had called him paranoid when he had told her, probably because he had not told her of Carmen’s more forward approaches. No reason to concern her over a possibility which would never materialize; Darrick knew he would never accept Carmen’s offers.

This time, Carmen seemed content to let him pass with no more trouble, and Darrick made his way out to the street. The chill of a winter afternoon hit him like a brick wall, even here in Atlanta, and Darrick wished he had taken the time to grab his jacket. Not worth it to go back now. Walking will warm me up anyway.

He strode through the neighborhood, streets shaded by old, gnarled trees and lined by old, ivy-grown houses. He and Abby had spent many hours walking the brick sidewalks and enjoying the scenery, admiring the old houses, some of which dated back a century. It made for a nice, relaxing afternoon stroll, usually capped off by sitting by the duck pond in one of the small parks that dotted the roadsides. Today, though, Darrick’s goal was different – instead of a nice stroll, Darrick strode along at a rapid pace, eating two or more feet of distance with each step, eyes tilted downwards to the cracks in the bricks below him. Thoughts and worries about Abby and Carmen jumbled together, and in the back of his mind, ever-present, Cynthia and John and Jessica and Anthony and Richard and Meredith and Patrick and everyone else they had left behind half a year ago. Darrick missed his parents greatly, and knew that Abby missed hers as well, not to mention the friends with which they had also severed contact. Were they looking for them? Had they left any clues behind? Were they hot on their trail? And the question that never left his mind, but which he was afraid to consider: Had they made the right decision?

2010-11-23T15:03:00.003-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 23

John was doing his best to try to comfort his wife amidst the chaos surrounding them, and despite Cynthia’s disregard of his efforts, when Richard came barreling back into the room, breath heaving and face looking as though he were going to be sick. The older man grasped hold of the doorframe, holding himself up as his mouth worked silently, unable to get the air to form audible words, while around him he was ignored in favor of loud arguments and recriminations from all sides. He knows something, John thought, and it’s not good. What else could go wrong? Leaving Cynthia for the moment – It’s not like I’m helping her much anyway – he walked quickly over to help the winded priest to a chair, fighting the urge to interrogate him the entire way. It can wait a minute or two until the man’s gotten his breath back, John told himself, though his gut was urging him to faster action.

He didn’t have to wait as long as he had feared, however. As soon as Richard was in the chair, he grasped onto John’s forearm with a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him down to whisper in his ear.

“I need to talk to everyone,” he said between breaths, his urgency allowing him only the minimum time necessary to get the air to form the next word. “Get them to quiet down if you can.” Obediently, John waved his hands and shouted for everyone to shut up, that the priest needed to speak. Initially, he doubted that he would be heard or heeded, but invoking Richard’s authority brought him the respect his own outsider status would have ordinarily been denied, and the room settled down. Within a minute, every eye was on the priest as he sat, face white as a sheet and gaze wild with panic. At first, he didn’t speak, and as the crowd quickly picked up on his anxiety, murmurs began to slowly grow again, only to shut off like a spigot once he finally mustered the energy to begin.

“I’ve been consulting the texts in the Great Library,” he started, voice at first a strained whisper but gaining strength, “and I fear I have discovered something terrible.” Jessica nearly fainted at this, and her husband had to hold her steady; a low gasp spread throughout the crowd. John just felt sick to his stomach. “Abby and Darrick have run off without completing their bond. Do any of you know what that will cause?” Everyone looked around, curious to see if anyone would speak up, but all anyone gave was a shrug of ignorance. “Well, neither did I,” Richard admitted, “to my shame. In my defense, the tradition of marrying soon after the bond has matured is an ancient one, and very strong, and it has prevented this situation from arising within living memory, or maybe even in the last few centuries. So I never learned what the result would be. But I remembered reading something about it long ago, when I was still in my apprenticeship, and I was able to find it again.”

“What is it?” Anthony asked with ill-concealed impatience.

“Get on with it already, Richard,” Cynthia said, with a bit less skill in concealing. Richard nodded in acquiescence.

“The bond changes the recipients into each other’s perfect mate,” he continued, voice calm though his eyes and hands flickered restlessly. “That’s common knowledge. The completion of the bond finalizes this process. Without that completion . . .” He took a deep breath. “The bond will continue to try to change them, beyond what the human mind will allow. The mind will resist, fight back. The stress will build, slowly at first, and then increasingly faster, as the bond and the mind battle.” Richard clenched his hands together, bit his lip, and bowed his head.
“And then what?” John asked when Richard fell silent. “What happens next?” He tried to sound as encouraging as he could, but he knew his growing frustration was showing. Why couldn’t the man just spit it out?

“Madness,” Richard finally said, he own voice cracking on the word. “The stress will slowly tear their minds to pieces. I don’t know exactly how it will go or how long it will take; apparently, every person reacts differently. But their grasp on reality, on themselves, will tear more and more, until eventually their minds will be all but lost.” Jessica buried her weeping face in her husband’s chest. “And, then, not long after, death. The strain will eventually kill them.” Jessica’s wails could be heard even through Anthony’s shirt, and tears were running freely down Anthony’s face. Cynthia was still holding onto herself, but barely. John himself was wondering how much longer his legs would hold him. He couldn’t, however, shake the feeling that there was yet another shoe to drop, and until then, he would have to keep a hold of himself.

“That’s not all, is there?” he asked Richard, and even though the priest did not immediately answer, even his hesitation made the answer clear. John resisted the urge to shake the answer out of the man. He’s doing the best he can. This is hard on us all. Finally, Richard was able to respond.

“What I have to say next,” he said, “only the parents can hear. Cynthia, Anthony, Jessica. You stay with me. Everyone else, if you would please leave.”

“What?!” John exclaimed, enraged. “I’m the boy’s father, even if I’m not one of your own precious people. There’s no way in hell you’re sending me away.” Anthony started to reply, but Richard held up his hand for silence.

“You’re right, John,” he said, sounding tired and broken. “My apologies. You have every right to know as much as the rest. But everyone else must leave.” The crowds started to file out, though not without some grumblings. “That means you too, Meredith,” Richard said when Abby’s friend looked to be staying. She bowed her head in solemn acceptance and followed the crowd. “And you as well, Patrick.” Patrick almost protested, but one look from his father was enough to send him scurrying away. After hearing what Patrick had done to Darrick, John was tempted to follow him to deal out payback, but he reminded himself that there were more important things to worry about now than the behavior of a bully. Eventually, the room was empty save for the four of them, and all eyes – red-rimmed and watery though they may be – were on Richard.

“What I have to say now,” he said softly, “has been a kept secret by the priests of Atlantis for millennia. I believe that, under the circumstances, all of you have a right to know, but the information cannot leave this room.” His voice and inflection changed, and all four listeners felt themselves seized by a powerful force. “You will speak of this to no one outside this room. This knowledge will remain buried in your hearts and minds, never to be shared, directly or indirectly. This is my command.” John knew that he could never tell anyone even if he wanted to; that even if he should so much as try, the breath would freeze in his lungs and the words stick in his throat. It was a profoundly disturbing realization, and looking around at the others, he could see that the sensation was shared by all of them. If this is Atlantean magic, he thought, I’m glad I’ve been able to stay away from it until now. Only after this would Richard continue.

“Darrick is no ordinary young man,” he said. Cynthia smiled proudly, but Richard held up his hand before she could agree. “I don’t mean in just the way that every mother thinks her son is extraordinary. Darrick is the heir to the royal line. Cynthia, your House is our only remaining nobility, and even though in Atlantis you would not have normally been considered in line for the throne, with the death of all other branches of the noble Houses, the royal heritage falls to you. And with your brother’s death and your sister’s marriage into another House, Darrick is the only remaining natural heir.”

“I know that,” Cynthia said, “even if most people don’t give him the respect he’s due. That’s certainly no great secret.”

“Yes, but what you do not know is that the royal family is more than just another line of monarchs,” Richard said, a bit testy. “Nor are they the symbolic figureheads most Atlanteans treat them as nowadays.” He shook his head. “We claim to keep ourselves separate from the world, but its ideas still infect us. But that’s beside the point. Have any of you ever heard of the story of the Fisher King?”

“Wasn’t that a movie?” John asked, confused. “Robin Williams playing a crazy homeless man.” Anthony rolled his eyes.

“It’s part of the Arthurian legends, isn’t it?” Anthony said. “I don’t remember much about it, though.”

“It got incorporated into the mythos, yes,” Richard said, “but it didn’t begin there. It’s origins actually go all the way back to Atlantis. It’s a story about a king who receives a wound and is dying, and as long as the king is dying, so are the land and the people. That’s how it worked with the Atlantean kings. The health of the king was the health of the people, literally. And it still works that way today. Have none of you ever wondered at our continued survival? It’s almost unheard of in human history for a landless nation to survive, especially for thousands of years. And yet, we do. Not a single House has been lost since the Cataclysm. That’s because the royal line has never yet failed. The Cataclysm was actually the closest it’s come, but it – and we – survived by the skin of our teeth. In fact,” he continued, looking to Cynthia, “a very strong geas was laid on the royal family to do everything possible to make certain it didn’t die out. Cynthia, I’m convinced that’s why you took a husband and had a son, even though most of the exiled children never marry. You didn’t know it, but the geas was working to preserve the line.” Cynthia looked uneasy at the notion, and John felt roundly used. That’s all I am to these people, breeding stock to keep up their royal family. He beat down his anger for the moment, though; there were more important issues. His son was still in danger.

“So you’re saying,” Anthony asked, “that, if Abby and Darrick go mad and . . . die, then all the Houses will be lost?”

“Yes, but it gets even worse.” Richard clenched his hands tightly together to stop their trembling. “Because Darrick – no offense intended, John – because Darrick isn’t pure Atlantean. Based on my own studies, I believe that his mixed heritage means that the effect could be spread to the entire world, not limited to just our own people.” He looked now at Anthony and Jessica, frozen in shock. “That’s why I pushed so hard for you to accept Cynthia’s bonding request. I believed – I still believe – that if Darrick were in a loving, happy Atlantean marriage, than it could bring great things to the world at large. Maybe even a Golden Age. Worldwide peace and prosperity. I hate to admit it, but I used you and your daughter to that end.”

“Not to mention our son,” John interjected angrily.

“Darrick, too,” Richard said, “though, given his situation, he would have been used one way or another, I fear. I was at least trying to use him to achieve the best result possible.” He looked down at his hand, clenched so tightly they were almost bloodless. “But now, I fear the worst has occurred. Darrick’s happiness could have brought about a golden age. His madness . . .” He trailed off, unable to say any more, but his meaning was clear. John felt compelled to state it for him.

“You’re talking about the end of the world.”

2010-11-22T20:42:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 22

Meredith closed her phone with a heavy heart. She thought she understood Abby’s reasons for leaving, though she did not share them; as flawed as Atlantean society could be, she still found much that was noble in it and had no desire to live as part of any other. But, possibly as a result of her bonding to Darrick, Abby had always been restless, wanting to experience as much of the outside world as she could. Meredith had hoped that two years away had satisfied those yearnings, but it seemed that they had only whetted her appetite. Still, she wished her friend well, and was willing to accept her decision and wait one more year for her to truly return to the fold.

Hearing the raised voices coming from a couple of rooms over, she wondered if she could ever get Darrick’s and Abby’s parents to see it the same way. She realized that her friend probably had not realized the full magnitude of the Herculean task she had laid before her, but that wasn’t going to make the next few minutes any more pleasant. Steeling her spine, she walked down the adjoining hallway and into the main parlor, where many of the current occupants of the house were watching the drama unfold, or playing their own parts in it.

The room, large as it was, was crowded, the walls lined with silent spectators, some angry, some confused, a few openly triumphant, each according to their own positions regarding Darrick’s arrival and subsequent departure. Also standing off to the side were Reverence Dawson, looking absolutely dejected, and Patrick Martin, looking immensely agitated. Everyone’s eyes were on the three people squaring off at the center – John and Cynthia Knight against Anthony Martin, each of who were engaged in blaming the other for the disappearance of their children. Sitting in a chair off to the side was Jessica, still red-eyed from weeping.

“This would never have happened,” Anthony was saying, “if you had taken the time to install just a few Atlantean values in your son. There’s far too much of the outsider in him.” His voice was hard, proud, and angry – such a contrast from his normal kind tone.

“Do not blame Darrick for this!” Cynthia responded. Her voice quivered and her hands shook as she pointed her finger at Anthony. She was obviously poised on the narrow boundary between anger and tears. “Your daughter is the one who keeps running off. I wonder what it is she keeps running from?”

“It’s the bond with your son that makes her do it,” Anthony shot back, face red. “Our daughter is pure Atlantean. She should have been happy with us, with a good Atlantean marriage, a good Atlantean life. But this is what we get for bonding her with a . . . a . . . a half–” Cynthia screeched and leapt forward, and only John’s arms kept her from scratching her opponent’s eyes out.

“Watch what you say, Anthony,” John coldly warned, struggling to keep his wife in check. “Insult our son again, and I’ll not only let her loose, I’ll join her.”

A chorus of insults arose from several of the spectators, cries of “outsider” and “half-breed”, while the former supporters of the marriage remained rather quiet. It was obvious public opinion was turning against the Knights.

“Threaten my husband again, Cynthia,” Jessica said, standing up from her seat and standing by Anthony, “and you won’t have the chance to get to him before I take you down.” Her voice was still thick with weeping, but her narrowed eyes were now glowing with a more hostile emotion. “I can’t believe I ever listened to Dawson and bonded my daughter to your son. I’ve spent the last twenty years convincing myself I made the right decision, but here I am finding out that everyone else was right all along.”

Cynthia froze, speechless, obviously struck to the heart. John had no such obstacle.

“I have had enough of you people,” he said, placing himself between his wife and her former friend. “I’ve held my tongue for the last two weeks – hell, the last twenty years – because it was important to my wife. Well, I’m tired of putting up with you high-and-mighty types. My son is a better man than all of you, and from what I’ve seen, so is your daughter. Being bonded to my son is the best thing that ever happened to her.”

“Stay out of this,” Anthony growled. “This is Atlantean business. It stopped being an outsider concern as soon as our children were bonded.”

“He’s still my son, goddammit!” Now John’s hands were balling into fists. “I’m not going to give him up just because you people claim him.”

Meredith closed her eyes, not wanting to see or hear anymore, appalled at how little it took to bring out the worst in everyone. Maybe they were right to leave, she thought, if all this was hiding right underneath the surface. She didn’t know how she was going to get her message through, and was worried that it would just make things worse; but she had given Abby her word, and the thought of breaking it was anathema. Opening her eyes again, she saw Reverence Dawson standing off to the side. They’ll listen to him, she thought, and made her way carefully around the feuding couples to stand by the priest’s side. She had to tap him on the arm a few times before she tore his anguished attention to her, but when she whispered that she had a message from Abby and Darrick, his demeanor quickly changed. The uncertainty on his face became resolve, and he strove into the middle of the fray, arms and head held high.

“Quiet, quiet, all of you!” The restless, murmuring crowd settled down, and the Knights and Martins separated, still glaring daggers at each other, but willing to give the priest his say out of respect. Once the room was sufficiently still, Dawson motioned Meredith forward. Quelling the butterflies in her stomach as best she could, she stepped up as bidden.

“I’ve just heard from Abby,” she said, and felt some pride in keeping her voice from shaking. The room erupted again, but Dawson stilled it with another motion. Meredith quickly relayed all that Abby had told her. Hearing of the elopement and their plans to hide away for one year, Jessica looked as though she was going to be sick, Cynthia lost control of her tears and cried freely, Anthony glared even harder at the Knights, and John simply looked proud, staring triumphantly at the Atlanteans. The murmur from the crowd grew ever louder.

No one noticed that Richard blanched and ran from the room as though all the hounds of hell were at his heels.

* * * * *

Darrick stood in front of the judge, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He and Abby had waited in line for at least a couple of hours, watching pair after loving pair be escorted into the judge’s chambers to be wed, anxiously counting down the moments until their own turn. When their names had finally been called, Darrick had been so nervous that he could barely stand straight; Abby, on the other hand, had jumped up and told him to go on ahead, that she would be in straightway. Now he was left cooling his heels, occasionally making conciliatory noises to the increasingly impatient judge, assuring him that his fiancée would be along any second. He was starting to wonder about that himself when the judge’s eyes opened wide, staring at a point over Darrick’s shoulder. Darrick spun to look.

Not since he had first laid eyes upon Abby at the Presentation had his breath been so thoroughly stolen away. She was dressed in a gown of blue and green, the exact same shades he had worn to the Presentation, but with highlights on the bodice and hems of her own House colors. The bodice was cut low enough to hint at cleavage while still maintaining Atlantean standards of decency, the sleeves came to points behind the hands which joined with the trail that draped behind her. The gown clung just enough to provide an image of slender grace, transforming her into an elegant sprite to match her usual manner. To top it off, her hair was caught in a lace net of pure white, which framed her face like a halo of cloud, setting off the rosy glow of her cheeks. To say that her face shone like the Sun would have been an underestimation; she was a nova, a light to outshine galaxies. Even in his best outfit, Darrick felt dingy and unworthy in comparison, and despite everything, he once again blessed his parents for their choice.

She slowly strode up the aisle, marching to music only she could hear. When she finally took the final step to place herself beside Darrick, it was all he could do to keep himself from taking and kissing her then and there. She smiled at him, and Darrick knew that she returned the sentiment in full, despite his more ordinary appearance. They both turned to face the judge.

“Normally I frown on brides primping before the ceremony, Miss Martin, seeing as how there are people waiting,” the judge said, “but in your case, I have to admit, I’m impressed. That’s quite a unique gown.”

“It’s the traditional wedding garb of my people,” she responded, her musical accent lending truth to her claim. She looked at Darrick. “I wanted you to see me in it,” she told him, blushing at the admission.

“Th-thank you,” Darrick finally stammered out. “You look amazing.”

“Then it was worth the hour it took me to figure out how to get it all in my bags,” she quipped, but her expression was pure satisfaction.

“Good choice, Miss Martin,” the judge said. He then cleared his throat and proceeded.

“Then, if you will join hands and repeat after me: I, Darrick Knight, take you, Abigail Martin . . .”

2010-11-21T21:45:00.003-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 21

A few hours later, Abby stood in the bus station in the closest small town, crowded for the morning commute, searching for a coin to feed the pay phone. As she dug through her pockets, hoping to find some loose change, she silently cursed the necessity of abandoning their convenient cell phones, even though it had been her idea. It was her shaking hands that made the task of finding the necessary specie such an onerous one; she was nervous – no, she admitted to herself, she was terrified – of calling her best friend and trying to explain their situation. The bustling, barely-organized mob of city commuters only added to her nervous energy.

She had spent most of the drive to the station trying to put together her statement to Meredith, not to mention what message she wanted her friend to deliver to her parents. At least Darrick was sleeping most of the way; gave me plenty of time to think. I guess all the excitement of the getaway was too much for him. She glanced back at her betrothed, now lounging in a dingy chair several feet away; he met her gaze with a concerned look, and she smiled to reassure him. She had never imagined that anyone would be able to talk her into changing her entire life on a whim, but even after observing her parents for her entire life, she had no idea that the bond between a betrothed couple could be so strong. Given the choice between choosing him and choosing her family and friends, she knew she would choose him every time. She supposed that it helped that he was leaving behind almost as much as her; this was a new beginning for both of them. If I could just figure out the best way to let go if the old one.

I wonder if anyone has noticed we’re missing yet. They don’t really need the bride and groom until the ceremony, right?

She finally pulled out a quarter and dime with a triumphant flourish and slipped it into the slot. After a moment to recall Meredith’s number, with another silent curse at the lack of a cell phone’s memory, she dialed and waited with pounding heartbeat as the ringer sounded.

“Hello?” Meredith answered, obviously confused by the unknown number on her Caller ID.

“Hi, Meredith,” Abby said, feeling a little sheepish. The sharp intake of breath on the other end answered her earlier question of whether or not the two of them had yet been missed.

“Abby! By the gods . . . !” Meredith quite obviously struggled for words through her shock, and Abby had to fight down a little of her own. She wasn’t sure she had ever before heard an oath pass her gentle friend’s lips. More than anything so far, that drove home the magnitude of what they were attempting, and the utter chaos it had to be causing. In the meantime, though, there were things that needed to be said before events got too out of hand.

“Meredith, please be quiet,” she hissed, keeping her own voice low as an example, though her instincts were urging her to shriek. “Is there anyone else around who could have heard you?”

“No, I’m by myself,” Meredith answered, quickly picking up on the situation. “Everyone’s running around trying to figure out what happened to the two of you. Except for your mother, that is. She’s curled up on her bed in tears.” Abby winced at the implied accusation. She knew it was the closest Meredith would get to an outright rebuke, and it hurt her to think of her friend unhappy with her, especially when she couldn’t deny it was somewhat legitimate. “Did you and Darrick run away? Where are you?”

“We’re at the bus station in town,” she replied, keeping to the facts for now so she could be certain she got in everything she needed to say. “You can tell my parents they can pick up the car there.”

“The bus station? Where are you going?”

“I’m very sorry, Meredith, but I can’t tell you that. Darrick and I want to live on our own for one year. We’ll be back after that, but until then, we don’t want to be found.”

“And you’re saying that what I don’t know, I can’t tell?” Meredith sounded hurt.

“I don’t want you to have to lie for us,” Abby reassured her. Abby felt an urge to tell her friend everything, just to have one other person to share their secret, and to lessen the rejection she feared Meredith might be feeling. But she realized Meredith was absolutely right, as unpleasant as it was: what she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell.

“Why are you doing this, Abby?” The pain in Meredith’s voice was now unmistakable. “You just got back from living away from us for two years. Are we so horrible?”

“No, never,” she said as emphatically as she could. “I love all of you, and I’ll miss all of you. Well, except maybe Patrick. But Darrick and I want to live our own lives for a while. We want to find out who we are before we have everyone else telling us who we’re supposed to be.”

“That sounds very familiar.”

“Now you know where I got it from. There’s something else, too, that’s on my mind, even if it might not be on Darrick’s. Meredith, Patrick attacked Darrick yesterday. He’s alright – it was just a punch to the stomach – but I’m afraid for Darrick’s safety if we stay.”

“I see,” Meredith said slowly, absorbing the information. There was silence for a few more moments, then she went on. “So you really are running away." Another pause. "You’ll be living with Darrick for a year?” Meredith wasn’t going to come right out and ask, but Abby picked up on the tacit inquiry.

“Don’t worry, we’re still getting married. We’re stopping by a courthouse on the way to get married by a judge.”

“I suppose that’s something. I don’t think your parents will see it that way, though. And Darrick’s mother is on a rampage.”

“I hate to ask you to be the bearer of bad news, but I called hoping that you could tell them all of this.” Wow, how cowardly does that sound? Abby thought.

“I’ll do it,” Meredith said without hesitation, and Abby mentally blessed her friend, wondering if she were worthy of such devotion. “You know they won’t be happy about it, but hopefully knowing a little bit is better than nothing at all. Is this the last I’m going to hear from you for a year?”

“Probably,” Abby replied, already feeling the loss. She knew Meredith had been looking forward to spending a lot of time together now that she was back from San Francisco, and she had reciprocated the sentiment. A petty part of her hoped Darrick knew everything she was giving up for him; she wasn’t proud of the feeling. “But I promise you a good, long conversation one year from today. By then, I’m sure I’ll need a girl’s night out.”

“I’ll hold you to that. No last minute change of plans!” Meredith chuckled. It sounded a bit forced, but Abby appreciated the attempt. “And I’m going to do my best to keep this secret from Brendan. I’m looking forward to my fancy wedding, and I don’t want him getting any ideas.”

“Like you don’t have him wrapped around your little finger.” Abby smiled, though she was experiencing something much more bittersweet. “I should probably go,” she continued, looking at her watch. “Our bus is leaving soon, and Darrick wants to call his best friend.”

“Good luck, Abby. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

* * * * *

From his seat across the crowded terminal, Darrick watched Abby talk with Meredith on the phone. It was obvious from her body language that it was an uncomfortable conversation, or at least an unhappy one. He felt guilty about that. He had mentioned that to Abby while driving, and she had told him in no uncertain terms that he could not take responsibility for her actions; her choices were hers alone. Still, he was well aware of what he was asking her to give up.
Eventually she finished and walked back over to the seats they had chosen an hour before, almost collapsing into the molded plastic. She rubbed her forehead with her palm, and Darrick laid his palm upon her leg in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. She was silent for a minute or so.

“That’s done,” she finally said in a voice revealing her drained state, fighting to hold in the emotion. “I think she understood, in the end.”

Darrick put his arm around her and she leaned into him, resting. Darrick still marveled at her voice, even though they had been speaking English for the last few hours, ever since they decided it would be better to speak the language of the world in which they had decided to live. Darrick had become so used to speaking Atlantean that he hadn’t realized until then that he had never heard Abby speak another tongue, and the first time she had spoken English he had been taken aback. She was perfectly intelligible, but she had a definite accent, lilting and musical. He had not expected it, and it had brought home to him that his wife, for all her experience with the wider world, was the product of a different culture; Atlantean, not English, was her native language. He had mentioned it, and she had laughed.

“You should have heard me when I first moved to San Francisco,” she had told him. “People had to keep asking me to repeat myself. I had a real problem with word order.” Darrick understood that; Atlantean was a heavily inflected language where word order was much less important. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that she still had some problems when she got emotional. He loved hearing her accent, though.

“Are you okay?” he asked her now, after letting her rest for a minute. She took his hand, kissed it, and laid it in her lap with her own on top.

“Will I be,” she replied, and Darrick wasn’t sure if it was a question or a grammatical error. “I want to ask you to stay with me, but I know you want to call your friend. Go, say your goodbyes. Fine I will be until you return.” At least that was unambiguously clear.

With a final caress of her shoulder, Darrick stood up and made his own way over to the phone. According to the station clock, they had about ten minutes before they had to board their chosen bus. Darrick didn’t have much experience with buses and didn’t know how rigorous the schedule was, but he didn’t want to take chances. In fact, taking the bus for an elopement reminded him more of the end of The Graduate than any real-life experience; he could only hope the resemblance ended there.

2010-11-20T23:26:00.006-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 20

Darrick held her motionless for a while longer as the import of her word slowly sunk in. His heart pounded. It had been a stroke of inspiration, a flash of an idea that had sounded better and better to him to him as he had talked it through, but until Abby had said “yes” it hadn’t seemed quite real. A part of him had even hoped she might talk him out of it so that he wouldn’t have to follow through on what was an exciting but increasingly scary notion. But now that she had consented, he felt committed. This was going to happen; his life was going to change. Well, he thought, it was going to change tomorrow anyway. It’s just going to change a bit more than I originally thought. As committed as he was, though, he had no idea of how to go about it.

“So, when do you want to do this?” Abby asked quietly, her head still resting on his chest.

“As soon as possible,” Darrick answered, relieved she had asked a question to which he knew the answer. “Today. Or tonight, I suppose, if we’re going to be sneaking out. Didn’t I say that?”

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” she said. After another second, she pulled back and looked him in the eye. “Can we do that? What about the bond?”

“What are you talking about? We’re already bonded.”

“No,” Abby said, looking increasingly concerned. “Richard will complete the bond at the wedding.”

“What does that mean?” Darrick’s head was beginning to hurt.

“When an Atlantean couple is married, the priest completes the bond between them. My parents say that the difference between a simply matured and a completed bond is like the difference between a dictionary and an encyclopedia. We’ll be united in a way that other couples cannot even imagine. If we just elope, the bond won’t be completed. Can we wait?”

Now that she mentioned it, Darrick thought he could remember his mother saying something of the nature, but it had been buried in the deluge of information to which he had been subjected over the last few days. But now that he had been reminded, Darrick wasn’t sure how to respond. He was afraid that, if they waited, that they would never get out. The wedding loomed in his mind as the final thread in the net. But this bond completion certainly sounded important, at least to Abby, which made it important to him. But we have to do this now. If we don’t, if we overthink it, we’ll lose our nerve.

“The bond will still be there in a year’s time,” he told her. “Right now, I’m happy with what we’ve got; it’s already much more than most couples get. I hate to ask you to wait, but can you be happy with what we have for just one year more?” Abby bowed her head as she thought it through as Darrick waited, barely breathing, feeling as though his entire future rested on her decision. Finally, she nodded.

“Very well,” she said. “I can wait a year, for you. For us.” She stayed close to him for a few moments longer, then Darrick could feel her pull herself together, physically and mentally. She stepped back, suddenly all business. Darrick blinked at her sudden change in demeanor, but it wasn’t too surprising. He had seen this mood in her before when dealing with the wedding. Abby could be incredibly pragmatic when necessary, far more so than he himself.

“If we’re going to do this," she began as she started to pace the room, "we have to plan very carefully. We can’t do anything that could allow them to track us, and my parents have a lot of resources and favors they can call in.” She laughed, and it sounded a little bitter. “For all of their talk of the terrors of the outer world, they have no problem with making their own contacts in it when it serves their purposes. And they have the money to make things happen. If we really don’t want to be found, we’ll have to leave our cell phones behind. And no mail, either on computer or paper; it can be tracked. And we can’t tell anybody where we’re going, not even Roger or Meredith. I don’t want to put either of them in the position of having to lie for us.”

Darrick felt a bit taken aback by that. The idea of leaving his parents in the dark was unpleasant, though recent conflicts had made it easier than it would have been. But going without the support of his best friend was almost unthinkable; the two of them hadn’t been out of contact for more than a week since middle school. And Abby obviously shared his unease, her voice dropping when she mentioned keeping her old friend in the dark.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, shoulders slumping slightly. “I didn’t think of that. Still, we should at least tell them that we are going. They don’t have to know where.” Abby appeared substantially cheered by the comment.

“Yes, you’re right, we can.” The thought re-energized her. “In fact, we’ll use Meredith as our note. Once we’re far enough away, sometime tomorrow, we’ll call her from a payphone on the road and tell her what’s going on. She can tell our parents for us.” She looked pleased with her idea. “Much better than leaving an impersonal note.” She smiled sadly. “And it will give me the chance to say a proper goodbye. You can do the same with Roger." She stopped her pacing as one final idea formed.

“One more thing. I don’t want you to have to work to support me. If we’re going to be spending this year alone together, I don’t want to have to share you with some menial job.” She took his hands in a downright proprietary gesture. “I’ve still got all that money saved up from my parents. We’ll take some of it out and live on it for a year. All cash, so we can’t be found through the bank.”

“Abby,” Darrick protested. “I don’t want to live off your savings. I’m no moocher. I know my mother thought that I could just live off your family’s money, but I want to contribute.” Abby’s grin grew larger, and she gave him a quick hug.

“I know you do,” she said, “and that makes me proud to have such an honest man for my betrothed. I don’t want to live off my parents’ money for the rest of our lives either. But think of this as our wedding gift, my gift to you.” She sighed regretfully. “Since it’s certainly going to be the only one we’re going to get.”

“I’m sorry,” Darrick said, feeling guilty. “This wedding . . . it’s something you’ve wanted for your entire life, isn’t it? And I want you to run away from it. You can still change your mind, you know. I’ll understand.” Abby placed her finger across his lips, silencing him.

“No, my love,” she said, her tone firm. “You’re more important to me. The marriage is more important than the wedding. And I think you’re right, this is what the marriage needs. If for no other reason than Patrick might actually kill you if we stick around.”

“Do you really think he’d do that?” Darrick asked, panicked.

“Probably not,” Abby admitted. “But it’s obvious to me that you’re not happy here, and if we do end up spending the rest of our lives together as Atlantean nobility, it’s probably only fair to spend the first year of it in your world. Think of it as a wedding exchange program. I think the rest of them will understand, eventually, though we might have to do a lot of explaining when we first come back. For the first fifty years or so would be my guess.” Abby grimaced ostentatiously. “So, where do we go?”

Darrick blinked, surprised that such an obvious concern had been so far from his mind. He thought for a second, then grinned, almost laughing at his own cleverness.

“Oh, I know the perfect place.”

* * * * *

Late that night, two shadowy figures emerged from the front entrance of the house, moving as stealthily as possible. The night was still, as was every night this far up into the mountains, and they cringed at every creaking step, every crunch their shoes made against the gravel and concrete upon which they walked. Each carried only a couple of small bags, containing what would be the entirety of their lives for the next year. They made their way over to the side building where the vehicles of all the guests were being housed and opened the large door, wincing at the loud sound it made as it slid up and back. They stood frozen for a minute, but after no lights flickered on and no noise emerged from the inner regions of the house, they relaxed and entered. They switched on a small flashlight and quickly located the object of their search, an elegant but spacious four-door sedan resting near the far end. With the touch of a button, the headlights flickered and the doors unlocked, and they slid their bags into the back seat.

“Are you sure that’s all you need?” Darrick asked, looking at the surprisingly small size of Abby’s luggage. Abby made a face at him.

“Believe it or not, Darrick,” she said in mock lecture, “not all women require a fleet of suitcases to carry their entire wardrobe every time they travel. I’m quite capable of packing light.”

“But this is for a year,” Darrick responded. “Are you sure you don’t need any more? Not that I’m complaining, you understand.” Abby shook her head.

“This year is supposed to be a new start for us. I didn’t want to take along a hundred different reminders of my old life. They’ll all be waiting for me when we get back. Until then, I have you, and I can be happy with just that.” She gave him a loving smile, and Darrick returned it, feeling his face aglow. “I do have the important stuff, like the marriage license.” She cocked her eyebrow at Darrick, and he blushed. They had picked up the license a few days before – Atlantean weddings might be secretive, but they were also legal – and had completely forgotten about it when it came time to pack up. He was glad Abby appeared to be a bit more on top of things. He at least had done the research required to know where they could stop along their route to find a judge to marry them, so that at least helped him to feel a little less embarrassed.
They slid into the car, Abby taking the driver’s seat, seeing as it was her parents’ vehicle they were appropriating, and her set of keys they were using. It wasn’t stealing; they would leave it at the bus station and would let Meredith know where to find it when they called her. Knowing that they weren’t actually committing a felony – well, not for more than just a few hours anyway – kept this late-night getaway exciting, not guilty. They looked at each other, excitement mixed with apprehension clear on their faces, and each took a deep breath.

“Are we ready?” Abby asked.

“Let’s go,” Darrick replied, feeling the thumping of blood in his ears. “On to Atlanta.”

2010-11-19T19:12:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 19

Darrick tried to hide his condition as he walked carefully into Abby’s room, but one look at his face and she knew something was wrong.

“Darrick!” she exclaimed, dropping the article of clothing she was putting away and stepping quickly to his side. “What happened? You look terrible.” She took his arm and led him to the bed, insisting he lie down. She pulled up a chair and sat next to him before she would finally allow him to speak. As much as he hated to alarm her, Darrick was grateful for the chance to lie down; his stomach was still far from recovered, and he had to keep forcing the bile back down his throat as his torso muscles ached abominably.

“It was Patrick,” he finally told her, after catching his breath. “He caught me alone in the Library and got a bit . . . physical.” The memory of it almost brought his gorge up again. Abby’s mien darkened.

“How dare he,” she hissed. “We can’t let him get away with this. I’ll tell Father and get him to put a stop to it right now.” She made to get up, but Darrick caught her by the wrist.

“No!” he said, a little too emphatically, as he had to catch his breath once again after expending it all on a single word. “There’s no point to that. Your parents stepping in will just make him more crafty about the next attack. I’ve been thinking about this, and I think it might have been a mistake threatening him with your parents the last time. Patrick’s a bully, and the only way to respond to that is to take care of him yourself.” Abby sat back in her chair, but looked doubtful.

“I see what you’re saying, Darrick, but . . .” She trailed off, but Darrick could complete the sentence in his head.

“Don’t worry. He just caught me off guard this time. I wasn’t expecting a fist in the gut. Next time, I’ll be more prepared.” Abby frowned.

“I don’t want there to be a next time,” she said. “What if he’s not alone?”

“I think he will be,” Darrick said. “Before, when he only wanted to intimidate me, he brought a bunch of people with him. But I think he would rather deal with me with his own two hands. And I’ll be ready.” The bed was helping; the pain in his gut was slowly receding. He took Abby’s hand and gave it a slight pull, a silent invitation to join him. Within a few seconds, she was curled up at his side, careful not to disturb the bed any more than necessary.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this,” she whispered in his ear.

“I’m sorry your brother’s such a bastard,” he responded. “You’ve had to deal with him for a lot longer than I have. Please don’t blame yourself for any of this. Right now, you might be the only bright spot in my life.” He told her of the argument between he and his mother that had led to this situation; by the time he was done, his ire was once again raised, but at least his stomach was feeling much better.

“I understand how you feel,” Abby told him once his story was done. “My parents and I had several fights when I told them I was going to leave. Admittedly, they couldn’t hold the threat of noblesse oblige over my head, but they did tell me all the horrible things that could happen to a poor, innocent Atlantean girl off by herself in the City of Sin. All ridiculously overblown, of course. I mean, I only spent my first week walking the streets as a crack-addicted hooker.” Darrick chuckled, which felt nice even as it hurt slightly.

“I thought the hookers were all into meth these days?”

“See, that’s how bad I was at it. I couldn’t even manage to get hooked on the popular drugs.”

Smiling, Darrick pulled her closer, running his fingers through her long, dark hair, marveling at its smoothness.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you,” he said idly. “My mother must have been particularly lucky on the day she picked you. You’re perfect for me.” For the first time in days, he felt a perfect peace, happy to stay in this moment forever. His eyeslids started to drift shut.

“Well, that’s hardly a coincidence,” Abby said in a playful tone. “That’s what the bond does.” Darrick reopened one lid.

“How do you mean?” he asked, mildly confused.

Abby propped herself up on one elbow to get a better look at his face.

“You mean, no one ever explained the bond to you?” She looked surprised.

“Not in detail, no,” Darrick said, “but I figured it out. It makes us fall in love when it matures, right? I have to admit, I was a bit disturbed by that at first, but it didn’t take me long to realize that we’re so right for each other that it would have happened anyway. The bond just got it started a little quicker is all.” Darrick felt disquiet beginning to grow in him, disrupting that precious peace he had held for such a short time. “You mean there’s more?”

Abby nodded. “The bond does more than just make us fall in love. The bond shapes us over our entire lives, molding our desires so that we will see our bondmate as the perfect partner. It also changes us so that we each become the ideal mate for the other. It’s a complicated process, and I haven’t studied it in depth, but the bond changes both who we are and what we want so that we will be as compatible as humanly possible.” Darrick’s sense of peace was shattered completely, and he sat up, wincing only a little bit at his body’s protestations.

“You’re telling me that the bond actually changes us?” he asked. “That I’m a different person than I would have been without it?” He tried to keep his voice level, but some of his anger must have come through, for Abby only nodded in response, her eyes wide with concern.

Darrick felt overwhelmed with this new information; so many things he had heard since arriving – little snippets of conversation, minor statements which had confused him – now all made perfect sense. How Patrick could blame him for his sister leaving home, how Abby could wonder if Elizabeth or Patrick were responsible for the prejudices and attitude they both shared. How his mother could claim that all Atlantean marriages were happy, were perfect. It all snapped together in his mind, leading to one very disturbing conclusion. Suddenly, Patrick’s physical attack was as nothing next to the sense of violation he felt now. I was afraid before that Richard might have been messing with my mind. Now I know that he’s been doing it all my life! How dare they?! They’ve played with me like I was some toy to be bent and shaped to their will. How can I be sure of anything anymore? Everything I think or feel might only be because of their magic? Am I even a real person anymore, or just an automaton? He got out of bed and paced the room, trying to drive down the rising panic he was feeling.

“Darrick,” Abby said, her voice showing her own concern, “please speak to me. You look horrible. Tell me what you’re thinking. I thought you knew this already.”

Darrick looked at her, now sitting cross-legged on the bed, naked fear on her face, and his heart melted. The anger was still there, but he couldn’t direct it at her. He still loved her, no matter what. Maybe he should be angry about that as well, but he couldn’t manage it. She looked too vulnerable, too precious, to ever hurt. He sat down in the chair she had pulled up for herself and took her hands in his own.

“Please don’t be afraid, love,” he said passionately. “I’m not angry at you. You aren’t responsible for any of this. You’re as much a victim as I am.”

“Victim?” Abby said, appalled. “You think we – the two of us together – are some sort of crime?” Now she sounded a bit angry herself.

“No!” I mean, not exactly. I mean . . . I’m not sure how to say it.” Darrick stumbled over his words, frustrated, not exactly sure of the emotion he was feeling or exactly where it was directed. “Doesn’t it bother you that your mind and your heart have been . . . tampered with, not just recently but over your entire life? Do you think anyone has the right to do that, even if the results are good?” Darrick looked deep into her eyes, but Abby averted them for a few moments, unsure of what to say. Then she seemed to make up her mind, and turned her head back to face him.

“Do they have the right to do it?” she said. “I don’t know. Maybe not. But every parent attempts to shape their own child; ours just have more direct methods than most.” She looked unsure at her last statement. “I suppose that doesn’t necessarily make it right. But I do know that it’s our experiences, at least in part, that make us who we are, and we don’t get to choose those. And, Darrick, I like who I am. I’m happy with myself, and I would not be the person I am if it weren’t for my bond to you. Do you think that you would be a better person without me?”

“No, no, I don’t,” Darrick admitted, “but the ends don’t justify the means. They can’t. Look at Patrick and Elizabeth. Did the bond do him any favors, or did it twist him into a monster?” The grief on Abby’s face made Darrick very quickly regret that he had chosen that particular example, as apropos as it might have been. “Abby, they don’t have the right to mess with people’s lives like that.” His earlier argument with his mother popped up in his memory. “It’s just one more example of how they want to control our lives, but we can’t let them do it. We have to be our own people, first and foremost. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“I do, Darrick,” Abby said. “Why do you think I left in the first place? But I don’t want out of our bond. Do you?”

“No, of course not!” Darrick responded. “But we can’t let this continue. If we don’t do something soon, they’re going to have our entire life plotted out for us, with no room for escape. I want us to live our life, Abby, not theirs.”

“So what do you think we should do?”

Darrick could tell the question was real, not rhetorical, and it wasn’t one he was quite ready for. He stood up and walked over to the window, looking out on the mountains in the distance. Their majestic peaks called to him, singing of the beauty of independence and freedom, an independence that felt increasingly out of their grasp. His thoughts circled and circled, never quite finding a resting place, never quite settling on a solution, much as they had earlier in the Library. After a minute of this, he felt Abby’s light touch on his shoulder, then she settled into the crook of his arm as they gazed out the window together. Her presence calmed and centered his mind, and an answer crystallized, appearing fully formed. It was bold, under other circumstances almost inconceivable, but it offered a way out, if Abby would accept it.

“We leave,” he said. “We disappear. Get away from all of this and go live our own life of our own choosing. We’ll get a judge to marry us and make our own home in some city far from here, with no contact with anyone Atlantean.” Abby looked at him in absolute surprise, and Darrick felt a little surprised at himself, but the more he told of his idea, the more it solidified in his mind’s eye. “No one can know where we’re going, and we can’t let anyone know we’re leaving. They’ll only try to talk us out of it, or use methods stronger than that.”

“I can’t do that to my parents or my friends, Darrick,” Abby said with a shake of her head. “I can’t disappear without a trace. That would scare them to death.”

“We’ll leave a note or something telling them we’re eloping,” Darrick responded, warming to his topic. “Not enough so that they’ll be able to follow us, but enough for them to know we’re okay. We just can’t let them trace us.”

Abby was still shaking her head. “Darrick, think about what you are saying. You’re proposing we drop our entire lives and families and start somewhere completely new. What about your schooling? You still have two more years left. Are you just going to abandon it? And I don’t want my parents to live the rest of their lives never knowing where I am or how I am doing. Surely you feel the same about yours. Darrick, I understand what you are feeling, but this is no solution.”

“No, you’re right,” he said, realizing the import of what he had been suggesting. “I wouldn’t want to do that to my family either. But maybe it doesn’t have to be forever. Give me one year. One year to ourselves, one year away from all these obligations and duties. One year we can just be free. I can take a year off from school, get a job to support us. You can be the artist you want to be, and I can be your adoring husband. We’ll be like a million other young married couples just getting started, with nothing in the world to concern us except each other. Then, after that, we’ll come back and see where to go from there. Is that something you can do?”

Abby was silent for a long while, but Darrick could read the struggle on her face. He knew that she had loved her two years on her own, and though she didn’t regret coming back for her wedding, she had wanted more. He also knew he was asking her to turn her back on everything she was raised to think, even if only temporarily. He watched the two forces struggle in her eyes, and saw the decision made. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close as she whispered her conclusion.

“Yes.”

2010-11-18T21:10:00.005-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 18

The countdown continued on, day by day, and Darrick began to feel himself the calm center of a whirlwind of activity. He and Abby spent a great deal of free time in the company of Meredith and her own betrothed, a quiet young man named Brendon, but Darrick also found himself spending more time with his mother, begin drilled in his role in the wedding ceremony as Abby took care of the bride’s affairs. It was during one of these sessions the very day before the wedding that Cynthia let slip her expectations of Darrick and Abby’s future.

“I still have two more years of school, at least,” Darrick protested. “I am not cutting it short to move halfway across the country.”

“You have more important things to worry about than college now,” Cynthia retorted, arms folded across her chest. “Do you really think Abby will be happy leaving everyone and everything she knows so you can complete what is, let’s face it, a rather pointless degree?”

“She’s done it before,” he said. He ignored the comment about his degree; that was one discussion he’d had several times before. “She would have stayed away longer if it weren’t for the bond pulling her back. She’s already told me that she’s willing to move anywhere I need to go.” Cynthia snorted.

“The two of you really are perfect for each other,” she said, “though I’m worried it might be in all the wrong ways. It doesn’t matter what Abby said. You have responsibilities now you can’t walk away from.”

“I didn’t ask for those responsibilities. I don’t want them.”

“You don’t get that choice!” Cynthia’s voice rose in frustration. “How many times must I say this? You are the leader of our people; you were born into it. We are the last remnant of the royal family, not a direct descendant, but the closest left. Our people have gone almost twenty years without the noble family to lead them. It’s time you took back your rightful place.”

Darrick almost laughed in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed. “Mom, half of these people barely tolerate me, when they don’t outright hate me. They see my marriage – hell, my very existence – as a complete affront. And the others may like me or even respect me, but I’m still virtually a stranger to them. How am I supposed to lead them?”

“That is my fault, I admit,” Cynthia said with a sigh. “I should never have given in to your father. If I hadn’t, you could have been raised in this, trained in your role. You would have known your place from the very beginning, and so would they.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Darrick said. “The ones who hate me would still hate me. I would still be a half-breed.”

“Don’t call yourself that!” Cynthia said, taking him by the arms. Darrick wasn’t sure if she was going to embrace or shake him. “You are the legitimate heir to an ancient noble family. You are the rightful-born leader of our people, if you would just accept it. You are not a half-breed!” She looked close to tears, but Darrick didn’t know what to say to comfort her. Instead, he stepped back, breaking her contact.

“Yes, Mom, I am. ‘Half-breed’ is exactly what I am.” Cynthia’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out. “I’m caught halfway between your world and my own. If it weren’t for Abby, I would leave your world altogether. I can’t leave her, but I don’t want any part of the rest of it.”

“You . . . you can’t just take her, Darrick,” Cynthia said, her voice rough. “Running away from who you are, from who she is, won’t change anything. I know you don’t want it. Being a leader is frightening, especially when it’s new, but sometimes you don’t get to choose your responsibilities. Sometimes you’re born into them. Accept that, and become the man you were born to be. Become a man Abby can be truly proud of.” Darrick’s bile rose at that last statement.

“That’s pretty low, Mom,” he said coldly. “Abby’s proud of me, she loves me, for who I am. Not who she thinks she can turn me into. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from that.”

Darrick turned and stalked out of the room, leaving Cynthia caught between tears and fury.

* * * * *

An hour later, Darrick sat in the Great Library, still cooling down from the argument. There was a serenity to the Library, especially when it was deserted, that Darrick hoped would help him regain his mental equilibrium. It would have been more helpful had he been able to read any of the contents, to lose himself in some ancient tome, but the last couple of weeks had been busy enough without adding reading lessons to the mix. But even without the added distraction, the Library was soothing, calm, a shelter from the teeming activity of the rest of the house.

And yet, after an hour, he was still angry. He wasn’t just angry at his mother for trying to control his life. He wasn’t just angry at himself for hurting her. He wasn’t just angry at his life in general that would put him into such a no-win situation. He wasn’t just angry with Patrick and his gang for keeping him from ever feeling a moment of true peace. He was angry with an entire society, a society built on duty and obligation and ancient traditions with no relevance in the real, modern-day world. A society obsessed with keeping alive a long-dead civilization to the point where their own children were terrified and ignorant of the world around them. A society that simultaneously both hated and revered him, so that he never knew where he stood, never could find a place to stand. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was angry at Abby, for tying him to this society with an unbreakable cord, even though she had done everything she could to keep that tie as loose as possible. The walls encircling him felt as though they were closing in, caging him, entrapping him in this world he could never completely escape. And all he wanted at the moment, desperately, was to escape. Fly away, he and Abby together, somewhere they could never find them. To live their own life, together, where they were masters of their own fate. But with every passing day, that dream felt farther away, and he feared that after tomorrow, it would be dead forever. He felt certain that, once he and Abby were married, they would never be allowed to live their own lives again. Both futures they had envisioned for themselves before the Presentation would be gone for good. And yet, leaving the marriage behind was not an option. He would give up his own soul before leaving Abby behind; indeed, he felt that his soul was exactly what he would lose if he left her. So the thoughts spun round and round in his mind, unresolved and – he feared – unresolvable.

So caught up was he in his thoughts that he didn’t hear or sense the footfalls behind him until he saw the shadow fall over his shoulder. Startled, he jumped to his feet and turned, to see Patrick standing within arms-length of the chair in which Darrick had been sitting. He was alone.

“This isn’t the time, Patrick,” Darrick growled, his usual nervousness at such a confrontation overridden by his annoyance. “Go away and bother me some other day.”

“I’m afraid I shall have to refuse your gracious request, my lord,” Patrick said, the honorific dripping with sarcasm, as he walked around the chair to face Darrick closer. “I hear you plan to take my poor little sister away with you.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Darrick was startled, and wondered for a moment if Patrick had some secret Atlantean magic that allowed him to read minds, to see what had been going through Darrick’s head.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” Patrick responded. “I would suggest you keep that in mind. There is nothing you or my sister can say or do that won’t eventually make its way back to me.” He smiled in a particularly unnerving fashion, and returned to his previous topic. “Normally I wouldn’t mind it if my sister ran off with some unlucky sap she’s managed to dupe. It would serve her right when our parents finally realized what an ungrateful tramp she really is.”

“I will not allow you to speak of her that way,” Darrick said in the most threatening tone he could manage, and took a step forward so that he and Patrick were nose to nose, only inches apart. He pulled himself up as tall as he could, firmly aware of the couple of inches Patrick had on him. “Insult me all you like; I don’t expect anything better from the likes of you. But if you say one more word against my betrothed, I will make you eat it.” Darrick was shaking with fury, but to his mortification, Patrick just seemed to be stifling a laugh.

“Oh, I’m not hear to insult you or my precious sister. I’m just here to deliver a message.” Suddenly, Darrick felt as though a car had hit him in the stomach; massive pain exploded in his belly, and in an instant, he found himself curled up on the floor, fighting with all his might to keep his last meal confined within him. He punched me in the gut! Oh, god, he’s strong. He was only faintly aware of Patrick leaning down on one knee to whisper in his ear.

“Leave. Now. Alone. Or this is only a taste of what you will receive. I cannot allow my sister to be carried off by a mongrel like you, even though she is a pain. We true Atlanteans protect our own.”

His footsteps echoed through the Library as he left, and Darrick’s groans echoed loudly in his own ears.

2010-11-17T21:22:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 17

Darrick understood what Abby meant as soon as he met Meredith. It wasn’t that she was on the prowl for a relationship; she was simply the kind of person almost everyone immediately likes, open and friendly. She and Abby flew into each other’s arms as soon as they caught a glimpse of each other, exclaiming that it had been too long for the both of them. Meredith immediately asked after Darrick, and upon introduction, made the customary obeisance, then greeted him as an old friend. The three of them did not get much chance to talk alone, however, for Meredith was almost instantly surrounded by a circle of friends, and he and Abby stepped back to allow the other greeters access.

“She’s very popular,” Darrick observed to Abby, sotto voce.

“More so than I,” Abby replied, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s what comes of being nice to everyone.”

“And you’re not?” Darrick feigned horror, and Abby smirked silently.

Watching, Darrick could see what Abby meant. If Meredith possessed Abby’s quick and somewhat sarcastic wit, she didn’t show it; she never made a comment at another’s expense and never appeared anything but genuinely delighted to talk with anyone who greeted her. After his experiences of the past few days, Darrick found it refreshing, but he thought it might get tedious to him in the long run. Meredith might be more pleasant, but in the long run, he felt Abby was much more fun.

Still, pleasant went a long way, and Darrick found himself still enjoying the company as he and Abby sat with a group of Meredith’s friends around a fireplace late that evening. The fire was going just enough to provide some light to the dark room, casting everyone in flickering shadow. Darrick was starting to recognize faces and names, and he recognized everyone in the group as being among those who had accepted him the most readily, treating him with nothing but respect. Meredith’s group was mostly unmarried, though most of them had paired off into bonded couples. The only exception were Tristan and Brianna, who were the technical chaperones for the group, though it was easy to forget that, as they blended easily with the rest of the group. They are newlyweds, Darrick remembered, realizing that it probably wasn’t that long ago that they had been just another unmarried but bonded pair.

Darrick wondered what it was like for these couples. They had grown up together, probably been friends or acquaintances for their whole lives, with never any doubt of with whom they would end up. He understood that situations like that still happened the world over, but here there was something more – the mystical bond. Not only did they know their future mate, but they knew that when the time was right, they would fall madly for each other. It wasn’t a question of if, but when. Darrick and Abby were the only ones in the group who were currently in that betwixt-and-between state of having a mature bond and yet remaining unmarried, but the others didn’t seem much less devoted than they. Maybe they just figure it’s inevitable, he thought. If you know any other relationship is ultimately doomed to failure, than why bother starting it? Might as well start getting a head start on the one you know will succeed. Even more surprising to Darrick was that none of them appeared to be a couple out of duty; they all acted genuinely fond of each other, without even any resentment over the fact that there had been no choice in the matter. But if that’s what you’re used to, and everyone around you is living the same way, I suppose you just accept it. Darrick had to acknowledge that the question of choice had seemed pretty unimportant to him as well once he had met Abby; there was no other option in his mind now but her. But he wasn’t about to surrender his free will for anything else.

The conversation ran from topic to topic, trivial to critical, as conversation often does amongst old friends. Eventually, inevitably, it wound up focused on Darrick and Abby’s upcoming nuptials. One thing Darrick noticed is that no one asked about the ceremony, the dress, the music – Atlantean weddings were proscribed by tradition, and so the topics that would have most interested friends in the outside world were here foregone conclusions. To Darrick’s great discomfort, the greatest unknown in this case was he himself, and he found himself describing his past life in great detail, which proved to be a topic of great interest to the assembled company, especially some of the younger members.

“Is it true,” asked Annie Jordan, blushing, “that outsiders are always going to . . . well, you know . . . sex parties?” Darrick didn’t know how to respond at first, not sure if she was being serious.

“What?” he finally managed to get out. “Why would you think that?”

“Well . . .” she began, looking embarrassed, “outsiders are always supposed to be having sex with each other. And taking drugs, too. I mean, that’s what my parents say. That I should be careful around outsider boys because they just want one thing.” She looked around at the others, seeking support. There were a few scattered chuckles, partially suppressed, but no one spoke up to correct her.

“Go ahead and tell her, Darrick,” Abby said. “Maybe she’ll believe you. I’ve never been able to get through to her.”

“I don’t disbelieve you, Abby,” Annie protested. “But maybe you just didn’t get invited to those kinds of things.” Her wide-eyed protestations looked completely innocent to Darrick. He realized then that, of everyone in the room, she was the only one without a companion. Darrick supposed it was possible that her bonded mate just happened to be elsewhere, but he suspected it was something else. She’s a younger sibling, he thought. A third or fourth child, or later. Someday soon, she’s going to be forced out into that wider world, with no preparation or knowledge, just so that the Houses can stay small enough to be secret. A sacrifice for the ‘greater good’. Looking, Darrick could see the deadly seriousness behind the question, and the fear.

“I don’t think there are a lot of sex parties going on,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Not since the Seventies, anyway. And no one’s going to force you into one if you don’t want.” He hoped that he had gotten through, but her serious expression didn’t change.

“And it’s not like Atlantean boys don’t also just want one thing,” Brianna said, looking up at Tristan from where she sat at his feet, leaning back on his leg. Snaking her arm around his calf, she pinched him playfully on the thigh; Tristan jumped and caught her hand and held it.

“And Atlantean girls are all too good about keeping it,” Tristan said. “Maybe I should have tried a few outsider girls first.” Brianna pinched him harder with her free hand. “Though I’m sure it’s better this way.” There was a bit of croak to his voice at the last.

“You see what I have to put up with,” Abby said to Darrick with an ostentatious wave at the others.

“Darrick, please understand,” Meredith said, “we don’t mean any insult. We all love Abby dearly; she’s our walking proof that the outside world couldn’t be as bad as rumors make it out to be. This is all just honest curiosity.”

“Parents think they are protecting you when they tell you all these stories,” Meredith’s younger brother Matthew said. He sat on the floor on the far side of the fireplace, his bondmate Brittany beside him. “I’m sure it’s the same way everywhere. The truth is never scary enough to keep kids in line, so they make up stories to keep you from getting into trouble.” He sounded almost angry.

“Yeah, that sounds familiar,” Darrick agreed. “My parents did the same thing, and so did all of my friends’.”

“See,” Meredith said with a comforting smile to Annie. “The same everywhere.” Annie did not look reassured.

Was my mother like that once? Darrick wondered. Terrified of the outside world, knowing she would eventually have to go out into it? What kind of childhood, of life, is that?

“It is nice to be accepted somewhere,” Darrick admitted. “After Patrick, I thought I was going to have to be constantly dodging attacks the entire time I was here.” The chorus of objections to that statement nearly knocked Darrick down with their emphaticness.

“Patrick’s horrid,” Brianna said with a shudder. Tristan nodded in agreement.

“It’s a shame that he’s got so many following his example,” Meredith said. “Though it’s not as though it’s all his doing. He didn’t have to work very hard to convince any of them that you were the potential death of our civilization.” She shook her head sadly.

“Their whole panic is ludicrous,” Tristan said emphatically. “All this fear of outside blood diluting us. Do they think this is the first time outsider blood has married into an Atlantean family?”

“First time it’s married into a noble family,” said one girl whose name Darrick couldn’t remember.

“Are we sure?” Tristan protested. “Thousands of years of history since Atlantis sank, and how much of it do we really know? There are scrolls in the Great Library no one’s looked at in decades, if not centuries. Do you think the noble line has continued completely unbroken that entire time? Do you think they would tell us the truth if it hadn’t?”

“I think Richard is honest,” Meredith said.

“He might not know, then,” Tristan went on, warming to his topic. “Think about it. Even if the noble line has remained completely intact until now, we know others haven’t. The very fact that we have procedures in place for this exact situation proves that it’s happened before. And it’s a good thing that it has.”

“Of course it’s a good thing,” Abby interjected, looking fondly at Darrick.

“Obviously good for you,” Tristan said, “but I’m talking about something bigger than that. I’m no geneticist, but I do know that ten families is an awfully small base from which to build an entire race. We might not have survived without outside genes.”

“In other words,” Abby said, “without people like Darrick, we would all have ended up drooling idiots?” She looked thoughtful. “Are you sure some of us haven’t already?”

“Joking aside, that’s the gist of it,” Tristan said. “It’s happened before.”

“Like the Hapsburgs,” Darrick said, glad to finally put his history training to some use.

“Exactly!” Tristan exclaimed, leaning back in his chair, obviously convinced his work was done.
“Who?” Annie asked, her question matched by several confused expressions from the others. Even Abby looked a bit lost. Time to show off, Darrick thought.

“The Hapsburgs were a family that ruled most of Europe a few centuries ago,” he started. “They kept their power through marriage, pairing off their children to most of the royal families around them. Eventually, it got to the point where their family was so pervasive that they were marrying cousins, just to keep the various thrones within the family. The inbreeding got so bad that they started to have deformed, mentally-deficient children, incapable of actually ruling. Their refusal to marry outside the family did them in.” Once he finished, he realized Abby was smiling widely, fit to burst with pride.

“You’re so sexy when you talk history,” she said, leaning in towards him. “Tell me about the French and Indian Wars, and you can ravish me however you want.”

“Not in front of the chaperones,” Brianna said. “At least wait until we can claim plausible deniability.”

“After all,” Meredith said, “we wouldn’t want this to degenerate into a sex party.”

2010-11-16T21:33:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 16

Unfortunately, avoiding Patrick and his minions was easier said than done. Though they avoided any overt confrontations, over the next few days, Darrick never could quite escape the sensation of being watched by hostile eyes. Whenever Abby was busy elsewhere – which was more often than either of them would have liked, as the wedding preparations demanded a great deal of her attentions – he would almost inevitably catch a glimpse of one of Patrick’s friends hovering at the edge of sight, never interfering but never completely going away. The experience was unnerving, and he had no doubt that they intended it that way. Even more frustrating was that there was nothing he could do about it – direct defiance would no doubt bring the entire gang down on his head, and if he told anyone else about it, he would have just sounded paranoid. There were times he wondered if he was in fact being just that, but he already knew that they were out to get him, so a little bit of paranoia seemed a justifiable reaction. He considered telling Abby, but he didn’t want to worry her. So he kept it to himself as the tension slowly ate away at his nerves.

Darrick and Abby spent every minute together that they could, but alone time proved very difficult to gain without staying up all night every night, an untenable schedule to maintain. During the day, as per tradition, they were chaperoned. Abby explained that, normally, the duty of chaperone fell to one of the parents, but in this case, the responsibility was passed around between all of the married couples in the house; apparently, this was the best opportunity for the adults of every House to size him up, and they took full advantage. Most stayed out of their way for the most part, trailing behind the two of them to give them their privacy while still being able to maintain watch; some, however, obviously wanted a more active roll, chatting them up in an overly-friendly fashion. Darrick found most of these to be tedious, though there were a few pleasant exceptions (Tristan and Brianna Morgan in particular proved to be a very engaging couple, and Darrick could tell Abby was quite fond of them, her earlier sarcasm notwithstanding).

Then there were the others, who made it quite obvious that they were there solely to keep the half-breed from defiling the pure Atlantean daughter that was Abigail Martin. These often kept speech to a minimum, preferring disapproving stares with tight lips and furrowed brows to get their point across. These were the ones that made Darrick almost yearn for the moments when censure only watched quietly from the shadows. The ones that did speak usually spoke only to Abby, their words to Darrick only just enough to maintain the façade of respect for his rank. Unsurprisingly, the worst of these were Owen and Jennifer Connor.

“Yes, our Elizabeth and Patrick are coming along quite nicely,” Jennifer once mentioned to Abby as they were walking through the grounds surrounding the house. “No doubt their bond will mature any time now, though if it does not, it will undoubtedly be because they have so much potential to fulfill. That is the usual result of quality Atlantean breeding; often, when a couple’s bond matures too early, it is an unfortunate sign that there is simply not much there to work with.”

“No doubt that is the case,” Abby replied after sneaking a covert glance at Darrick, making a face as she did so. “My own high marks were certainly just a sign that my instructors had given up on my learning anything more, and decided to grade me purely on effort.”

“There are exceptions to every rule, Abigail,” Jennifer said smoothly. “Everyone knows that you were an exceptional child. Accelerated, one might almost say. Certainly, children in the outside world have to grow up so fast these days, and you had to keep up.” She looked over at Darrick in mock sympathy.

“Absolutely,” he said, meeting Abby’s look and matching her face with one of his own. “I was practically living on the streets by the time I was nine, while my parents shot up drugs in a crack den.” Abby grinned.

“Show your mother respect,” Owen snapped, obviously going for a more direct approach instead of his wife’s little barbs. “Her life’s been hard enough these past twenty-five years, living in the world with an outsider husband away from any truly civilized people. I’m certain that she did the best she could in her situation.”

“So you think she did a good job with me?” Darrick asked as innocently as he could. Owen all but rolled his eyes.

“Under the circumstances, probably so,” he said. “As I said, they were no doubt very trying circumstances. I can’t think anything but the most dire of reasons would keep Cynthia from giving her bonded son a true Atlantean upbringing.”

“She was always too swayed by others,” Jennifer remarked. “She was a follower, never a leader. A brutish outsider husband might have been more than she could handle.” At that, Darrick stopped in his tracks. The sly barbs he could weather, but this was going too far.

“Now listen here,” he said to both of the Connors, as Abby stood at his side. “My father is not a brute, and if you people are the sterling example of Atlantean propriety, then I’m glad I was brought up as an ‘outsider’. My father would never insult anyone the way you just did, run them down behind their backs, when you don’t know a single thing about him, just that he’s not one of your little club. He’s more civilized than you and your bigotry could ever hope of being.” Turning away, he and Abby stalked off at a rapid pace, leaving the Connors standing in a huff behind them.

“I’m sorry about that,” he told Abby as soon as they had put enough space between them and their former chaperones that he could not be overheard. “You know I wasn’t trying to insult Atlanteans in general.” Abby patted his arm reassuringly.

“I understand completely,” she said. “It’s people like that who are the main reason I went out on my own for two years. I’m not ashamed of who I am or who my people are, but there’s no question that some ugly ideas have gotten in. At least you can see that not all of my people share them, though.”

“Or don’t come right out and say them, anyway.” Darrick regretted his response as soon as he saw Abby’s stricken look. “I didn’t mean that as bad as it sounded. I’m just repeating what you told me.”

“I’ll have to learn to be a little less cynical,” she said, half to herself, “before I completely ruin you for any Atlantean society.” She sighed heavily and pulled Darrick to a stop, looking up into his eyes. “Darrick, my love, fear runs very deep in our people; we take it in with our mother’s milk. The best of us fight it, try to see people as they really are and not as our fear would make them. But it’s hard to break the prejudices you were born into. My bond with you helped me, and I’d like to think that two years on my own completely cured me. Most of us don’t have that chance. Those who don’t have to struggle along on their own; most get some of the way, but very few make it all the way. And then there are those who don’t try at all, who just embrace the hatred. In this, I think it is best to judge people by their intentions, because not everyone has the strength to fully make those intentions a reality.” She pulled herself into his chest, and he held her close. “Can you see my people, your people, through my eyes? For my sake?” She sounded close to tears. She sounds more hurt than I am. Darrick was angry, but not all that surprised, and so not that wounded. Still, he was very angry, and was getting tired of putting up with all the crap people were dumping on his head, no matter what their intentions. But, no matter what, I’ve got Abby. I have to remember that.

“I’ll try to,” he said, honestly. “Intentions only go so far, and I don’t know how much I can take, but I’ll try. And I refuse to believe any society that could produce you is wholly rotten.” The loving look Abby gave him made him feel that he could weather a million insults to make her that happy.

“I’m not asking you to lie down and let yourself be kicked,” she said. “If someone comes after you, give as good as you get. We’ll do it together; it’ll be fun.” Darrick snorted, though he had to admit that teaming up with Abby to take the Connors down a peg had been an enjoyable experience in its own way. Not that I would seek it out again. Still, it is nice to do things together. Then again . . .

“I can think of other fun things we can do together,” he said. Making a show of looking around, he continued. “It looks like we’ve shaken off our watchdogs for the moment.” He leaned in for a kiss, which Abby returned with glee, punctuated with gasps and other delighted exclamations. He knew enough now not to press for more. After a few minutes, Abby plucked at his sleeve and pointed back along the path. A pair of figures were rapidly approaching.

“Looks like they’ve gotten over their wounded dignity,” she said, “enough to remember their solemn duty to protect my virtue.”

“Like you don’t protect it well enough on your own.” Darrick tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his disappointment at that particular aspect of his beloved. Abby wagged her finger in his face in mock disapproval.

“Can’t you wait just one more week?” she said. “Come on, show them you can be as disciplined as any properly-brought-up Atlantean boy.” She made a show of thinking for a moment, then winked at him. “Though, from what I’ve heard, that’s exactly how disciplined you are.”

The Connors caught sight of them then, kicking up their speed. Darrick felt himself tense up. Abby squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“Okay, trial by fire. Things will get better. My oldest friend is supposed to arrive with her House today; they couldn’t make it to the Presentation. I’ll introduce you as soon as they arrive. You’ll like her; everybody does.”

“Will she like me?” Darrick asked, genuinely concerned, though he felt foolish for being so. Abby wouldn’t be best friends with the kind of person who wouldn’t.

“Darrick, dear, if it weren’t for the bond, I’d be afraid of her stealing you.”

2010-11-15T15:54:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 15

Late the next morning, Darrick sat out on the front steps of the house, trying to explain the entire situation to Roger on his cell phone. He and Abby had stayed up for a through the night before as she walked him around the house, explaining a little bit of its history and a lot of her own memories of the place. Only the priest and his family resided there, kept up by donations from the other Atlantean families, but the Houses would convene there multiple times a year for Presentations, weddings, funerals, and other solemn (and sometimes not so solemn) occasions, so Abby had quite a few recollections, both happy and sad. She told him of games of hide-and-seek that lasted for hours, impromptu sports contests held on the extensive grounds, feasts for both weddings and funerals (“. . . and isn’t it odd,” she had remarked, “that we celebrate both a marriage and a death in the exact same way.”), and Atlantean holidays – marking the equinoxes and solstices, ancient celebrations of sowing and harvests, and an annual day of remembrance for the sinking of Atlantis in the Cataclysm – all observed by the ten Houses in this mansion. Finally, they had watched the Sun rise over the mountaintops, a beautiful sight made even more heady by the intoxicating company. After that, they had both retired, happy but exhausted. Darrick had awakened a few hours later, while it was still late morning, and after a quick breakfast and a discovery that Abby was still in bed (not surprisingly, as Darrick had gotten some sleep the night before, but he wasn’t sure Abby had gotten any), he had called Roger to let his best friend in on the latest news.

“Man, you have really lost your mind this time,” Roger said after Darrick had given him a very brief rundown of events. “You had an out from this entire jam, and you didn’t take it? You’re actually going through with this? Darrick, you just met this girl!”

“I know it sounds crazy,” Darrick responded, “but I can’t explain it any better than that. She’s the one. I know it.”

“You’ve said that about every girl you’ve ever dated,” Roger cut in. “For the first week, anyway. Sometimes the first month. Then you get bored. It’s the same pattern over and over again. Can’t you see that this isn’t any different, just because this happens to be a girl your parents picked for you? Hell, that just makes it more likely to fail, if you ask me.”

“I wish I could explain it better,” Darrick said, frustrated that he couldn’t give his friend the whole story. “I understand why I was like that before, and it won’t happen again. This time, she’s the right one.” Roger’s explosive exhalation of breath on the other end showed what he thought of that idea.

“Okay, then,” Roger said, sounding annoyed, “tell me why you were like that before, and how you know you won’t be like that again.”

“I wish I could,” Darrick said.

“Good God, man –”

“I’m sorry,” Darrick said, his own voice rising. “I can’t tell you any more than that. I really, truly, honestly cannot.”

“You’re not making any sense. Listen to me, Darrick. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’ve been my best friend for years and, as frustrating as you can be sometimes, I know you’re not crazy. But I want you to think long and hard on this. If you go through with this marriage and you get bored in a month, you won’t just be able to drop her and move on. And it won’t just be your life you’ll be ruining, it’ll be hers too.”

“I understand that,” Darrick said. “Really, I do. And I won’t drop her in a month. Or six. Or sixty. I know you think I’m the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type, and I won’t deny that I’ve been impetuous with girls in the past. But I know how important relationships and marriage are; that’s why I’ve always wanted to be sure I was in the right one. So when I know something’s not going to work out, I end it, rather than dragging it out. I’ll admit that I could have done a better job with that sometimes.”

“Vivian called me the other day, y’know. She acted like it was just a friendly chat, but she was fishing for information. About you, if you can’t guess. She’s still trying to figure out what happened.”

Darrick didn’t want to think about explaining his new wife to Vivian, the next time he encountered her in class – and he was sure that he eventually would. He knew now that it was the maturation of his bond that caused him to lose interest in her so quickly, but he was still a bit angry at himself for the way he had handled the situation, and Roger’s comment stuck a few more needles of guilt into his chest.

“Oh, God,” was all Darrick could say at first. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing, of course,” Roger replied. “I’m not crazy enough to want to be the bearer of that kind of bad news, and I’m certainly not going to take that little bit of heat off of you. She’s your responsibility.”

“Yeah, I seem to be getting a lot of those lately,” Darrick said sardonically. “Still, this one is my fault. I’ll think of some way to tell her, gently, when I think of what I’m going to tell everyone else at school when I show up in the fall with a new bride.” Roger chuckled.

“Sucks to be you, man.”

“No, it actually doesn’t,” Darrick said, thinking of Abby, which gave his heart a lift. “Right now, I’m a pretty lucky guy.”

“I hope you’re right. Now, what’s this about me not being able to come to your wedding?”

“What are you doing?” Darrick heard from behind him, in a familiar and threatening voice. Instinctively, he tensed.

“I’ve gotta go, Roger. Talk to you soon.” He closed his cell phone, stood to his feet, and turned. In the door of the house, several steps above him, stood Patrick, arms outstretched with palms pressing on the doorframe. Just behind him, Darrick could see several indistinct forms.

“Talking to outsiders?” Patrick said, his voice deceptively calm. “Telling our secrets?” He walked towards Darrick, who backed up, stepping down a couple of steps to level ground; he had a feeling it might not be a good idea to have his back to the stairs at the moment. He was suddenly aware that, even without the advantage of the stairs, Patrick had a several-inch height advantage on him, and was not particularly frail. “What did you tell your little friend, half-breed?”

“That your sister and I will be married in a week or two, and we’ll have lots of fun making little half-breed babies together.” Darrick regretted the words right after they exited his mouth. Patrick’s expression grew even darker, and out of the doorway stepped a small gang of older teens, all of whom Abby had at the feast identified as being in one way or another connected to her brother, though the only one he could put a name to was Elizabeth, who trailed the rest of the group like a rear guard. Her expression was haughtily disdainful; the rest were openly hostile. What have I gotten myself into?

Patrick and his group finished their descent of the stairs and spread out; they didn’t quite surround Darrick, but they made it plain that they could if necessary.

“I will never let that happen,” Patrick said flatly. His face twisted in a grimace. “Dear little sister doesn’t know what’s good for her, and Mother and Father are blinded by your family name, as though your mongrel blood hasn’t destroyed whatever honor it had left.” Patrick stepped forward from the group, close enough for Darrick to feel towered over. He fought the urge to step back again; weakness would only encourage the threats, he felt. “You, your disgraced mother, and your outsider father will leave here and never return; go back to the exile from which you came, which is your rightful place.”

“And what about Abby?” Darrick said, anger overriding his anxiety. “How would she feel if I just abandoned her? What would that do to our bond? Don’t you care about her at all?”

“Don’t you dare question my concern for my sister!” Patrick seethed. “Abigail can be an annoying bitch at times, but she doesn’t deserve the fate you have in store for her. Better that she should spend the rest of her life in mourning than bind herself to a half-breed like you.” Elizabeth joined him, giving Darrick the same regard she might reserve for a particularly loathsome insect.

“Sacred Atlantean marriage isn’t meant for the likes of you,” she said, looking as though she had bitten into a rotten fruit. “The thought of you defiling a pure Atlantean girl . . .” Darrick thought she might actually be sick, or faint away, at the concept. Had he cared less for Abby’s reputation, he would have told them what they had already been up to the night before, just to see if she really would end up prostrate on the ground. But he couldn’t bear the thought of casting any kind of shadow on his beloved, even if just in the minds of these monsters. But the thought of Abby was enough to give him courage; she was worth the chance of a beating, if that was where this was headed.

“I’m not going anywhere, Patty,” Darrick grinned inwardly at Patrick’s sour expression. “I don’t care if you beat me to a pulp. I love your sister, and I will never abandon her.” The other boys began to close in, but Patrick stopped them with an upraised hand.

“You mistake my intention, like the barbarian you are.” He smiled, and it was like a shark. “Atlanteans are a civilized people. We are not violent, save as a last resort. This was just warning, a piece of friendly advice. Leave, before you destroy the life of the one you claim to love.”

“What is going on here?!”

Everyone turned, and Darrick looked up to see Abby standing in the doorway, arms folded, glare fixed on her brother. She strode down the stairs at a regal pace and took her place between Darrick and her brother, forcing Patrick to take a step back.

“Father warned you about this,” she told him, arms crossed. “Do you want me to tell him about your gathering here?” Patrick just smirked.

“And would you like me to tell him about your midnight assignation with your half-breed betrothed?” he said, waving a hand dismissively at Darrick. Oh, he already knows, Darrick thought, feeling a bit conspicuous. Abby shrugged, dismissively.

“Try it,” she said. “Father will see through your transparent attempt at diversion. We’ll see who he believes.” Now Patrick looked as though he had bitten into something rotten. He opened his mouth, closed it, and wrinkled his forehead in a hateful frown.

“Your Little Miss Favorite status can’t last forever,” he said. “Eventually, everyone will see what you are doing to all of us by marrying this mongrel, and you will have to answer for it. I can wait.” Turning on his heel, he stalked away, his coterie following along behind him, Elizabeth with a disdainful sniff. Once they were inside the house with the door closed, Abby turned back to Darrick with a worried expression.

“Are you alright?” she asked, looking him over as if for hidden bruises or broken bones. “Did those ruffians do anything to you?” Darrick took her hands and tried to hold them still.

“I’m fine, really,” he said, hiding a grin at her solicitous behavior. “All they did was threaten me. I don’t think he would have actually done anything physical.”

“You’re probably right,” she said with relief. “He and his little gang have been harmless so far, but I was afraid it might have just been because they lacked a target.” Satisfied that Darrick was intact, she stepped into his embrace. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I hate that you had to see such an ugly side of my family. I want you to be proud to be one of us.”

“Abby, you’re all the reason to be proud that I need,” Darrick told her, winning him a smile.

“Hopefully I’ve bought us some time free from him,” she said. “Our parents have set the date for the wedding, two weeks from now. If we’re lucky, we can just steer clear of him until then.”

2010-11-14T22:16:00.004-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 14

The doors opened up into one of the house’s turrets, stretching up above them to dizzying heights, until the roof vanished into shadow. Covering the walls as far as Darrick could see were niches, little cubbyholes containing dozens of scrolls each, with ladders leading from balcony to balcony to provide access. Darrick almost stumbled as he craned his neck back to try to follow the levels upward, feeling a rush of vertigo as the tower seemed to spin around him, and Abby had to hold him upright until he regained his footing. He lowered his head to the shelves at eye level, and reached out a hand to pick out one of the scrolls lying there. Just at the last second, he realized his presumption, and looked over at Abby; she nodded a tacit permission, her face glowing with the excitement of sharing her passion, and he carefully drew the scroll out from its place. He had expected the roll of parchment to be brittle, fragile, so that he would have to be careful to keep it from falling apart at his touch; instead, he was startled to find it to be supple and completely intact, like new. Setting it on a nearby table, he unrolled it; inside, the scroll was covered with an unfamiliar runic script, written in vertical columns closely spaced. Darrick stared at the script for a minute, wondering if – like the spoken Atlantean language – they would prove to be so natural to his mind that he would be able to understand them instinctually. After a few disappointed moments, he asked Abby about it.

“Can you read this?” he asked, tracing a line of runes with his index finger. Abby nodded.

“I was taught to read Atlantean before I learned how to read English,” she said. “That should tell you something about my parents’ priorities. This is a history, so that should interest you, something about some old royal dynasty or another. I never could keep all of them straight.” She looked abashed. “Maybe I shouldn’t reveal that to my historian future husband.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Darrick hastened to reassure her. “A lot of those ancient histories are pretty boring, just lists of king after king and their public works projects. The only people who memorize all of them are the ones who specialize in that particular period.”

“Good to know my deficiencies aren’t too disappointing to you. Anyway . . .” she rolled out a different section of the scroll, “that appears to be all that’s here. Believe me, there’s much more interesting stuff here.” She rolled the scroll back up and replaced it. “This is the Great Library. Everything here was written in Atlantis before the Cataclysm, and was saved when it sank.” Darrick’s eyes widened.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said as he stared back up into the tower. “You mean every scroll here is thousands . . .”

“Of years old, yes,” she said, obviously pleased at his awed reaction. “At least. We don’t know what was done to preserve them; more of that ancient knowledge we’ve lost. And this is only a small fraction of what was left behind to sink.” Her smile was sad, and her voice softened. “There are scrolls here that talk about paintings, statues, murals . . . works of art that sound phenomenal and that no one will ever have the chance to see. Can you imagine? All those artists, working for immortality, to make the world just a little bit more beautiful, and we’ll never know what they did.” She wrapped herself in her arms, looking chilled, and Darrick put his arm around her. “I don’t mean to bring down the mood. I love this place, but sometimes the weight of it all gets to me.”

“I understand,” Darrick reassured her. “I don’t like the idea of history being lost, either. Has anyone ever thought of translating all of this, or maybe digitizing it in case some other disaster hit?”

“The thought had occurred to me,” said a booming voice from behind them. Abby and Darrick both jumped as one and turned, Abby hastily pulling a few inches away as Richard Dawson walked into the room through the same double doors they had used a few moments before.

“Your Reverence,” Abby said, bowing, her face red, looking like a child caught in something faintly naughty.

“My Lord,” Richard said, bowing to Darrick. “My Lady Betrothed,” he addressed Abby, who straightened further at the title, her expression proud though still a bit guilty. Darrick wasn’t sure how to feel about the man; other than at the Presentation, when his attention had been elsewhere, he had not seen Richard since he had left him and his parents to meddle with the memory of their driver, and Darrick now felt that memory to still be very fresh. Neither Richard nor Abby seem to share his uncertainties, though, as Richard greeted them with a grandfatherly smile.

“Oh, there’s no need to jump like that,” Richard said with a wave of his hand. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you here. I doubt there’s any married couple here who didn’t sneak off together after their Presentation. My wife and I certainly did.” His expression became wry. “Though the Library wasn’t our first choice of destination, I must say.” Abby looked as though she wanted to sink into her shoes, and Darrick was certain that Richard must have guessed what had gone on before, now if not before.

“Well . . . I . . . um . . .” Abby stumbled in an uncharacteristic loss for words.

“Abby wanted to show me one of her favorite places as a kid,” Darrick jumped in, earning a grateful look from his betrothed. “We were hoping we would have the place to ourselves.” Darrick tried not to let his annoyance at the intrusion – arising, he had to admit to himself, as much from who had done the interrupting as from the act itself – show too much; he must not have succeeded as much as he had hoped, for Abby gave him a surprised glance. If Richard caught on, though, he paid it no mind, walking past them and opening a book lying on a pedestal near the center of the room.

“Oh, I’m afraid that particular hope was doomed to disappointment,” he said, absently flipping through the massive tome. “I spend most of my nights or mornings here now, usually with Alfred (“That’s his son,” Abby whispered), trying to learn as much as we can. As for your question about computerizing the Library, Darrick, we’ve thought about it, but I really don’t think it would work.” He found what he was looking for in the book and started to pull himself up one of the ladder. “These scrolls aren’t like normal books; they seem to respond to the need of the reader. If you take a look at the index–” he waved at the book he had just left as he stepped from the ladder onto a balcony one level up, counting niches as he walked along – “you’ll see that each cubbyhole has far more scrolls listed for it than they could really hold, and yet, if you place your hand inside the proper one, somehow you’ll pull out the one you were looking for.” Matching word to deed, he pulled out a scroll and waved it at them, then began his descent. Once he reached the ground, he walked over to their table and proceeded to unroll his prize. “Furthermore, there have been many times I have been reading a scroll I’ve gone over many times before, only to find a line or passage I’ve never seen before, which will nonetheless be particularly apropos to my particular situation.” Looking up from his reading, he smiled knowingly at Darrick, an expression to paternal that Darrick felt some twinges of guilt over his suspicions of the man. Not enough guilt for him to completely retract them, however. “I don’t think a computer scanner could pick up on all that. So, no, I don’t think computerizing the library would be a prudent or respectful move.” With that, he turned his attention fully to the volume he had selected. Abby, meanwhile, was leading Darrick out of the Library.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Abby whirled on Darrick, eyes flashing. Darrick took a startled step back, unaccustomed to seeing anger in those eyes.

“That was astonishingly rude,” she said, arms now crossed over her chest. Darrick felt almost nauseated at the idea of her being angry or disappointed in him, but he couldn’t help but defend himself. Maybe she doesn’t know.

“I didn’t mean to be rude, exactly,” he said, already feeling a bit weak in his argument, “but that man bothers me. I didn’t want him around, though I didn’t want to make it that obvious.” Now Abby looked confused as well as angry.

“Richard Dawson?” she asked. “What could possibly bother you about him? He’s one of the nicest men I know. He was one of my teachers, you know, ever since I was little.”

“I can tell that he’s ‘nice’,” Darrick said. “But I saw him wipe a man’s memory not five minutes after we arrived here, with no more thought than if he were shooing away a fly.”

“You mean the driver we sent? That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Of course!” Darrick was shocked he even had to explain. “He gave me some line afterwords about how it was necessary, and how the guy wouldn’t be hurt at all and that it probably wouldn’t be any different for him than any other day on the job, but I can’t see that as an okay thing to do. And I don’t think I can be comfortable around someone who does it, especially not that casually.” The thought that Abby might be just as casual about it made Darrick almost ill.

“I understand your feelings, Darrick,” she said after a small pause. “And you might be right that he was a bit hasty in using his power; I told you Atlanteans are paranoid, even the best of us. And, Darrick, Richard really is among the best of us. He’s a good man, one of the best I’ve ever known.”

“How can you call him that when you don’t agree with what he did?” Abby took his hands in her own, her look loving.

“Sometimes even good people can do questionable things, Darrick. That doesn’t mean that they stop being good people, just that they make mistakes. I’m sure you’ve done things you’re not too proud of.” Darrick didn’t answer, but Vivian’s face flashed across his mind, and he found he could not quite meet Abby’s eyes. She must have noticed, for she moved back into his line of sight before she went on. "If we waited to find a perfect person to admire, we’d never find anyone. One thing I learned very quickly in San Francisco is that everyone is subject to the flaws and the virtues of their culture. There were people I met there who I knew were good, noble people, but they did things that horrified the Atlantean in me. Just like I can know Richard is the best of men, even though he does things that appall your own sensibilities. And I know you to be a good man as well. So try not to judge us too harshly.” She squeezed his hands and looked at him questioningly. Darrick took a few moments to put together his response, not certain of what to say.

“I see what you’re saying, and I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “But I can only judge people by their actions. I know good men can do bad things, but at what point does a good man doing bad things turn into just a bad man?” He held up his hand to forestall her response. “I’m not saying Richard is anywhere near that. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I think you’re right; he didn’t deserve it. But the cultural excuse doesn’t hold for everything. In the end, some things are just wrong.” Abby leaned upwards to give him a quick peck on the lips.

“I would not expect my future husband to believe anything less,” she said, her hand still on his cheek.

2010-11-13T22:13:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 13

A few minutes later, Darrick and Abby stepped out into the hallway, careful to shut the door behind them as quietly as possible. Placing her finger across her lips for silence, Abby took his hand and led him down richly-carpeted corridor past more bedroom doors, as well as the occasional painting or wall-hanging, until they passed into a larger open area where multiple hallways met on three different stories, all connected by open stairwells. As they entered, the lights rose slowly, giving their eyes time to adjust; oddly, Darrick couldn’t place the source of the illumination. It didn’t have the harshness of incandescent bulbs, or the whiter glow of the newer, power-saving fluorescent lights. This light was richer, with a warm, welcoming glow, and seemed to come from all around them, lighting the room evenly, coloring the wooden wall and floor a deep brown, and making the golden highlights on the banisters and furniture shine. The effect was extraordinarily beautiful.

“We can talk now,” Abby said, still not at full volume but well above a whisper. “Not that I expect it to take anything less than a second Cataclysm to wake most of them up, but I wouldn’t put it past my brother or some of his more spiteful companions to try to keep an ear out for us. As if he and Elizabeth haven’t snuck off into the corners whenever they’ve gotten the chance.” She sniffed disdainfully.

“Where are we?” Darrick asked. Abby’s disdainful scowl morphed into a smile.

“This is the oldest part of the house, the seed from which everything else grew.” She walked out into the center of the room, still leading Darrick by the hand. Her smile grew distant and her voice nostalgic, but her eyes shone. “This was my favorite part of the house as a kid. Full of nooks and crannies where you could get lost for as long as you wanted and no one could find you. Old abandoned rooms to explore, with dusty paintings sitting in corners and wardrobes filled with mothballs . . .”

“Find any snowy forests in the back of them?” Darrick quipped, charmed by the way just this room had taken her back to happy memories. Abby blinked once, confused, then smiled again as realization dawned.

“What? . . . Oh, yes, one of my roommates showed me that movie. It was a little bit like that – without the air raids or the talking beavers, of course. Certainly, my imagination filled this place with all sorts of fantastic wonders.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Though it didn’t have to do much work. A lot of old Atlantean knowledge went into the construction – stuff I’m not sure we know anymore – and the place seems to have a mind of its own at times. Doors open of their own accord, rooms stay clean with no effort to sweep or dust. I’m sure you noticed the lights as we came in.” She laughed. “To tell the truth, as a kid, sometimes I didn’t know whether to be fascinated or frightened half out of my wits. That may have been part of the attraction.”

“I think it sounds amazing,” Darrick said, and was glad and relieved that, for once, he could embrace some aspect of his mother’s people with no reservation. Well, for the second time, he thought, feasting his eyes and his soul on Abby’s face and form and loving smile. She returned his fond appraisal, and for a time, they once again held each other close, focused on nothing but the experience of being together; but again Abby ended it before it could progress very far. And once again, it took great effort for her to do so.

“My parents told me that the experience of being with you, especially not having known you until now, would be like nothing I had ever experienced, or could even imagine.” She paused to gain her breath while her fingers traced patters on Darrick’s clothed chest. Glad to know she’s feeling it like I do, Darrick thought, even if she’s constantly stopping us. “I thought I had an idea after the dates I had in the city, but . . .” She trailed off with a blush, then shook her head. “It just means more when there’s real love involved.” Darrick felt a shadow descend across his heart.

“Real love?” he said, slowly. “Can love be real, when it’s magical in origin? If we didn’t have the bond, would we still feel this way?” It broke his heart to say it, but now that the issue had returned to his mind, he couldn’t ignore it. Abby looked equally unhappy to hear it, but to her credit, she didn’t shy away from the question or take offense.

“It’s real enough to keep my parents together and happy, and their parents before them,” she said, meeting his gaze. “My mother has always told me that the bond gives the initial push, but it’s still up to you to keep working on it. The bond makes it easier, but nothing in life is guaranteed. But if you do keep working on it, keep it alive, then marriage with the bond is the most fulfilling, joyous relationship possible.” She lowered her eyes, and stepped closer to him, to where he could feel her presence on his skin. “Darrick, I’ve never regretted being bonded to you, but I understand that you might feel differently. Are you . . . are you happy with me?”

Darrick wanted desperately to lie, to tell her that he had been anticipating their reunion ever since he had first heard of her existence, but his heart wouldn’t let him do it. He owed her the truth. He could only hope it didn’t hurt her too badly. He raised her chin with his fingertips until he could see her expectant but troubled eyes.

“Abby,” he said, “I won’t lie to you. When I first learned about our betrothal, I wasn’t happy. To be honest, I was furious. Furious that my parents had made such an important decision for me when I was too young to even have a say. Furious that they had kept it, and everything else, a secret for so long.”

“I understand that,” Abby said. “My friends in San Francisco were furious for my sake when they found out. I can only imagine how you might have felt.”

“I’m still not happy about a lot of things,” Darrick admitted, “and I still don’t know if I want anything to do with Atlantean society or my place in it. But one thing I will never regret is you. You’re everything I could have ever wanted. Intelligent, funny, beautiful.” Abby blushed again at that last. “I know I never want to be away from you ever again, and I can’t believe my good luck that I won’t ever have to. And there’s still a part of me that thinks it’s ridiculous, that I just met you, that I can’t possibly know you well enough to be feeling these things. But if that’s what the bond has given me, a chance to skip by all the nasty uncertainty at the beginning of a relationship and jump forward to its inevitable result, well, then I guess I can’t be too mad at it. And, if it’s been working for our ancestors for centuries, than I guess I can’t really doubt it either. Abby, I love you.” He would have said more, but she blocked his mouth with a kiss that held until they both ran out of breath.

“I love you, Darrick,” Abby said once she could speak again. “I can understand your doubts about everything else – the gods know had my own – but never doubt that.” She stepped back from him, never letting go of his hand. “And somehow once again we’ve gotten off-track from what I brought you out here for. I’m becoming one of those light-headed, lovestruck girls I used to make fun of. Darrick, I hold you fully responsible; I’ll think of a good punishment later.” Darrick wondered if she knew just how dirty that sounded, or potentially could sound to someone with the right mindset. He would have thought not, but there was something in her little pause right after she said it that made him wonder.

“So what are we here for, and in the middle of the night, no less?” he asked, instead of the alternative. “Secret ceremony? Kitchen raid? Late-night virgin sacrifice?”

“I believe that’s for the wedding night,” Abby said. “For now, I want to show you my favorite place in the entire house, where I would spend hours of my time as a little girl, and still do when I get the chance. And I’m showing you late at night because I want this to be between the two of us, without a chaperone to get in the way.” She started pulling him towards the wall at the opposite end of the room, in which was set a massive double door, not that dissimilar from the one at the entrance to the house. She was so obviously excited that Darrick had a hard time just keeping up. Reaching the doors, she paused, resting her palms on the handles.

“As a student of history, I presume you like to read?” she asked.

“I think that’s pretty much a requirement, yes,” Darrick replied. Her grin threatened to split her face. To Darrick, she looked like a child at an amusement part, excited to be there and wanting nothing more than to share her excitement with everyone she came across.

“Do you crave knowledge above food, drink, and all other sustenance?” she continued, her voice trying for solemn but the twinkle in her eye giving her away. “Do you yearn for the lost secrets of the ancients, for forgotten learning and forbidden lore?”

“What? Did you get this spiel from a late-night Time-Life books commercial or something?”

Abby tried valiantly to keep her straight face, but her final words were almost garbled by suppressed laughter.

“Then, seeker, I deem you worthy,” she exclaimed. “Now, behold!”

She threw open the doors.

2010-11-12T20:46:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 12

A blast of cool air and a prod on the shoulder awoke Darrick from a groggy slumber. Disoriented, he groped around for the blankets which had disappeared, and grumbled to his mother to let him stay in bed, that his alarm hadn’t gone off for class yet. He tried to turn towards the wall, but felt a dull surprise when the wall wasn’t where it was supposed to be. A low laugh sounded from the foot of the bed, the voice not immediately familiar.

“Y’know,” a voice said, the same voice that had just laughed, “when I said that most of the guests would be involved in their drinks, I didn’t think that you would be one of them.”

Abby! The events of the day flooded back into him. The Presentation, the feast, and the memory of consuming maybe one too many glasses of wine. I didn’t mean to! They just kept refilling it! He hadn’t really gotten drunk, just tired; a few drinks combined with the excitement of the day had combined to knock him out, and he couldn’t even remember making it back to bed. And she wanted to sneak off alone. I hope I didn’t disappoint her too much.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, fighting the urge to turn over and bury his face in his pillow. Instead, he looked down to the foot of the bed, where he could just make her out, standing there with his blankets in her hand. She had changed from her elaborate formal gown into a sensible blouse and jeans; noticing that made him very aware that he was only in his boxers, with no blankets left with which to cover up. The sly grin on her face made him think she was well aware of it as well. He focused instead on speaking; his mouth did not yet feel completely under his control, and he had to concentrate to make it form the shapes he wanted. “I’m not that used to wine. I’ve only had it a few times. I didn’t think I had drunk that much.” Her grin widened as she shook her head.

“For supposedly being so degenerate, you outsiders can certainly be prudes sometimes.” As if in acknowledgement of that fact, she tossed him back his blankets, after taking one final obvious look. Darrick very quickly wrapped them around his lower half while sitting up in bed. “I’ve been drinking wine at meals ever since I was a child. Of course, what they were serving tonight was a bit more potent than the usual stuff, so I guess you might not be a complete lightweight after all.”

“Is that how you think of me, as an outsider?” The word hurt more than he would have thought a simple sound could. Abby sat down beside him and put her hand on his blanket-covered leg, her head bowed, not meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Darrick,” she said, her voice softer than it had been. “It’s just the word we use to describe non-Atlanteans. One of the nicer ones, actually. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Darrick replied. “Maybe it wouldn’t bother me except that my father warned me that people would call me names here, that they would look down on me because I’m not Atlantean.”

“But you are Atlantean,” Abby said. “As much as you are not, anyway. It’s just that you have been raised as an . . . as a non-Atlantean, so it’s easy to see you that way.”

“Does that matter to you?” Darrick leaned in, anxious to hear her answer. He didn’t know what he would do if she said that it did, but he knew it would strike him to the core. She turned to face him, and Darrick was surprised to see her eyes glistening, even though no tears ran down her cheeks.

“Oh, no, Darrick! Not at all.” She leaned into him, and he put his arms around her. “Maybe when I was younger, when I didn’t know any better, it would have. I think I’ve learned better than that now. Atlantean or not, we’re just people, after all.”

“But not everyone thinks that way.” It was a statement, not a question, and Abby’s sigh confirmed what Darrick already believed.

“No, they don’t,” she said. “I fear I might be in the minority, actually. Some people are pretty open about their contempt; they’re the ones you’re going to have the most trouble with, the ones who will use all those names your father warned you about. Probably not in the open, though, since most of us are at least a little ashamed of our assumptions. My parents are like that; they try very hard not to look down on non-Atlanteans, but they can’t help how they feel. It was drilled into them by their own parents. Patrick’s pretty awful anyway, but I’m sure some of his attitude towards you was picked up from my parents, as much as they try to hide it.”

“Then why did they bond you to me?”

“My mother and yours were close friends when they were young, and she was happy to marry me to her son, no matter who his father was. At least, that was the reason she gave, but I have a feeling that the opportunity to marry into your name was a big consideration for her. And some things I’ve heard make me think that Reverence Dawson had something to do with it as well, though I can’t imagine why.”

“I hope you didn’t get too much grief about it growing up.” It hadn’t occurs to Darrick until now to think of how this bond could have affected Abby. Unlike him, she had known whom she would marry for as long as she could remember, and so had everyone else. That had to have shaped her entire childhood. She leaned back so she could look him in the eye. Darrick appreciated the eye contact, though he missed the feel of her pressed up against him.

“A little,” she said bluntly. A self-deprecating smile softened her response a little. “Not that I wasn’t capable of setting people off on my own, as you might have guessed. So you might have just been an excuse for them to torment me. Kids are cruel anyway, so you can’t blame them too much. But it still meant that I didn’t really have a lot of friends growing up, and that was a hard thing, especially since I couldn’t exactly look elsewhere for companionship.” She sounded bitter.

“Why not?”

“Darrick, dear,” she said, and Darrick’s heart leapt at the endearment, “be grateful to your father for your non-Atlantean upbringing. I had to move hundreds of miles away just to begin to get away from mine. I don’t know if you can begin to understand the utter isolationism of my childhood. With only a few exceptions, all ten Houses live close to each other, within easy driving distance. They’re only friends with other Atlanteans. My parents even started a school for Atlantean children, so that we wouldn’t be corrupted by outside influences. I think they would have even founded a college if they could have. My world was nothing but Atlantis. We lived in the wider world, but we did our best to not be part of it. Unless you have lived it, you can’t understand just how warped a view that will give you of those who are not part of your little group.”

“Sounds like a cult,” Darrick said in shock.

“When I described it to my roommates in San Francisco – what I could explain of it, anyway – they said the same thing. I can see it, though I think the word makes it sound worse than it was. We weren’t being brainwashed, or exploited, or anything like that. Our parents just wanted to protect us; they were as scared of the world as they wanted us to be. They told us the same things we were told, that no one could know who we were or they would persecute us, maybe kill us; that fear was never very far away. I didn’t even have the worst of it. Those of us who weren’t firstborn sons and daughters knew that, one day, they would have to go out into that threatening world, to become part of it, for the greater safety of the entire group. I can’t even imagine how frightened they must have been.” She bowed her head in sorrow at the thought, and Darrick felt ashamed of himself. That’s what my mother went through. That uncertainty, that fear. What would that do to a kid? And what kind of people would do that to their own children, based on nothing but their own fear?

“I think my bond to you shielded me from a lot of that,” Abby continued. “I believed it when I was young – who doesn’t believe everything their parents tell them when they’re young – but by the time I was a teenager I began to wonder about the outside world. I thought of you often – every Atlantean girl daydreams about their betrothed, though most grow up around them – and when I did, I wondered what your life was like, out there, and I couldn’t believe you were evil or dangerous or immoral. And if you weren’t, than certainly everyone couldn’t be. So when I finished school, I left.”

“And did you like it?”

Abby laughed. “I was terrified for the first three months straight, I think. But once I really believed that the world wasn’t out to get me, and that I wouldn’t fall into a pit of iniquity just by going out for the night, I started to enjoy myself. I made friends, even dated a bit.” To Darrick’s raised eyebrow, she hastened to add, “Nothing serious. Just having fun, and I made sure the guys knew that from the beginning.” Her smile became wicked. “I’m not as innocent as my parents think I am . . .” She slid her arms around Darrick’s bare torso. His breath caught in his chest. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just pulled her close and back with him on the bed.

* * * * *

Some time later, Abby pulled away, buttoning up her blouse, her hands trembling slightly. Darrick tried to pull her back, but she playfully swatted his hand away and returned to her buttons.

“Not that it wouldn’t be fun, but I didn’t come here to lose my virginity to you tonight, Darrick.” Finishing with her blouse, she ran her hands through her hair, trying to tame wayward strands. Given his mother’s previous warning, Darrick wasn’t too surprised, but he couldn’t honestly say he wasn’t disappointed. And a bit frustrated.

“So you just wanted to tease me?” he said, and winced at how much that frustration came through. He hadn’t wanted her to know about that. Abby took his hand and raised it to her lips in a disappointingly-chaste kiss. She brought it down from her lips, but didn’t let it go.

“I promised you some alone time earlier tonight, and I plan to make good on it.”

“I think you did that,” Darrick said with a grin. Abby returned it.

“Believe it or not, I had other things in mind when I snuck in here.” She picked up his discarded clothes from the floor and tossed them to him. “Now put these on and get out of bed.” She glanced down at his waist and tilted her head. “Though you might want to wait a bit on that last.”

2010-11-11T21:01:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 11

Appetite reawakened, Darrick snatched the chicken leg out of Abby’s hand and took a bite. Satisfied, she turned to her own food and dug in, and for the next few minutes they ate in companionable silence. Darrick would have thought he would never have wanted to do anything but talk with her – the ease with which their conversation flowed astonished and delighted him, even if he spent almost the entire time feeling one step behind – but he found just her presence alone was almost as satisfying, when no words were necessary. For a few moments, they concentrated on filling the holes in their stomachs; the excitement and stress of the day had drained Darrick more than he had realized, and with night coming on, he realized just how little he had eaten in the last few hours. The rest of the crowd followed their lead, and the room echoed with the sounds of the feast and the hum of friendly banter. After a little while, once they had taken the edge off of their hunger, Abby began to give Darrick a tour of the various guests, going around the room and pointing them out one by one. It took a good few minutes; Atlantean families it turned out could be quite large, in order to ensure the survival of at least one male and female heir, and most Houses had several generations present at what Darrick was realizing was quite a significant social occasion. There also seemed to be an artistic streak running through the group, though in Abby’s point of view, ambition often seemed to outweigh talent in that area.

“ . . . that’s Matthew and Carolyn Sanders, their son Arthur, and his wife Joanna, who is the daughter of the Jordans I pointed out to you earlier. Matthew’s a classical musician, Carolyn’s an accountant. Arthur claims to be a writer, but if he’s ever published anything outside of his own webpage I don’t know about it. Next to them are Tristan and Brianna Morgan. They’re newlyweds, so you’ll never see one of them without the other. It’s really quite sickening.” She winked at him and clenched his hand a little tighter, then continued on. “Finally, sitting closest to us are the Connors, Owen and Jennifer, their son Cameron and daughter Elizabeth. Elizabeth is Patrick’s betrothed. She’s as horrible as he is, of course. I wish I knew which one to blame for that.” She rolled her eyes as Darrick chuckled, but the sound of silverware being tossed onto a plate beside them caught their attention.

“Abigail,” Patrick’s cold voice intruded from where he was seated down the table from his sister, “I would kindly ask you to exclude my intended from your mockery. No doubt your . . . unconventional partner is ignorant of basic social graces, but you have no such excuse.” His scowl deepened. “Not that that’s ever stopped you before.”

Darrick opened his mouth to defend himself, but Abby’s hand tightened on his once more, this time almost to the point of pain. He took the hint, and let her handle her brother.

“That’s true, Patrick,” she replied. “I haven’t practiced couching my insults in
socially-acceptable terms to the extent you have. No doubt you and your boring conventional future mate congratulate yourselves daily on just how well you can feel superior to anyone outside of your own little world.”

“I see that degenerate city you’ve called your home for the past couple of years has gotten to you. Not that you weren’t well on the way to corruption already.” Patrick shifted his eyes from Abby to Darrick, and his stare was enough to throw knives. “And I know who to blame for that.”
How can he blame me for anything? Darrick thought. We all just met today!

“Patty,” Abby said, and Patrick looked even more sour at the diminutive name, “I would kindly ask you to exclude my intended from your prejudice. Mother and Father are reasonable people, so I know you have no excuse.” She smirked. “Or would you rather I insult your intended again?”

Patrick huffed and turned away, feigning an interest in his parents’ conversation. Abby’s hand relaxed and she turned to face Darrick again.

“He hates to be called ‘Pat’ or ‘Patty’ or anything of the sort, so I try to use it at least once for every time he calls me ‘Abigail’. Now, where was I . . .”

“Wait up for a second,” Darrick cut in. “What exactly is your brother blaming me for?” Darrick felt lost, despite his mother’s instructions, thrown into this culture at the deep end and left to swim alone. No, not alone anymore. I have someone to stick with me and hold me up as I flail around. The thought was still new to him, and still wonderful.

“My brother doesn’t consider me particularly ladylike,” she said, grimacing, “certainly not in the grand Atlantean tradition. I actually left the bosom of our little community and went out into the wide, bad world, all on my own no less. And the gods only know what I’ve been doing the whole time. Of course it’s your fault, seeing as how I’m bonded to you, the outsider boy.” She laid her head on his shoulder and whispered into his ear. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Darrick said by instinct, though he still wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for. And didn’t really care all that much, considering the result, which he was more than happy to take. “So where did you go?”

“San Francisco. I wanted to be an artist, to accomplish something before I got married.” Darrick tensed. Is that how she sees being married to me? “Not because I thought that being married to you was the end of all that,” she hastened to reassure him, “but because I wanted to find out who I was by myself first. As much as I am by myself, anyway.”

“So how did that work out?” Darrick asked, glad for the opportunity to learn more about the girl who had captured his heart. Or been given it.

“It takes longer than two years to make it as an artist in the city, especially a city like San Francisco. Still, I was making a little bit of headway; I don’t think I was embarrassing myself too much, anyway. Admittedly, I thought I would have some time longer, but the bond knows what’s best. And it wasn’t wasted time by any means. I needed to see something of the world outside of the remnants of Atlantis.” She chuckled sardonically. “Though sometimes I wondered just which world I was seeing.”

“I’m sure there are all sorts of worlds to be seen in San Francisco,” Darrick agreed with amusement.

“My brother was right about one thing, though in such a roundabout way that I never have to admit it to him. In a way, I did leave because of you. I wanted to see your world, be a part of it, learn enough to relate better to you. That wasn’t my entire reason, but it was part of it.” She paused, feeling the weight of the admission. “The opportunity to live as a starving artist in a miniscule apartment with two gay roommates was purely a bonus.” They both laughed. “Okay, so I may have missed it by just a little. So tell me about your world. Tell me about the life of a normal non-Atlantean.”

Darrick opened his mouth, but was not sure what to say. He ran his hand through his hair as he searched for a place to begin.

“I’m not really sure what you want to hear,” he said slowly. “I was born, went to school, made honor roll, went to college. It’s all so normal I don’t know what to describe in detail.”

“What are you studying?”

“History.”

“And what do you want to do with that?” Abby prompted.

“Probably grad school,” Darrick said, a bit sheepishly. It didn’t feel like much of an answer to him.

“Nice to know you have such definite plans for the future.” Normally Darrick would have taken umbrage at such a statement – certainly, he had heard it enough from his parents – but Abby’s tone made it obvious that she meant nothing critical by it.

“I’m only a sophomore,” Darrick said, hoping he didn’t sound defensive. “Plenty of my friends still haven’t declared a major, or have changed theirs several times. I figured I still had plenty of time to make up my mind.” He sighed, and for the first time he started to think through the ramifications of the decision he had made. He didn’t come close to regretting it, but he realized that one choice, however right, would preclude others. “I guess I’m going to have to hurry that up a bit.”

“Why?” Abby’s eyes were innocently wide.

“Well, it . . . it just doesn’t seem responsible, playing the perpetual student when I’ve got a family.” Did that sound bad? Do I sound like some chauvinist from the fifties, or is that what Atlanteans expect?

“Oh, Darrick, you don’t have to worry about that,” Abby said, her voice reassuring. “I don’t want you to give up anything to have me, and I certainly don’t want to pull you away from anything you want to do. Don’t leave school on my account.”

“But I don’t want to ask you to work just to put me through who knows how many more years of school.” Abby’s grin widened.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “When I left for San Fran, my parents weren’t all that happy about it, but they were understanding, and they wanted me to be comfortable. They gave me a weekly allowance that was more than generous. I wanted to make my own way, though, so I just stuck it in the bank and let it accumulate. Darrick, I’ve got enough saved up to keep both of us for years, if we live modestly.”

“Years?” Darrick’s eyes widened. “Just how rich is your family?” Abby reddened.

“You outsiders really are direct, aren’t you? Another benefit of my two years in the city: I have some idea of how to answer that question. I always knew we were rich, of course, but I didn’t realize just how much until I got away from it a bit. Lets just say that, while we may not be Bill Gates rich, I’d say we’re at least movie star rich; and unlike most movie stars, we know what to do with our money. I don’t want for us to live on that forever; I want us to have our own life. But I don’t see anything wrong with using it to get us started.”

Darrick wasn’t sure how he felt about that idea; he was marrying Abby, but he still didn’t think he wanted much to do with anything else Atlantean. And that meant not relying on anything that could tie them to it.

“But we don’t have to talk about all that right now,” Abby said. “This is our Presentation night! Let’s leave the future to the future. We’re together. Right now, that’s all that matters.”

Darrick couldn’t agree more.

2010-11-10T22:33:00.004-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 10

As soon as Richard completed the ceremony, both Darrick and Abigail were engulfed by their parents’ well-wishing. Darrick, to his frustration, briefly lost sight of Abigail as his mother enfolded him in her embrace, holding him longer than he could ever remember her having done before. To his shock, he felt tears on her cheeks.

“Darrick, I am so happy for you,” she said. Her words were choked out through a trembling voice. “I’ve waited for this day your entire life. Everything will be fine now, you’ll see.” For the first time, Darrick found he could believe her; though he was still not happy about how he had reached this point, he could not argue with the result. Then his mother released him, and his father was shaking his hand and smiling.

“Congratulations, son,” he said, and though the smile didn’t reach his eyes, Darrick knew his sentiments were genuine, if not unalloyed with other feelings. “If you’re content, than so am I.” Darrick was finding it hard to speak, so he just nodded, and his father responded in kind. Behind him, Darrick could hear Abigail receiving and giving similar statements, and just her voice was enough to make him feel more stable. He took a deep breath.

“Thanks. I’ve . . . I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t know a person could feel this way.” His mother’s smile widened further.

“Normal people can’t,” she said, and for a wonder she didn’t look at John when she said it. She seemed truly focused on Darrick for the moment. “That’s the power of the bond. It will only get better from here, once you are truly married and the bond is completed.” I don’t know if I could survive much more than this, Darrick thought. I might die from that much euphoria.

A hand gripped Darrick’s from behind, and his breath caught. He turned to see Abigail standing behind him, aglow with excitement. Am I just as transparent? Darrick wondered.

“Hungry?” she asked. Darrick blinked at the irrelevance of the question, and then remembered.

Oh, yeah, the feast. “Not at all,” he answered honestly. How can they possibly expect me to eat at a time like this?

“Me, neither,” she said as she slipped her arm through his, pulled him close, and started to lead him towards the exit. The rest of the party followed at a discrete distance. “But we’re expected to make an appearance all the same. Don’t worry, no one expects us to actually eat.”

“How long are we expected to stay?” His mother had told him about the feast, of course, but it hadn’t occurred to Darrick to ask how long it would last. Of course, at the time, I didn’t think there would be a feast at all. Thinking that was almost painful now. He still wasn’t wild about the actual feast idea, though; all he wanted was to be alone with Abigail. To talk to her, listen to her, touch her . . . Abigail gave him a sidelong glance and a wicked grin. She knows exactly what I’m thinking. Darrick didn’t know if he should be embarrassed or excited.

“Well, if proprieties are to be observed, we shouldn’t be alone together until our wedding, certainly not at night.” Darrick’s heart sank, but Abigail’s grin just widened. “Still, this is a big house, and these feasts aren’t really about the couple anyway; wait a couple of hours, and people will be so involved in their own conversations or their own drinks that no one will care or maybe even notice if we slip off.” Darrick felt the silly grin return to his face.

“Abigail,” he said, relishing the name, “I-” Abigail stopped in her tracks and placed her finger on his lips, her grin transformed into a pout. An incredibly cute, endearing moue.

“First rule of being my future husband: call me Abby.” She kept her finger on his lips until he nodded. “The only people who call me ‘Abigail’ are my parents. And Patrick, when he wants to annoy me. Which is always, by the way. But all my friends call me Abby.”

But I like ‘Abigail’, he thought, but the last thing I want to do is annoy her. Not to mention . . . “I’ll keep that in mind. I certainly wouldn’t want to do anything like your brother.” Abigail grimaced.

“Oh, that’s right, you’ve met him already. My condolences. If Mother wasn’t such a stickler for tradition, I could have seen you when you arrived and made a much better first impression.” She snuggled up to him as well as she could as they walked. “I guess a good second impression will have to do.” The feel of her head and body pressed up against his side sent a wave of warmth through his veins; he realized with some chagrin that the warmth appeared to be collecting in one place in particular.

“Oh,” he said in a near-croak, “I think your first impression was plenty good enough.” She laughed, and it sounded to Darrick like joyous chimes in the wind. He wondered if he could find a surreptitious way to wrap his coat around his front. He strongly hoped that Abby wouldn’t notice, but was excited by the thought that she might.

If she noticed, she gave no sign, just continued to insinuate herself as close to him as possible. They turned one final corner, and the passageway opened up before them into an expansive dining hall. The walls were hung with banners, each one bearing a different geometric pattern; Darrick could pick out the one on his tunic, as well as the one embroidered on the bodice of Abby’s long violet dress. He assumed the others were the sigils of the other eight Houses. Chandeliers hung overhead, illuminating the entire room, and a large fireplace occupied the far wall. Directly before them was a long table stretching out to their right and left. Darrick could see that their entrance let out onto a large dais for the head table, and beyond it was a step down to the rest of the hall. Just after the step was set up two more long tables set perpendicular to the first, and around these tables sat dozens of brightly-clothed people, all of whom rose as one the moment they entered. Darrick and Abby stepped forward to their seats at the table’s center, and remained standing as their families took their places to the sides. By instinct, Darrick started to take his seat, but Abby’s pressure on his arm kept him on his feet; he then remembered the ritual his mother had taught him, and he was grateful to Abby for so subtly keeping him from making a mistake.

When everyone had taken their place, they all turned and faced east for one minute. Cynthia had told Darrick that every Atlantean family observed this tradition before every meal, a remembrance of their lost home in the Atlantic. To just sit down and eat was considered incredibly gauche, similar to how a religious household might view eating before the blessing. After the minute was over, Abby gave another tug on his arm, this time downward, and the two of them sat, hands still joined; once they had settled themselves, the rest of the group sat as well. The tables were filled with food, and the sight of it roused the appetite that Darrick had thought completely vanished, but there was still a little more to go through before consumption could finally commence. Richard stepped out of the hallway from which they had arrived and stood behind Darrick and Abby’s seats, and raised his hands above their heads.

“Let it be known to all the Houses,” he declaimed, “that the betrothed have been Presented and their bond acknowledged by both. Let it be written in the Records that Lord Darrick Knight and Abigail Martin are to be joined in bonded marriage, that their lives and hearts are to become one. Let their union enrich the land of Atlantis. Let their joy and fertility bring life and wealth to the people of Atlantis. Let it be so!”

“Let it be so,” responded the crowd, the roar of the voices filling the room, but Darrick was stuck one sentence behind. Fertility?! Good god, what do they mean by that? Do they want kids? Do they want them right away? He knew it was a ritual announcement, but it reminded him of how little he knew about what he was getting into. Abby must have noticed his tension; she wrapped her foot around his leg and ran it up and down while squeezing his hand.

“I think they have pills for that now,” she whispered into his ear. It was comforting and disconcerting at the same time how easily she was able to read him. I guess it was pretty obvious when I tightened up.

“Pills for or against?” he whispered back.

“Which do you want?” she responded, face straight.

“You can’t guess?” What if she wants kids soon? Maybe she’s been waiting for them? I’m too young for that! She left him hanging for a moment longer, then kissed him on the cheek.

“I started on the pill a month ago. I guess the people of Atlantis will just have to make do with the life and wealth they already have.” Darrick’s relief was mixed with an amused exasperation. It’s going to take everything I have to keep up with this girl. Well, bring it on!

“So, does that mean . . .” he said, and cocked one eyebrow in suggestion. Abby patted his hand in mock sympathy.

“Your insidious influence hasn’t corrupted me that much yet. Keep trying.”

Darrick had expected as much. As they were waiting to board the plane to Denver, his mother had taken him aside for one final instruction.

“Darrick, I have worked very hard to not find out what you do with all your girlfriends,” she had said, “but you need to know this. Abigail has kept herself for her wedding night, as Atlantean tradition dictates. Do not try to seduce her. She’s worth more than that.”

At the time, he had just nodded (though with some relief in knowing that his mother didn’t know all of what he and his previous girlfriends had done with each other); now he wished he had probed into that tradition a little bit further. He was startled out of his reverie by Abby waving a roast chicken leg in his face.

“So, are you going to eat or what?”

2010-11-09T21:43:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 9

Darrick stood in a small, wood-paneled room being fussed over by his mother, while his father sat quietly in the corner. His Presentation was due to start in just a few minutes, and the three of them were waiting in the antechamber of the central Hall for the signal to begin the ceremony. In the meantime, Cynthia was drilling him on his performance while she made the final adjustments to what he had been told were traditional Atlantean formal garments. A finely-embroidered tunic covered his torso, navy blue with green highlights, the highlights matching the leather belt clenching it around his waist. On the breast of the tunic was a geometric pattern Cynthia had told him was the sigil of their House. His trousers were white, and brown leather boots covered his feet and calves. Over it all was a long white coat with gold buttons, open at the front. All of it fit like a glove, even the boots; Cynthia had admitted to having sent his measurements earlier that week, and Jessica had sewn the clothes herself as a Presentation gift.

Now that ceremony was just a few minutes away, and Darrick could barely hear his mother’s instructions over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. Darrick was sure of what he was feeling – anxiety, certainly, and nervousness, as well as a fair amount of anger of having to go through with this charade, but mixed in with the darker feelings was also a small measure of true anticipation. Just one room and a few minutes away was the girl his mother had chosen for him to marry, and have even magically bound him to, and even though he had no desire to go through with it, he couldn’t help but be curious as to what she was like. Probably just like her mother, he thought, and she seems a bit flighty to me. Or maybe she’s just like my mother, and that’s why Mom chose her. That was a chilling thought; Darrick loved his mother, but had no desire to spend his life with someone just like her. No, it doesn’t matter, he thought, steeling his resolve to carry through with the decision to which he had already come. Still, his heart skipped a beat every time he thought of his potential bride.

“Darrick, pay attention!” Cynthia snapped. “Now, Richard is going to ask you a series of questions. The answer to each one is ‘yes’. I know it will be hard to concentrate at the moment, but you need to remember that. Just say ‘yes’, and everything will be fine.”

“And what if I think the answer should be ‘no’?” Darrick asked. He knew the answer, but wanted his mother to remember that she had promised him the right to refuse.

“Just say ‘yes’,” she said in a tone that brooked no denial. “We’ll worry about any other details later.”

“Don’t listen to her, son,” John said, placing his hand on Darrick’s shoulder from behind. The unexpected contact made him jump. “This is your future we’re talking about. Do what you think is best.” Cynthia pulled Darrick away from his father’s touch, almost knocking Darrick off-balance in the process.

“He’s not yours to advise anymore, John,” she said in a voice like ice. “He’s not part of your world any longer. And I am confident he will fulfill his responsibilities.” She smiled at Darrick, but it felt to him more like a weapon directed at his father than any particular pride or confidence in him. He felt like sinking into his new boots as John opened his mouth to reply, but the incipient row was cut short by a knocking at the entranceway into the Hall. Cynthia gave one final tug at his collar, and turned him towards the door at his slowly opened to the large chamber beyond. Cynthia nudged him forward and his feet took their first steps, feeling to Darrick as though they moved of their own volition.

They entered the Hall from the side, walking towards Richard standing in the middle of the room. The room was lit by multiple chandeliers, casting light shadows in several directions, giving the space a fluid, ever-shifting quality. The floor was covered in thick, crimson carpeting, silencing the sound of his footfalls, as well as those of his parents following him. Not that he could have heard his steps over his own heartbeat anyway. He felt oppressed by the size of the Hall, one small man – right now he felt more like a boy – swallowed up by an enormous structure; not just the physical structure that surrounded him, but the oh-so-fragile construct that was the Atlantean attempt to keep a grip on their ancient and nearly-dead culture. It all felt so much bigger than him; how could he possibly resist? He was vaguely aware of a figure walking towards him, trailed by three others he recognized as Jessica, Anthony, and Patrick, but he kept his eyes averted until he was standing in front of the beaming priest. I can’t avoid her forever. He turned his eyes to see the woman standing directly in front of him, and his world stopped.

Objectively, others would see Abigail Martin as maybe being a little too tall, her features a little too angular, her frame a little too delicate, but what Darrick saw before him was a vision of perfect beauty. Even standing at rest, she bore herself with such grace that Darrick felt clumsy in comparison. Her eyes held his adoringly, and Darrick could sense that she was as enraptured by him as he was by her, and he felt simultaneously unworthy and exhilarated. He wanted to stare into those eyes forever; he didn’t think he could turn away if he wanted. His head swam, and it took a pain in his chest for him to realize that he wasn’t breathing; time had been suspended for him, so what need had he of air? His body forced him to take a gulp of air, and her smile grew larger, and she tilted her eyes down demurely. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to get away, that he was being caught in their nets, but he didn’t care any longer; this girl could tangle him in any net she could throw and he would be happy to be caught. The voice screamed that it wasn’t rational, that he didn’t even know her, but even this very sensible argument couldn’t make itself heard. He knew he was lost, that from this moment on, he could only be happy with this woman at his side. It was instinct, like a bird flying south for the winter even though it didn’t know why. He knew he had found what he had always been looking for, and to his absolute delight, there was no doubt in his mind that she knew it too.

A nudge from the back brought him a little way back into the real world, and he realized that Richard had been speaking to him. With an effort, he jerked his eyes away from the goddess before him to the priest, who was now visibly suppressing a laugh. Darrick could hear that not everyone in the room was so successful, but he didn’t mind, not at the moment. Richard repeated himself with a friendly smile.

“I said,” he began, and paused to let the statement sink in. Darrick blushed, and he continued. “Is your betrothed fair in your eyes?”

The first question. In the moment, he would never have been able to remember his mother’s instructions, but it didn’t matter. He knew his answer.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, the answer bursting out of him with far more force than he intended. Richard arched an eyebrow, and Darrick recovered himself enough to answer with a bit more dignity. “Yes, she is indeed.” He turned his eyes back to Abigail, whose own eyes were shining, though with a twinkle of amusement, which was reflected in her grin. But through it all was pure love. His next words he spoke for her alone. “Far beyond all I could imagine.” Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Abigail’s mouth was covering it as she threw herself onto him. The feel of her lips on his and of her body in his arms nearly drove him mad, but the moment only lasted for an instant before they were both pulled backwards. The separation was almost painful, but Abigail’s mischievous grin alleviated the pain. Darrick felt Cynthia’s hand let him go as Anthony released Abigail, but neither of them looked back to see. Darrick did catch a quick glance of Patrick, wearing an expression that could have curdled fresh milk, but in Darrick’s current mood his disapproval simply slid right by him.

“If I may continue?” Richard asked, sarcasm warring with pure amusement in his voice. Abigail gave a sheepish nod, though the look she shot Darrick was anything but. Richard didn’t seem to notice, or care. “I believe Mistress Martin has given her answer, so I will move on. Darrick, do you accept the bond which has been established between you, promising to uphold it until completion?” Suddenly, the euphoria drained out of Darrick like a hole had been drilled into him. This was it, the moment he had been waiting for, before. This was when he was going to make his announcement, reject the betrothal and demand to be released. I can’t do it. I don’t know about all the rest of it – I don’t think I want anything to do with Atlantis or this entire society – but I can’t turn her down. I can’t break her heart. I can’t break my own. Taking a deep breath, he stated,

“Yes.”

He knew his mother was gloating to his father, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the girl in front of him, and her answer to her upcoming question.

“Abigail, do you accept the bond which has been established between you, promising to uphold it until completion?”

“Well, I certainly can’t say ‘no’ now,” she said with a wink to Darrick. Her voice was high, but musical, with a lilt that turned even her flippant reply into a song to Darrick’s ears.

“That’s probably about as close to a straight ‘yes’ that I’m going to get from you,” Richard said, and Darrick had a feeling that very little of this was coming as much of a surprise to him or to her family. He raised his voice then, and addressed both families. “The bond has been acknowledged. The wedding will go forth. Rejoice and be glad!” Claps and cheers went up from both sides, but Darrick barely noticed. All he saw was the twinkle in Abigail’s eye.

2010-11-08T22:01:00.002-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 8

Darrick’s first view of the house came after over two hours of driving through the mountains, on twisty roads abutting up against steep drop-offs that made just looking out the window an anxiety-inducing proposition. Even with that threat, however, Darrick couldn’t stop looking, previous worries temporarily forgotten. He had never seen real mountains before – the little nubs they had back East didn’t count, he could see now – and the view was utterly mesmerizing. Stark rocky angles, slopes barren of any vegetation at this distance, contrasted against soft white peaks to create a perfection of form he had not thought to find outside of pictures. The clear, thin air presented no obstacle to his viewing, and the mountains leapt out in sharp relief against the blue sky backdrop. The sight consumed him, and glances that he thought took but moments ate up whole minutes; by the time they turned off the main road, he looked down at his watch and was shocked to see over two hours had passed. The view from the side road was less spectacular, but that was made up for when they rounded a curve and their destination came into view, seeming to spring up fully formed from the ground.

Darrick had been thinking of it as a house, but it truly was a mansion, sprawling over several acres of ground, wings jutting out from every side. It looked anachronistic to Darrick’s unpracticed eye, a place resting comfortably in the relatively recent past; certainly, the style brought to mind images of untamed moors and doomed gothic lovers rather than ski vacations. As with Richard, however, Darrick found that he had halfway been expecting a drawbridge and a moat; still, unlike with the priest, the real thing was more than dramatic enough for Darrick’s expectations. Several turrets towered up into the sky, and the entire place loomed over them as they drove up to the front door, a massive slab of heavy wood intricately carved.

The car came to a smooth halt, and the drive jumped out to open the door for the group. They climbed out and waited as the man also retrieved their luggage from the trunk, but very quickly declined to have him take it in for them. Cynthia led Darrick and John up to the door as Richard took the driver aside; it took Darrick a second to realize what must be happening now, but when he did, he very quickly averted his eyes from the two men. No need for me to see that, he thought. Just knowing it’s happening is bad enough. A part of him did want to watch, to see his first example of Atlantean magic in action, and he felt more than a bit guilty over the voyeuristic and unworthy impulse, so he very quickly turned his attention to the large door in front of him. It was made of some dark, very hard wood which kept the intricate details of the carvings sharp. The carvings themselves were of vines and leaves twisting around geometric shapes, as though the door were covered in some wood-colored vegetation. In the very center was a design of three concentric circles, pierced in random locations by radial line fragments. His mother lightly touched this central design.

“Darrick,” she said, and Darrick was surprised at the soft, almost reverent tone of her voice, “this is Poseidonis, the capitol of Atlantis. This design is carved on the front door of every Atlantean home, to keep our true home always in the forefront of our memories, and as a symbol to all the Houses of our unity. Remember that, for one day your own home will bear its likeness.” Darrick recognized it now from his studies – interestingly enough, both from his studies with his mother and his Ancient Philosophy class from school from the week they had studied Plato. The three concentric circles were the three great canals of the city – according to Plato, built by Poseidon himself – and the radial lines the various bridges and smaller canals built by the later citizens to connect the various parts of the city. Darrick could see how the remaining Atlanteans could have chosen it as their symbol. It was immediately recognizable, but also random enough to pass for a simple decoration when seen by outsiders.

Cynthia placed her palm on the center of the icon, and the door opened smoothly, its bulk swinging back with seemingly no effort, admitting them into an expansive room. Though the exterior appeared at least a century old, the interior of the mansion was thoroughly modern. A large, flat-screen TV, mounted on a far wall before several couches, in particular caught Darrick’s notice. The room itself was huge, its arched ceiling lined with wooden beams and the hardwood floors covered with thick, colorful rugs.

“Wow,” he said, caught off-guard. “Nicer than I expected.”

“And just what were you expecting?” his mother asked curtly, looking back at him. “Oil lamps and wood stoves? Or maybe a thatched roof and mud walls?” He couldn’t meet his mother’s stare; that was somewhat more in line with his mental picture for the dwelling of ancient magic-wielding Atlanteans. His mother looked disgusted. “Our race has preserved the ancient knowledge of man, lost to all others since the beginning, and you expect us to live like primitives?” She snorted, then rolled her eyes. “Please, try not to embarrass me with any similar statements when anyone else is around.” She returned her attention to the staircase on the far side of the room where a middle-aged couple and a young man in his twenties were descending. John caught Darrick’s eye and shrugged, then walked over and sat down on one of the couches before the television. Darrick started to follow, but John waved him back. I guess this is Mom’s show now, and I’m her prize exhibition.

“It looks as though the Martins have seen our arrival,” Richard said to Cynthia. “Good. I won’t have to call them then. I have a few items of business to take care of before the Presentation tonight, so I’ll leave you to get reacquainted. It is good to have you back.” He smiled, an expression of genuine warmth, and disappeared through a sidedoor. Cynthia looked sad to see him go, but very quickly refocused her attention on the people who were even now approaching, and Darrick followed her lead.

The people from the staircase had now made it down from the balcony above. They looked completely normal to Darrick; they would not have stood out from any couple he passed on the street. In fact, they looked very similar to his mother – same dark hair, same slender build. Is that what Atlanteans look like? Or is this the result of many generations of very close breeding? Darrick didn’t know enough about genetics to know if it was safe for the same ten families to keep marrying each other, but he was fairly certain that doing so would produce a group of very similar-looking people, and that was certainly what he was seeing here. Just how closely related to me is this girl they want me to marry?

The older man and woman both bowed to his mother, just as Richard had earlier, and Cynthia made the returning gesture. Formalities completed, Cynthia thoroughly shocked Darrick by rushing into the woman’s arms as they both laughed and exclaimed loudly how wonderful it was to see the other again. The man who Darrick took to be her husband looked on with a tolerant smile, so Darrick turned his attention to the younger man standing a pace behind them. The young man was already regarding him, and Darrick nearly took a step back at the hardness of his expression. After the initial surprise, though, he was determined to give as good as he got, and returned the appraisal with interest.

He appeared to be Darrick’s age, or maybe a few years older, and looked so similar to the older couple that he could only be their son. But unlike the naked joy of his mother or the tolerant amusement of his father, his stance was one of naked aggression and contempt. He looked Darrick up and down, and Darrick felt himself weighed in the balance and found severely wanting. Darrick tried the same trick, but his opponent did not seem so much as fazed, and Darrick felt more than a little intimidated. The staring match lasted for just a few seconds before their mothers separated themselves and each pulled their respective son forward to be introduced.

“Jessica,” Cynthia said, “this is Darrick.” At the introduction, Jessica repeated her bow and Darrick placed his hand briefly on her head, to Cynthia’s approving nod. “Darrick, this is Jessica Martin, the mother of your intended.”

“My lord,” Jessica said, as she straightened, “it is an honor to meet you, and a joy to know that soon I will greet you not as subject but as family.” Darrick’s heart skipped a beat at that statement, and his stomach tightened a little as well. He had to fight down an urge to correct her. He went through a similar tableau with her husband, Anthony, whose deep voice made the declaration even more ominous.

“Jessica and I were very close when we were children,” Cynthia told him, “though we haven’t seen each other since I married your father.” She looked over at John, sitting by himself, and her resentment was obvious, at least to Darrick. She covered it up quickly, though, presumably to not disturb the Martins. “It was one of my happiest moments as a mother when they agreed to betroth you to Abigail. I look forward to meeting her, Jessica.”

“And she can’t wait to meet all of you at the Presentation tonight,” Jessica responded. “But we can’t forget my son. My lady Cynthia, this is my son, Patrick. Patrick, this is the Lady Cynthia and the Lord Darrick.” Patrick made his bows, proper to the inch, and yet somehow the bow he gave Darrick was a gesture of insolence, not obeisance. Or maybe that was just how it seemed to Darrick, since neither his or Patrick’s mother commented. But the hooded glare he gave Darrick even as he bowed his head left little doubt in his mind. As Patrick rose, though, his father met his eyes, and Patrick paled ever so slightly. Darrick suppressed a smirk. Nice to know someone’s keeping him in line.

“Patrick is betrothed to Elizabeth Connor, though their bond has yet to reach maturity,” Jessica was saying. “But then, Abigail has always been more mature than him, even though she’s two years younger.” Jessica chuckled at her own pun, but Patrick turned his icy stare to his mother then, and even Darrick had to wince at the bluntness of the statement.

“Everything in its own time,” Cynthia replied, “or so Richard always taught us, anyway. I’m sure your chance will come soon enough, Patrick, but until then, enjoy your sister’s wedding!” Patrick forced an amiable mein that did not touch his eyes.

“I’m very happy for my sister,” he said in a passable imitation of honesty. “Maybe this will give me the opportunity to learn from her mistakes.” Cynthia and Jessica both laughed; Darrick wondered if they saw the sideways glance Patrick threw in his direction. Anthony cleared his throat ostentatiously, loud enough to jerk Patrick back to a semblance of propriety and the two women out of their giddy conversation.

“I know the two of you want to catch up, dear,” he said, placing a hand gently on her arm, “but you might want to let them get settled in first. At least show them their rooms and let them put their things away. We have a long day ahead of us, and there will be plenty of time to talk at the feast tonight, after the Presentation.”

“Of course, of course,” Jessica said, looking back at her husband fondly and placing her hand over his. “You must be exhausted after your flight and the drive up. We have you in the first floor of the north wing. We’re in the south. You should have some time to freshen up before preparations begin.” She turned to Darrick. “Try to get some rest, Darrick. I’m sure you’re excited to meet Abigail – I know she is to meet you – but you don’t want to go into tonight without at least a nap to reinvigorate.”

“I’ll do my best,” Darrick said. The realization of what was going to happen in just few hours was coming down on him hard; breath was hard to take and his heart was pounding in his chest. Either I go ahead with this and seal my fate, or I say no, and God only knows what these people will say, or do, about that. They seem nice enough, but so did that priest Richard, and he just wiped a man’s memory. The huge mansion was feeling more than a bit like a prison now, the walls closing in, as he picked up his luggage and followed his mother down a hallway, his father falling in behind them.

2010-11-07T20:07:00.003-05:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 7

Darrick’s parents caught up with him on the gangway leading into the airport from the plane. Neither of them spoke, but his mother’s look was clear: Be on your best behavior. Remember what I’ve taught you. Earlier she had told them that they were going to be met at the airport by one of her people, though she didn’t know which one; whoever it was, though, there would be a ceremonial greeting in which he would have to take part, and his mother had drilled him on it repeatedly. Obviously, first impressions were important. More importantly, from here on out he was no longer Darrick Knight, ordinary college student, but rather Darrick, son of Cynthia, Atlantean prince. Too bad I feel more like the pauper.

The older, white-haired man met them just outside of baggage claim. Darrick was surprised at his own sense of vague disappointment at the man’s attire of boring suit and tie; he realized that he had been half-expecting some fantastic figure in robes and capes. No normal suited-up businessman would have done what this figure did next, however. As soon as Darrick and his parents came within speaking distance, the man crossed his arms over his chest and bowed from the waist; he remained bent as Cynthia placed her right hand on the top of his head.

“My lady,” he intoned, his voice deep and solemn. “I welcome you back to your realm and your people. Your absence has left us poorer, and your arrival returns the life to our land. Let the gods bear witness to our plea: may we never be parted again.”

Darrick had been drilled on this ceremony more times than he wished to count, and had quietly found it ridiculous; seeing it in person, however, there was a dignity and a pathos to it that his lessons had somehow lost. His mother’s time outside of Atlantean society was being treated as though she had left on a long journey, and for Atlantean nobility, time away from their people was treated as a great hardship, and their return a great joy. Darrick had assumed that the ceremony was just that – a ceremony, a formality, with no real feeling behind it. But he heard loss in the old man’s voice, and true happiness when speaking of his mother’s return. Two sentences from this man brought Atlantis closer to him than an entire week of his mother’s lessons.

“My journey has been long and arduous,” Cynthia replied, her hand still on the old man’s bowed head, “but it is now at an end. I have returned to serve and guide my people, to protect and heal the land. May we never be parted again.” Darrick had never heard his mother sound so -- regal, dignified, and yet loving. For the first time since learning of his mother’s past, he found himself doubting not her, but himself. Can I be this? This is what they expect of me? Not just marriage, but leadership? Nobility? It seems almost like divinity. I’m just . . . just . . . me! But there was no time for this line of thought to progress further, for the old man straightened and turned to him, then bowed as he had to his mother.

“My lord,” he said, his voice as solemn as before, “I welcome you into your inheritance. Your people await your unveiling. May the gods grant you wisdom and strength as you take your place as a servant of all.” That was the traditional greeting for an Atlantean noble-born greeting his subjects for the first time, an occasion that usually occurred on a young aristocrat’s tenth birthday. His mother, in conference with the other Houses, had decided that it was the ritual most suited to the occasion. He rested his right hand on the old man’s brittle hair in a mirror of his mother’s motion.

“I am prepared to take my place in the hall of my father,” he responded, his voice shaking a bit. Oh, god, what kind of a lie is that? “My life is to serve.” But I don’t want that life! For the first time, Darrick felt a twinge of guilt as he thought those words, but he pushed it down. It’s my life. I can choose my responsibilities and my future. Just a little bit longer before I can stop all of this.

The man stood as Darrick removed his hand. Immediately, his formal demeanor dropped and he smiled, an expression his mother returned. Darrick blinked in surprise at the change in tone.

“Your Reverence,” she said warmly, “I never thought it would be you to meet us here. It’s good to see you again.” She reached back and pulled Darrick up to stand beside her. “I want you to meet my son, Darrick. Darrick, this is our priest, Richard Dawson.” Dawson reached out his hand and took Darrick’s in a handshake, a gesture bizarrely normal after what they had just gone through. “Our priest not only leads our religious life, but also preserves all the ancient Atlantean knowledge. Without him, so much of what we are would be lost forever.” Darrick was still taken aback by the rapid shift away from formality, but remembering all that his mother had taught him over the past week, he realized that it made sense. They’re trying to keep an entire culture going with just a handful of people, right under the nose of everyone else. The formalities are necessary to maintain the illusion of an entire social structure, but everyone still knows each other like family or childhood friends.

“Your mother is far too kind,” Dawson said. “Sadly, I’m not near the priest I should be; I can only recite about half of what my predecessor could. Fortunately, my son looks to be doing much better than I ever did. You look to be turning into a fine young man as well, Darrick. You look a great deal like your grandfather, may the gods hold his spirit tight.” He let go of Darrick’s hand, and turned towards his father. “And you must be John Knight. It is a pleasure to meet you. From everything I have heard, you have raised a fine son. You have the thanks of our people.” He and John shook hands, Richard with a smile, John’s expression carefully neutral.

“I didn’t do it for you,” John said, “but thanks for the acknowledgment. It’s more than I usually get from you people.” Richard nodded in reply.

“Yes, I know that some of us can be a bit . . . abrupt in our dealings with the outside world. You have my apologies. I never meant to imply that your son was exclusively ours.” He glanced at Cynthia, to include her in his next statement. “I know that your son has a hard life ahead of him, having to find a life between two worlds. I trust that both of you will always be there to give him the guidance and the example he needs.” John jerked his head up and down once, but Cynthia averted her gaze, and her mouth tightened. “But that’s for the future, eh?” Richard continued, grinning. “For now, let’s just focus on the happy nuptials, why don’t we? The Martins are already waiting anxiously for all of you. We have a long drive ahead of us, and a lot of work to get done for the Presentation tonight.” He waved at a couple of men behind him, who came forward to pick up their luggage. “The Martins have hired a limo to take you up in style. Of course, I’ll have to erase the driver’s memory later, but it was still a thoughtful gesture, don’t you think?”

Wipe his memory? Is that something their magic can do? God! The calm, matter-of-fact tone with which this kindly old man had suggested tampering with the mind of the hired driver sent a chill up Darrick’s spine. Can’t they see how warped that is? He felt another chill as he realized that his own mind had already been tampered with, possibly by this very man. What else have they done to me? Can I trust anything of who I am, what I remember? As much as she got on his nerves, he couldn’t think of his mother – or by extension, her entire race – as evil, but he couldn’t accept the morality of this kind of casual meddling with people’s minds either.

“Wait just a second,” Darrick said as the others all began to make their way towards the exit. “You’re just going to erase a man’s mind, just so he won’t know the location of your precious hideout? That’s horrible! Who are you to do that?!” They all turned to look at him, but each of their reactions were very different. His mother was annoyed, an expression familiar to him from childhood; she looked as though she was ready to pull him into another room and lecture him in embarrassing her in front of company. His father smirked, pleased to see his son strike a blow against his mother’s world. Richard simply considered him with a patient gaze, and stepped back to talk to him.

“I understand your concern, Darrick,” he said. “A man’s mind is sacred, and it should not be tampered with on a whim. But believe me when I say that I will do him no harm. I will simply blur his recollections. He will remember that he had a job today and a rough idea of where he went, but details of exactly who and where will be just a bit beyond his recall. In the end, he will probably be no different than he would have been anyway; in a week’s time, do you think the man will remember the details of every job he has had today? All I am doing is taking precautions, just in case this one trip would be the one he would remember. Darrick, we are a secret people for a reason. Our history has shown us that we cannot let outsiders know of our existence; those who do not want to kill us want to study us, and those who do not want to study us want to revere us and never let us alone. Trust the wisdom of millennia. I will do what I must to keep us secret, but don’t be afraid, I will always be as ethical as I can when doing so. Do you understand?”

Darrick nodded. The situation still bothered him, but it did sound as though this priest was doing all he could to keep his actions as harmless as possible. There will be enough of an uproar later; save your energy for that. He had only taken a few steps outside when a truly horrid thought struck him. What if he was pulling one of those magic tricks on me? He could have been manipulating my mind right there, and I would never know it! God, the circle never ends! No, no, I can’t do this! I just have to keep going and stop second-guessing myself. It will all be over after tonight. Turn this wedding down and I can go back to the sane world again. I just have to hold up until then.

He followed the others out the door to the waiting car.

2010-11-06T23:00:00.002-04:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 6

One week later, Darrick sat in a comfortable padded seat in the first class section of a passenger jet, watching through the window as the clouds passed far below him. Despite the serenity of the view, he couldn’t find the relaxation he craved, that he so needed after the busiest, most mentally-exhausting week of his life. Somehow, he had managed to keep all the study dates he had already arranged, and felt confident that he had performed adequately on his finals – well enough to not be embarrassed when he returned to school anyway – but every other second of his time had been filled with his mother’s comprehensive, extremely compressed Atlantean education. History, culture, traditions – everything she thought he needed to not make a complete fool of himself during the upcoming ceremonies. The frontal lob of his brain ached with the overload of information.

One thing that could be said of his accelerated education is that it had kept the friction between himself and his mother to a minimum. All his concentration had gone into just learning whatever was thrown at him, without any left over to give thought to all the philosophical and personal questions raised by the situation that necessitated his learning of them. Now that the trial by fire had passed, however, his earlier doubts and fears and objections were returning, accompanied by all new anxieties. What his father had told him during that that night-time conversation had stayed in the back of his mind, both what he had said about his mother and about the attitude of the other Atlanteans. I would have never thought that she was happy; she seems even more irritated than normal. Maybe she’s just that scared I’m going to screw up. And if the other Atlanteans are that obsessed with bloodline and tradition, I suppose I can see why. But if I’ll never be able to satisfy all of them, why are we even bothering? I’m damned if I don’t, surely, but it seems as though I’m already damned to most of them no matter what, just for being what I am. What kind of people think like that? How can people living in the 21st century, in America no less, still hold on to such a medieval attitude? And she wants me to marry one of them! Well, I’ve got my out; I say ‘no’ and the whole thing’s off. Her word on it. Despite the fact that he didn’t see himself letting the thing go on for more two seconds after this “Presentation” was over, the thought of meeting the girl his mother had intended for him to marry still caused his heart to skip a beat, a reaction that continued to annoy him. Stop it! he said to himself. Nothing’s going to happen. You’re going to make sure nothing happens. Do you really want something to happen with this girl? She’s probably ashamed to be betrothed to you. Just end it as soon as possible and get back to your life. Sure, it’s been turned upside-down, but it’s still yours, no strings attached.

Making the situation even more complicated, Darrick found to his annoyance that his thoughts flowed more and more in the Atlantean language. That had been his mother’s first lesson, the morning of his first day as her student – to be an Atlantean, he had to think like an Atlantean, and that meant knowing the language.

“. . . so from now on,” she had began, “I will speak with you in nothing but Atlantean. You need to get used to it; when you marry, this will be the everyday language of your home. We speak English when dealing with the outside world, but the home language of every Atlantean is Atlantean.”

“How am I supposed to understand your lessons when I don’t even understand the language?” he had asked, incredulous. His mother smirked.

“Darrick, I started speaking Atlantean to you yesterday.”

“What?”

“Darrick, what you think of as language is a travesty. Random sounds, assigned meanings completely unrelated to their true nature. It’s a wonder anyone can speak them at all. Atlantean is something much more natural, much more beautiful. Atlantean is true language, language where every word is the natural auditory representation of its meaning. A word in Atlantean contains the essence of what it describes. It is the first language of mankind, before Babel, now lost to everyone save us. But the mind still knows it and recognizes it. The English words you think you are hearing is just your mind interpreting the concepts the Atlantean words are conveying.”

“So if I’m hearing it as English, how am I supposed to learn to speak it?”

“Concentrate. Listen closely to what I’m saying. Don’t just accept what you think you hear, but really pay attention to the sounds I am making. Do it.”

Darrick had tried to follow the instructions as his mother continued to speak. At first, he had not been able to discern any difference in what she had said. Just as he was about to give up in frustration, though, it had come through; his mother’s familiar words had transmuted into alien sounds. And yet, not completely alien. Even though he had never heard them before, he had found he could still understand them. The sensation had been bizarre, shocking, but also exhilarating. For an instant, all his resentment had faded away, replaced with awe and excitement over the entire new world that was being opened up to him. The sensation had not lasted – the effort of keeping up with finals and his own special home-schooling had swallowed up every other emotion – but even now he could look back on it as a bright spot in his memory.

“This is the secret to what your father calls Atlantean magic,” she had continued. “You’ve probably heard old stories about how knowing an object’s or a person’s true name is the key to power over them. That’s not entirely true, but there is a kernel of reality to it. Naming what you wish in true language can influence the workings of the universe itself. There’s more to it than just saying what you want, of course; there has to be a certain amount of precision, a proper phrasing. I don’t know exactly; I never studied to be a priest. But I definitely know that your father’s term of ‘magic’ is woefully inadequate, if not just outright insulting. But all that aside, there are other advantages to the Atlantean language. Atlantean has precision and shades of meaning impossible in other languages; you can say exactly what is on your mind, express the exact thought you wish, with no ambiguity. Misunderstandings do not happen in Atlantean. And I will have you fluent in it by your Presentation.”

The thought of learning an entire language in a week had been incredibly daunting, but it had proven surprisingly easy. In fact, it had felt less like learning and more like remembering something long forgotten. Now, it had insinuated itself into his thought processes to the point where he had to make an effort to think in English. He made the effort, though. It was his own small rebellion, his own little struggle to retain something of his own identity, to resist assimilation. Resistance will not be futile.

Resistance or no, though, he was still sitting in an airplane flying over the Rockies, to a remote mountain manor where he would meet the girl who planned to take over his life. Even the seat was the property of her family; they had paid for the first class accommodations, a gift to the prospective groom. At least I managed to get a seat on the opposite side of the plane from my parents. They were seated across the aisle on his right, very studiously ignoring each other, his father reading, his mother staring out the window, lost in her own thoughts. Darrick felt that this was as far away as he had been from his mother for an entire week, and the closest he had been to his father. His father had faded into the background this week, and Darrick couldn’t help but feel abandoned, as though his father had given him up to his mother’s world. Well, I’m no one’s to give or receive. I’ll make my own decisions as to whose world in which I wish to live. Even though he was about to fly headfirst into a very different world than the one which he had chosen.

Their ultimate destination was an old house high up in the Rocky Mountains, a house built by and for the Atlanteans. According to his mother, the Atlantean community had come to the Americas early on, seeking to find their own land and live openly in their own community, for the first time in the millennia since Atlantis had sank. But their dream, a dream of a New Atlantis, had never come to fruition; there had always been other settlers, other people nearby who would not understand, who would seek to hunt them down and drive them out. Or so the Atlanteans had believed. But whether their beliefs were correct or simply the result of paranoia, they had never come out of hiding, and the only remnant of their grand dream was an enormous manor house in the mountains, which now served as their cultural center. Most Atlantean families lived near each other within driving distance of this central mansion. They used it for religious gatherings, councils, and other ceremonies, such as weddings. Within this house, Atlantean law reigned, Atlantean culture was supreme; and the ten Houses apparently had the resources to make sure it remained so. As soon as they set down in Denver, they would drive up there to meet his fiancée’s family, and the Presentation would take place that very night. Over the next two weeks, all ten Houses would converge there for his wedding, a house filled with strange people he didn’t know, all with their own expectations and prejudices about him. He was the last heir of a noble House, and his marriage was of great import; even his person was a matter of great speculation and interest. Just the anticipation of all the attention – both positive and negative – was enough to make him want to shrink in on himself slightly.

A shudder passed throughout the plane, and Darrick felt himself being pressed forward. We’ve landed. Time to brace myself indeed.

2010-11-05T21:28:00.003-04:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 5

That night, Darrick lay awake in bed, his mind overwhelmed by the day, ruminating over his recent past and his possible future. During the day, his anger over the betrothal had overshadowed everything else, but now that some compromise had been reached, he was left to consider the other world-shaking revelations he had received. Atlantis, real. Magic, real. Those two alone were enough to reshape one’s entire worldview. That said magic had been used on him was infuriating, but after nearly an entire day of arguments, Darrick found that he no longer had the energy to focus on his outrage.

What would all my science profs say if they knew about this? Maybe more important, what would my psych prof say if he knew about this? Maybe Mom is crazy after all, and she’s just so good at it that she managed to fool my Dad. But does that mean this girl Abigail is crazy, too? And what about me? Her explanation makes a disturbing amount of sense when it comes to my own relationships. In the end, his mother was right. He believed her, as unbelievable as her story was, because any other, supposedly rational, explanation was even more unbelievable.

So, magic. If magic is real, what else is real? Bigfoot, telephone psychics? Did the Salem Witch Trials burn real witches? Can I be sure of anything anymore? It was just too big, too much to comprehend. Is this what the brain does when it encounters something so huge it can turn the world upside-down? Withdraws, narrows its focus until the world can be handled again? All those people out there who don’t watch the news, don’t care about the world outside of their own hometown, is this what they’re doing? Limiting the universe until it’s something they can comprehend? Darrick was a history major, and one of the things he loved about his field of study was the broad perspective it brought, the necessity of taking the long and wide view. But now he found himself shrinking back from this long view, afraid of where it might lead and overwhelmed by the thought of revising everything he knew in the light of his new knowledge. How can I go back to school in the fall knowing what I know now, and still take it at all seriously? They’re all wrong, and I know they’re all wrong. But I can’t tell them. They’d laugh me out of the program. So what was left for him now? Return to studies which now seemed laughably ill-informed? He didn’t want to sit around and live off his fiancée’s money; whether he ended up with the girl or not, that thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

Darrick turned on his side and curled up; he felt like throwing the blankets over his head, but hiding from this problem definitely wasn’t going to make it go away. During the day he might be able to push all his uncertainties to the back of his mind and just focus on dealing with what was in front of him, but at night all those distractions faded away and he had to face whatever he had been avoiding. And sometimes the real concerns caught him by surprise.

What am I going to tell everybody? he found himself thinking, to his own embarrassment. I leave at the end of spring newly single, I come back newly married! It’s absurd. It’s not like people don’t tell me I’m impulsive – I’ve heard that enough to be sick of it – but this would take the cake. It was a ludicrous thing to worry about, he knew; the opinions of his friends were minor next to the huge questions this situation raised about his future – not to mention the fate of the universe – but he found himself worrying about them all the same. I guess I’m more shallow than I thought I was.

Darrick turned to look at the clock. 2:25 AM. I’m not going to sleep, am I? And I have so much to do this weekend. He rolled himself out of bed and slipped on a T-shirt over his boxers, remembering that staying in bed was the worst way to deal with insomnia. He walked into the living room, hoping to find something worthwhile on TV, but was surprised to find that his father had beaten him to it.

“I wondered if you would be able to sleep tonight,” John said. He was slouched on the couch in his bathrobe, the TV remote in one hand and a drink in the other. The glow of the muted television cast an eerie glow over the room, and combined with Darrick’s lack of sleep, gave the entire scene a dreamlike, surreal quality.

“What are you doing up?” Darrick asked. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or not. He had planned on being alone, but he hadn’t had the chance to talk to his father much during the day, and he found himself craving some relatively sane conversation.

“It’s not every day your son’s life is turned around,” Darrick’s father replied. “Good or bad, it’s never easy for a parent.”

“Mom doesn’t seem to have any problem with it,” Darrick responded bitterly. “I’ll bet she’s sound asleep.”

“Don’t be so hard on her,” John said. “The circumstances aren’t the best, true, but your mother’s finally achieved something I’ve wanted to see in her for a long time. She’s happy, Darrick. She truly believes she’s done the best for you, and that’s all any parent wants for their child. I hate to say it, but you might have never really known her happy before. Your mother has been isolated from her own people since before you were born, at first because she was the third-born, and then later because she agreed to raise you in a normal life. Now that’s all changing, and she’s getting the chance to see old friends she hasn’t seen in years, and find her way back into a society she’s been an exile from. She’s ecstatic, and desperate that nothing goes wrong. Please keep that in mind when you deal with her.”

Darrick sat down on the couch next to his father, facing the television. It was the news, the headlines describing some developing crisis with North Korea or someplace like that. Darrick found it hard to care about such things right now.

“You don’t exactly seem overjoyed by the situation, though,” he said to his father, turning his head to face him. The light from the screen played over John’s face, emphasizing the lines that had started to recently develop, transforming his father into a tired old man. “She may be happy, but the two of you don’t seem to be doing any better.”

His father sighed, and took a deep swallow of the drink he held in his hand.

“Your mother is very happy to rejoin Atlantean society, and I think they’re just as glad to get her back.” He paused, and his head tilted downwards slightly to stare into his drink. “I, on the other hand, am a bit less welcome. I’m the outsider who has tainted her in their eyes, and maybe even more importantly, tainted you, the heir. It may be generations before her family – your descendents, should you choose to go through with this wedding – can shake that stigma.” He turned to face Darrick. “Son, the Atlanteans are not modern people. Oh, they use modern technology and everything, but they don’t think like us. Bloodline means a lot to them; they will judge you based on who your parents were much more than on what you yourself do. I want to make sure you understand this before you meet them. You might hear some nasty things said about you, your mother, and especially me. People are going to call you ‘half-breed’, and believe me, to them, that’s a huge insult. Some of them will never see you as their equal, no matter how much rank your family has – and your mother’s family has a lot.”

“So my fiancée’s family already hates me.” The one good thing that could have come out of this, and it’s already spoiled.

“I don’t know, Darrick,” his father replied. “I’ve never met them; they may be some of the good ones. All I can say from the limited contact I’ve had with the Atlanteans is that some of them are very hostile to people who aren’t like them. I hope Abigail’s family isn’t like that. I’m sure she herself isn’t. But I didn’t tell you this to scare you; I know you’re scared enough already. I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . don’t let the bastards get you down. Don’t believe what they say about you. You’re better than they are. You’ve lived in the real world, dealt with different people and experienced more in your twenty years than some of them experience in a lifetime. That’s my gift to you. I had to fight your mother tooth and nail to agree to it, but I made sure you were raised like any American kid. You have common sense, even if you don’t always use it, and decent values. You understand that people should be judged for themselves and not for who their parents are, and that lives should be more than just vehicles for tradition. If you go through with this wedding, I hope you keep that in mind. And keep your poor dad in mind.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his shadowed eyes.

Darrick returned the smile, but he didn’t feel it in his heart. He felt as though he had never known his father before; suddenly, so many memories and impressions he had received over the course of his life came together, and he saw what his father must have gone through over his life. Married to a woman who yearned for an ideal she had built up in her head, attached to a family that despised him not for who he was but where he had come from, doomed to never win their love for reasons utterly out of his control. Struggling to keep his son from the same fate, and now faced with the possibility of failure. Darrick wondered if he could have held himself together half as well.

“Dad, I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said, knowing the words to be inadequate but unable to think of anything better. In response, John smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about me,” John said. “I got what I most wanted: a son I’m proud of. And I have no doubt that you’ll stay that way.” Darrick’s father squeezed his shoulder. “But I think it’s time for you to go to bed now. You’ve got a busy week ahead of you, and you’ll need your rest if you want to keep up with your mother, let alone your finals.” Darrick chuckled in acknowledgment. They remained that way for another second, then Darrick rose to return to bed, leaving his father alone in the pale TV light.

2010-11-04T19:22:00.003-04:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 4

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Darrick and Roger sat at a table in a coffeehouse right off of campus. The rustic décor – wooden furniture, muted colors, and a central fireplace (currently empty) – gave the place a soothing quality Darrick was deeply appreciating, given how his world had just been so thoroughly upended. He had asked Roger to meet him there when he realized that, even though he desperately wanted to clue in his friend to everything that had happened, he had no idea how to even start the story; the time it took to drive to campus gave him needed time to clear his head and organize his thoughts. Very quickly, he concluded that, much as he needed to talk, he couldn’t tell his friend everything. As angry as he was with his mother, he had been given a trust, a secret belonging not to him, or even to her, but to an entire group; he couldn’t share it. Not a word about Atlantis would he say (realizing that his friend might very well believe he had gone completely around the bend had a role to play in his decision, he had to admit). However, that was making the rest of it all even more difficult to explain and for Roger to believe.

“Oh, no, I most certainly am not,” Darrick replied. “They’ve arranged a marriage for me, and they plan on it happening soon.” Darrick resisted the urge to look around and see if anyone else was following the conversation; with his anger was mixed a measurable amount of embarrassment at the situation, and he didn’t want any of his fellow students to overhear. He had even unconsciously leaned over the table towards Roger on the opposite side, to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

Roger looked as Darrick imagined he might have upon hearing the news. Utter confusion, mixed with a rising anger.

“And you won’t tell me why?”

“No, I really can’t.” Darrick shrugged an apology. Roger ran his hand through his hair and blew out his breath.

“Well then, forget ‘why’,” Roger said. “How can they do this? It can’t be legal. Don’t they arrest people for that sort of thing, y’know, like Arabs or Indians or other people who send their children off to be married against their wishes?”

“I think that’s when it’s children, nine- or ten-year-olds. Though I suppose they would apply the same thing to people forcing their older children into marriage, too.” Darrick took a sip of his coffee, wincing at the taste; it was stronger than he usually took it, but he felt he needed something strong to brace him for this conversation, and for whatever conversation he was going to have when he returned home. “Besides, am I supposed to report them? I’m not happy with my parents right now – Mom, mainly, but Dad hasn’t done all that well here either – but I don’t want to see them in jail. I don’t think they deserve that.”

Roger sat back and crossed his arms.

“Well, man, I’m not sure what I should say here. There’s obviously a lot going on here that you aren’t telling me, but I won’t pry. But are you sure you can’t talk them out of this?”

“They’ve been planning this ever since I was a baby.” Darrick’s mind still reeled at that thought. All his life there had been this secret life all around him of which he had never been aware. Now that he knew it, so many things – like his parents’ tumultuous relationship – made so much more sense that he wanted to kick himself for not having picked up on it before. But still, how could he have ever guessed his mother hailed from a land he had always believed to be mythical? “My mother’s practically built her life around it, I think. No, I don’t think she’ll be talked out of it.”

“What about bargaining, then? Maybe you can talk them into putting it off for a while, at least. You’ve still got two more years of school, for goodness sake. Don’t they want you to finish?” Darrick heard his own frustration matched in Roger’s voice.

“Yesterday, I would have said ‘yes’, but I think this is more important to her than that.” Darrick considered the idea for a moment. “Still, it can’t hurt to try. Delay isn’t as good as ending it all together, but two more years on my own might give me a chance to try to figure a way out of this.”

“Or at least give you some time to get to know the girl a bit first. Maybe if you hate each other, your parents will change their minds. Hell, if it’s like any of your other relationships, the two of you won’t be able to stand the sight of each other within six months.” Roger smirked, and Darrick grunted in protest.

“Mom seems pretty convinced that we’ll get on well.” And she’s taken steps – magical steps! – to insure that’s the case. The thought that his mind had been tampered with in that way still sent creepy chills up his spine and nausea shooting through his stomach. For a few seconds, he had to fight to keep his coffee down. He sent the thought to the back of his mind, to be dealt with later, on his own.

“Well, what do you know about her?”

Darrick laughed as he realized what little he had to say in that area. It was a tight laugh, with very little mirth involved, just a weary irony.

“I don’t know anything about her, not even her name. I should probably ask about that.” He sniffed another self-deprecating laugh. “Mom did say her family was rich, very rich apparently.”

“Just what you need, a rich bitch.” Unaccountably, Darrick felt his ire rise at Roger’s statement, and he rushed to defend his unknown intended, to his own surprise.

“We don’t know that she’s like that,” he said sharply. “That’s a nasty thing to say about someone you’ve never even met.” Roger raised his hands in mock self-defense.

“Sorry, man. I thought it might make you feel better to vent on her a bit. But, point taken. This isn’t her fault. She might be as angry about this as you. There’s a bonding point for you two.”

“It’s not much, but I’ll take it.” A beep emanated from Darrick’s pocket. He took out his cell phone and flipped it open. “It’s a text from my mother. She wants me to come back home to talk some more. She says she has something to tell me that might make me feel better about the betrothal.” He snapped the phone shut again. I don’t want to go home yet, but avoiding this problem isn’t going to make it go away. I suppose I should face it head on sooner rather than later. He downed the rest of his cooled coffee in one gulp.

“Heading out, then?” Roger asked. Darrick nodded as he stood.

“Yeah,” he said. “Better get this over with. Thanks for listening, and for not freaking out.”

“What’s a friend for if not to hear you out when your parents do something stupid,” Roger said as he joined Darrick on the way to the door. “Don’t forget about bargaining for some time. Be firm.”

“I’ll do my best.”

* * * * *

By the time Darrick reached home, a détente had been reached between his parents. He found them sitting on opposite sides of the room, his mother reading a book, his father watching TV. As soon as he walked in the door, however, the TV switched off and the book was laid on the side table. Darrick swallowed as his parents’ attentions were turned fully to him.

“OK, this is what I have to say,” he started, as quickly as he could. I have to get this out before they can take over the conversation, or get in another fight. “I want time to think about this. I’m sure you want me to finish school, and that’s a really hard thing to do when you’re a newlywed. Give me my next two years, and then we can see about this marriage thing.” His mother was shaking her head before he was even finished.

“No, Darrick, that’s impossible,” she said, her voice firm. “The bond doesn’t work that way. Atlanteans don’t get married whenever they feel like it; the bond lets them know the proper time. I know you felt it; what happened with Vivian confirms it. When the bond matures, the betrothed couple is drawn to each other, and outside attachments are severed. Isn’t that what happened with you? You lost interest suddenly and completely?”

Oh god, even that was manipulated! Darrick’s anger rose up, and he could feel his jaw clench automatically. “Tell me, have I ever had a single feeling, a single thought, that wasn’t controlled by this spell you put me under? Is there anything about me I can trust?” Maybe they do deserve prison!

“The bond does what’s best for you, for both of you. Eventually, you would have realized she wasn’t right for you and moved on. All this did was accelerate the process. Now, will you listen to what I have to tell you? You have the rest of your life to be mad at me if you want, though I think that it won’t be long before you thank me. But for now, just listen. Can you do that?” Darrick nodded grudgingly. “Very good. The bond has indicated it is time for the two of you to marry. I will admit that it happened remarkably quickly; usually it takes until your mid-twenties or so to fully mature. My original plan was to wait until you had graduated college, and then spend the next few years preparing you for this, teaching you about your Atlantean heritage gradually. That’s the whole reason I agreed to your father’s demand to raise you ‘normal’ in the first place.”

Cynthia turned to look at her husband briefly, expecting an outburst, but he remained silent. His expression, though, was anything but compliant. In response, she continued, “I will admit that I made mistakes, and that this whole affair could have been handled better by all concerned, but that’s in the past now. We need to deal with the present.” She held John’s gaze for a little while longer; after a few moments, he nodded, and she turned back to Darrick.

“Anyway, Atlantean tradition demands that the marriage happen soon after the maturation, and all the Houses are expecting us to stick very closely to that tradition. Remember that, Darrick – how well you can abide by our traditions will say much about you to the other Houses. It may even make or break you with them. You already have two strikes against you – your mixed blood and your lack of a proper Atlantean upbringing and education. You need to make a good showing before the other Houses during the wedding festivities. Our House’s good name is our only real source of power in Atlantean society. Don’t drag it through the mud.”

“So, in other words,” Darrick said bitterly, “you want me to spend my wedding trying to impress what sounds like a bigoted, arrogant group of power-crazy relatives just so we can have a good social standing?”

“Just like at every other wedding,” she replied with a smirk, catching Darrick off-guard. He wasn’t used to humor from his mother. “Don’t worry; I won’t let you shame us. We leave for the wedding in a week. From now until then, I am going to drill you in all the knowledge you should have spent the last twenty years learning. Customs, history, propriety, language – all of it. Of course, I won’t be able to make up for all the lost time, but hopefully I can teach you enough to keep you from making too many faux pas.”

“The next week?!” Daniel exclaimed in a panic. “I’ve got finals! I can’t spend all my time learning Atlantean crap when I’ve got real classes to prepare for!”

“Yes, you can. And you won’t have to spend all your time. Just consider your finals to be increased by one. And this one, you really can’t afford to fail.”

Darrick stalked over to the couch and plopped down, his head already aching as he put his head in his hands. I should have known she wasn’t going to budge on anything. She never does. Is there any way I can get out of this without sending my parents to prison or running away from home? The last thought caught him up short, but he dismissed it as quickly as he considered it. They’re paying for all my college bills. If I leave, I doubt they’ll continue paying for school, and then what will I do? He heard a sigh next to him, and found his mother sitting at his side.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be as bad as all that,” she said, in as comforting of a tone as Darrick thought she could manage. “I’m a good teacher, and there will be many people there who will be willing to help you. And, of course, I’ll be close by to catch any slip-ups before they get too out of hand. You’re intelligent. You’ll do fine.”

“I don’t want to do fine,” Darrick said. “I don’t want any of this. I just want my life to go back to the way it was yesterday, back when I thought I had a choice about the person I was going to be with the rest of my life.” He felt like crying, but he hadn’t cried since he was ten – not in front of other people, at any rate.

“Cynthia . . .” he heard his father say, his tone sounding very similar to how it had when he had caught Darrick in the middle of trouble when he was younger. Cynthia turned to look at him.

“I was getting to it,” she said in irritation. “Darrick, your father and I have come to a decision. The start of an Atlantean wedding is the Presentation, when the bride and groom are formally introduced to each other. In ancient times, this was often the first time they had met; nowadays, all the remaining Houses know each other very well, and the Presentation is merely a formality. Except in your case, of course. After the Presentation, the couple is given some time to get to know one another; usually, two or three weeks, almost never more than a month. Once the families believe that they have spent sufficient time together, the actual wedding takes place. Your presentation to Abigail is in one week; if, at that time, you still tell me you don’t want to marry her, than we will call the whole thing off, and you can go back to your normal life. Does that satisfy you?”

Darrick was stunned. I can’t believe she’s giving me this loophole. Surely she knows that I’ll say no as soon as I meet this girl. He realized the kink in his plan.

“And what about this bond?” he asked. “You know, the one that keeps me from being happy with anyone else?”

“I’ll talk to the priest about removing it. I don’t know if it’s possible – I’ve never heard of it being done before – but I give you my word that I will try. And if it can’t be removed . . . well, then you’re in the same position you would be if we broke the betrothal right now. Do we have a deal?”

Darrick thought for a moment. I can’t see any other way out, not without hurting a lot of people and screwing up my own life even worse than it already is.

“It’s not perfect, but it’ll do,” he said. “I’ll give you your Presentation.” Darrick could almost hear the clang of a metal door as it swung shut on his life, but he told himself he was just imagining things. Then he realized something his mother had said. “So, her name’s Abigail?” Darrick felt a little skip in his chest at the name, a shortening of breath. It’s nothing, he told himself. It’s gonna mean something, learning the name of the girl you’re engaged to. It’s just fantasy, romanticism run amok. Nothing to be concerned about. But a part of him worried that he might be already lost.

“Yes, it is.” His mother smiled, the first genuine smile Darrick had seen on her in a long time. “Abigail Martin. She’s a wonderful girl, Darrick. Smart, talented, very sweet. Her parents have kept me apprised of her ever since the two of you were betrothed. The two of you are very well suited for each other, as I’m sure you will discover yourself if you give her a chance.”

We’ll see, Darrick thought.

2010-11-03T23:18:00.001-04:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 3

John and Cynthia watched Darrick’s car squeal off out of the driveway and onto the road outside. For a few moments, silence reigned between them.

“That went well,” John said eventually, sardonic tone only tightening the tension. Cynthia turned from the window to glare at her husband.

“Oh, I’m sure that went exactly as you wanted,” she spat. “You scare him by telling him how strange things will be, and then you undermine everything I say. Well, you got exactly what you wanted; a son who has no conception of the wonders of his background or the gift that I have given him in this betrothal.”

“Gift?” John replied. “You’ve practically sold him to that girl’s family, tied him to outrageous and outmoded traditions that he wants no part of. You’ve made certain that he cannot be happy outside of your plans, but I find it hard to believe that he could be happy inside of them either!”

“I have assured our son’s happiness!” Cynthia said, taking a step towards John and gesturing forcefully with her hands. “I am marrying him into a family wealthy beyond our wildest imaginations. He’ll never have to work another day in his life; he can do whatever he fancies, with no worries about money or the future. Tell me how many parents can promise their children that?”

“Money’s not everything, Cynthia,” John said, shaking his head. “You’re giving him to strangers, to a girl you know nothing about. You’ve said that he can’t be happy without her, but are you certain he can be happy with her?”

“All Atlantean marriages are happy,” Cynthia said, her voice choking up, and her head tilted downwards as her thoughts turned inward. “I’m giving Darrick what I never had – a true Atlantean union. A truly joyful marriage.” She turned away and looked out the window once more, wrapping her arms around herself. John started to step towards her, then thought better of it.

“We were happy once,” he said, “before your brother died. Before you told me any of this. When you thought you were permanently cast out of being Atlantean. I really think you loved me then.”

“I settled for you,” Cynthia replied, without turning around. “An Atlantean marriage was denied me, so I wanted just to get someone as quickly as I could. You seemed like the best choice at the time.”

“I don’t believe that,” John said. “I don’t think you could fool me that well for that long. You were happy on our wedding day, and deliriously so when Darrick was born, and that was when you thought he was going to be just another child, not heir to some noble Atlantean house. No, it was only after Robert died that you started to resent me for not being Atlantean. Resented me because, now, the heir to your House was a half-breed son.” This finally made Cynthia turn to face him; she whirled around, her face ablaze, her breathing rapid.

“Don’t you ever call him that!” she exclaimed. “You will never call my son such a foul name. And you claim to love him!”

“I do love him,” John said firmly. “And I can call him ‘half-breed’ because I do not care if he is one or not. He is my son; that’s all that matters to me. It is your people who are so concerned with the purity of their blood. Hell, you were the one who told me that, had your House not been the descendants of nobility, that you might not have been able to find a willing match for him. This girl’s family doesn’t care for Darrick; all they want is his name. And all you want is to get the stigma of being married to an outsider lifted from you and your family.”

“Abigail will love him, and he will love her. That’s all that matters.”

“Plenty of women could have loved him, and he could have loved plenty of them.” John sat down, the fight draining him. He leaned his head on his hands. “But he’ll never have the chance to find out.”

“Does that matter,” Cynthia said, incredulous. “Where does it matter where love comes from, so long as it is there?”

“This isn’t love, it’s magic.” Cynthia winced at John’s word. “Yes, I know you hate that word, but I’ll use what seems appropriate. It’s magic by any other name, and black magic if you ask me.”

“Fortunately, what you think doesn’t matter,” Cynthia replied. “Magic, or power, or whatever you want to call it, it’s being used for good here.”

“Without any choice on Darrick’s part.”

“Choice?” Cynthia exploded. “Who gives a damn about choice?! He will have a happy Atlantean marriage, a happy Atlantean life! That’s all that matters! Choice is an illusion most of the time anyway. How many people go into marriage, or college, or children knowing enough to really make an informed choice anyway? God knows we didn’t, and look at how that turned out. No, things work out better this way.” She paused for a second, then shrugged. “But since it seems to be so important to the both of you, I will give him the choice. If once he meets Abigail he wants to cancel the betrothal and take his chances with his own ‘choice’, then I will ask the priest to break the bond – assuming that’s even possible – and Darrick can go his own way. Will this satisfy you?”

John studied his wife’s exasperated expression, trying to find out the trick, the hidden catch, but could not think of any. Finally, he nodded.

“If Darrick agrees to that, I will never bring it up again. I’ll respect the choice he makes.”

“Agreed.” Cynthia said. “The choice will belong to Darrick alone.” Or at least he will believe so.

2010-11-02T23:10:00.002-04:00

The Betrothed
my contribution to National Novel Writing Month 2010
Day 2

Darrick blinked. The words ‘you’, ‘betrothed’, ‘girl’, ‘husband’, and ‘married’ all made sense to him individually, but combined into a single sentence, he just couldn’t get them to make sense. Then, as his mind slowly pieced it together, he found himself with an unaccountable urge to laugh. This is a joke. Roger called them and told them about our conversation, and they’re all having some absurd laugh at my expense. But even as he suppressed his nervous giggles, he knew that couldn’t be the case, not with his mother involved. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her so much as laugh at a joke; an elaborate prank like this was beneath her, if not absolutely beyond her. His mind began to churn uncontrollably.

“Darrick,” his father said, with alarm, “are you alright?” He stood up and placed his hand on Darrick’s shoulder, guiding him towards the couch. “Sit down before you fall down, son.” Darrick dropped onto the couch cushions, head still spinning, as his father turned to regard his mother. “Dammit, Cynthia, you didn’t have to put it so bluntly. You’ve almost shocked the life out of him!”

“He can handle it, John” Darrick’s mother replied calmly, though her gaze at Darrick’s face was less than perfectly sanguine. “I wanted to get his attention. Let the initial impact wear off, and he’ll be much more prepared to hear the rest of it.”

What ‘rest of it’? Darrick thought. There’s something crazier here than hearing my parents tell me they promised me to some girl when I was just a newborn? How can they do that? People don’t do that anymore! He had to acknowledge one thing, though – the first shock was indeed wearing off, and his thoughts were returning to some kind of coherent order, enough to take in the rest of his surroundings. His father was bent over him, concerned eyes scanning his face; his mother was a step or so back, arms crossed, her expression still oddly triumphant though dampened a bit from before. He met his father’s gaze and nodded slightly, letting him know that he was coming around. A slight smile bent his father’s lips, though he spoke with a sigh.

“Good,” he said, “but just to warn you, it only gets stranger from here.”

“None of that, John,” his mother stated. “I will not have you poisoning him with your small-minded prejudices, not when he’s so close to coming into his own. I want him anticipating his destiny with joy, not dreading it with your resentment.”

Darrick’s father stood and turned to face his wife, but his hand never left Darrick’s shoulder.
“At least give him the freedom to feel as he wants to.” His hand squeezed Darrick gently, and his voice softened. “It may be the last freedom you ever allow him.” Darrick’s alarm at this statement was interrupted by his mother’s response.

“He is what he is,” she said. “Nothing he, or you, can do will change that. He has responsibilities now, responsibilities that go far beyond your own petty ideas of choice. He will also have rewards far beyond what you can comprehend. All you’ve done here is scare him—” You’ve got that right, Darrick though – “and made things more difficult for all of us. Hell, you’ve been doing that from the beginning, as soon as you hid his true birthright from him.” At that, the hand left Darrick’s shoulder, and his parents faced each other. Darrick recognized their expressions from a thousand fights, a million tense moments, throughout his life. The familiarity, in the midst of such horrifying strangeness, might have been comforting, had any of the memories it evoked been pleasant ones. Still, at least this was something he knew how to handle.

“Do not try to pawn your guilty conscience onto me,” his father started. “We both agreed that-”

“Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?!” Darrick shouted, his voice returning to him with a vengeance. Both parents turned to him, shocked out of their incipient argument, and his mother quickly stepped forward to take charge of the conversation.

“Yes, Darrick, I will do exactly that,” she said, “if you father will leave us alone.” Now it was his father’s turn to cross his arms and plant his feet.

“No, Cynthia, I don’t think so,” he said. “No matter what you may think, he is still as much my son as yours. I will not leave him alone for this.” Cynthia’s lips tightened to a slim line, but then she dismissed it with a wave.

“Fine, then,” she said, “but you will keep your unwanted opinions to yourself.” John’s posture didn’t change, but he didn’t protest either; Cynthia took that as close enough to agreement. She sat back down on the seat across from Darrick, visibly composing herself. When she spoke again, her voice was calm and soothing, if a bit uncertain.

“Darrick, whenever you’ve asked me about where my family comes from, I’ve told you that were are originally English—”

“And I think that the tradition of marrying kids as babies died out a long time ago there!” Darrick broke in, thoroughly confused, with the confusion quickly giving way to anger.

“As has the tradition of respect for elders, and that’s another one I don’t intend to let die out! Now, listen. It’s true that my family had lived in the British Isles for a couple thousand years, but before that, we were from somewhere else. Darrick, my family is one of the last remaining Atlantean Houses.”

“What?” Darrick interrupted again, trying to make something coherent of it all. “We’re from Atlanta?” It didn’t make any sense, but then again, he had stopped expecting things to about five minutes before. His mother made an exasperated noise.

“No, not even close. Be silent, and let me explain. We are one of the final ten Atlantean Houses. Atlantean, as in Atlantis. When Atlantis sank, almost everyone died, but not all. Some escaped. Traders and sailors in foreign ports, and a few families who had believed the rantings of mad prophets and had prepared for the end. The survivors were scattered all over the world, but over centuries they managed to find each other, and rebuild their civilization. We had to rebuild in secret, however; thanks to Plato’s distorted morality tale, people believed us cursed by the gods, and would hunt and kill us when they discovered our identities. So we lived in hiding, blending in with those around us, but never forgetting who we were – Atlanteans, the last remnants of an old and revered culture, the heirs of divine knowledge and ancient customs. We have survived as a people for millennia, and you are the most recent of a line that stretches back to the beginning of time.”

Darrick could feel his jaw hanging open, but was able to get enough control of it back to form a few words, though they were halting.

“You . . . you expect me to believe this? It’s crazy!” His mother smiled understandingly.

“You already believe it, in your heart. Look at me, and tell me you think I’m lying, or mad.” He didn’t need to look into her eyes to know that was true. His mother would never make up a story like this, and he knew she was as sane and sober as humanly possible. Nevertheless, he glanced quickly at his father; as confident as he was in his mother’s sincerity, he could never take such a story without some kind of outside corroboration. His father nodded very slightly, once. It’s all true. Cynthia noticed, and her eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. Darrick’s mind began to race with all of the implications of this revelation, but he caught himself. I’ll worry about the complete reorganization of my worldview later. I need to find out what’s going on here first.

“So . . .” he began, then had to take a deep breath before he could continue. “What does this have to do with me? Why am I only finding out about it now? And why does this mean I have to get married in a month?” This last came out in a tone that was threatening to become a shriek if he went on much further. He mother took it in stride.

“One of the ways we preserved ourselves and our culture was to ensure that the heirs of the ten Houses only married other heirs. The firstborn son and daughter of every House is betrothed at birth to another Atlantean firstborn. This is more than just a promise; the minds and hearts of the betrothed are bonded through . . . well, you would probably think of it as ‘magic’, though I don’t care to use that term. They are bound together in a bond that cannot be broken, destined for each other throughout life. They can never be satisfied with another. Do you understand me?”

Darrick thought he did, all too well. This was the great mystery of his life, all his relationships, laid bare, solved at last. He had never stood a chance. All that pain. All that searching. All because my parents “bonded” me to some girl I never met before without my permission, because of some stupid custom, from some stupid heritage they never even bothered to tell me about!

“How could you do this?” he seethed. “How could you not even tell me?”

“That was your father’s idea,” his mother responded, glancing sideways to where his father stood, arms now at his side, uncertainty on his face.

“Darrick,” he began, “I wanted the best for you. I wanted you to grow up in the real world, not obsessed with all these stories about Atlantis. I wanted you to have a normal life. Your mother agreed that was best.”

“I compromised,” Cynthia said flatly, “and I regret it every single day. I agreed to keep your heritage from you until it came time for you to marry. Your father thought that would give him more time, no doubt time enough for you to be so caught up in your own world that you would have no problem leaving your commitments behind. Your father has never been particularly accepting of Atlantean culture.”

“Then why did you marry her?” Darrick asked.

“Because I loved her,” he replied. “Because I thought she loved me. Because she didn’t tell me any of this until much later. Tell him the whole story, Cynthia.”

“I intend to, dear,” Cynthia said, “if I am given the time to speak without constant interruption. Darrick, you know I am not the firstborn daughter of my family. Normally, children who are not firstborn are sent into the outside world, to live among and marry ordinary people.” Her voice twisted with disdain on the world ‘ordinary’. “In order to keep the Houses secret, they are kept small, by essentially disowning all children other than the firstborn son and daughter. Oh, they aren’t abandoned or anything like that, but they are not considered to be Atlantean, and they are expected to leave their heritage behind and blend in, keeping who they really are secret from everyone, even their own spouses and children. If we didn’t do this, the Houses would grow until we could no longer remain in hiding, and that would place us in danger. So, under ordinary circumstances, I would have left my Atlantean nature behind, and you would have never known your true ancestry.”

“I remember,” Darrick said as he made a connection. “Your older brother died shortly after I was born.”

“Exactly,” Cynthia said, smiling at his quickness. “When he died without children, the responsibility passed to me. I was faced with the highly unpleasant task of explaining all of this to your father, who took quite of bit of convincing before he believed. Even more important, though, I had to find a match for you quickly; it would not do to leave the heir to my House without a betrothed.” The smile grew bigger. “But I made you a very good match, to a very wealthy family.”

“Not that you asked me,” Darrick said, his ire rising once again at that last statement. “You couldn’t know what I would want, what would be best for me, not at that age. You didn’t know me, you couldn’t know her. Do you think I care if she’s got money? I might have been happy with any of the girls I’ve dated, but your ‘bonding’ kept me from even having the chance. All of their pain is on your head too. And you” he turned to his father “went along with it, even though you obviously knew it was wrong. No, don’t say anything. Nothing you say could even come close to making this better.” He stood up with such force that the cushion beneath him shot out onto the floor, and flew through the front door, slamming it behind him. Walking to his car, he flipped open his cell phone.

“Roger, I have to talk to you about something . . .

2010-11-01T06:55:00.002-04:00

The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month 2010
Day 1

“. . . and don’t forget, the final exam next week is cumulative. Use your old tests and homeworks to study, and you should be fine. Good luck.”

Darrick Knight slapped shut his notebook as the professor finished up his final lecture of the semester. All around him, students were doing the same, the sound level of the room rising as chatter started up, letting out some of the tension of the week and even the entire semester, now very close to wrapping up. Most ignored him, but across the room one girl shot him an angry glance as she quickly packed up her things and headed straight for the door. Darrick could feel the glare in his gut, the sight of her hurt expression resonating with the sense of guilt her presence brought, forgotten during the lecture but now returning with a vengeance.

“Man, Viv really has it in for you now,” a voice said at his shoulder. Darrick turned to see Roger, his best friend since middle school, standing beside him, his eyes tracing the same path as Darrick’s own. “Didn’t I tell you never to take a class with a girlfriend? This is what happens if they go south; you’re trapped with them for weeks on end. And that goes double for you, seeing as how it’s always more of a ‘when’ than an ‘if’ with you.” Darrick rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Your confidence in me is truly inspiring,” he said flatly. “It’s the rock-like foundation of my self-esteem.” There were advantages to going to college in one’s own hometown, like the presence of friends who had known you since childhood. Of course, there were also disadvantages, like the presence of friends who had known you since childhood.

“I’m just going by what I see,” Roger said as they both picked up their bookbags and headed out of the classroom, Darrick making sure they waited long enough so that they wouldn’t meet Vivian in the hallway. “And you dropped Vivian quicker than most. I would have bet you would have had a least one more month of interest in you before you torpedoed the relationship. That was pretty cold even for you.”

Darrick didn’t reply; his own guilt would not let him. He had been as surprised by his decision as anybody. He had been happy in the relationship, enjoying that initial rush of giddy excitement before the onset of reality, when suddenly his feelings for Vivian had cut off, like shutting off a spigot. The only thing that had been left was a certainty that the relationship wasn’t working, that he had to get out of it as soon as he could, an almost-panicky need for escape. He couldn’t think of anything else he could have done, out of fairness to both himself and her, but Viv clearly had not seen it as so cut and dried. And now, as Roger had said, for the past few days he had been forced to endure her angry and pained looks in both Civil War History and Modernist American Lit. At least that’s over with now, he thought. The semester’s gone, summer’s coming, and by next year things will have cooled down. The blue sky and warm breeze that struck him as they walked out of the classroom building and onto the tree-lined campus path seemed to bear out his optimistic premise.

“Have your eye on anyone else yet?” Roger asked. Darrick twitched the side of his mouth downward, hoping his friend would catch on to the annoyance in the gesture. Roger’s response was a wicked grin as they continued to walk towards the student center for lunch.

“No, not ‘yet’,” Darrick said. “Believe it or not, I do feel bad about what happened. I’m not ready to jump into anything new. I’m not a heartless Cassanova. I just need to find someone who feels . . . right.” Darrick waved his hand around as he searched for the exact word to describe what he wanted, and was irked that ‘right’ was all he could come up with. “No, it’s more than just ‘right’. I can feel that there’s a girl out there who can fulfill me, complete me. I’ve always felt that way, even before I was interested in girls.”

“So you’re going to sample them one by one until you find just the one you’re looking for?” Darrick knew his friend was needling him, but also that there was a real concern behind his teasing. The fact that his conscience was feeding him that same concern did not improve his mood.

“What else am I supposed to do?” he replied, feeling on the defensive in this discussion, both from his friend and from himself. “That’s what dating is, right? Try on different people until you find the one that fits? Isn’t it a good thing that I know earlier than most people, so I don’t waste months or even years on relationships that don’t work out in the end?” Darrick poked his index finger into his best friends arm. “Are you telling me that all of your relationships have been resounding successes?”

“They’ve lasted longer than just a few weeks,” Roger said.

“But you always break up in the end, right?”

“Of course,” Roger replied. “I’m not married, am I?”

“See, that’s what I’m saying,” Darrick said triumphantly as they two of them entered the dining area of the student center, grabbing their trays and surveying the options before them. After a quick look around, they ignored the salad bar and fruit stand and headed straight for the pizza. It was the end of the semester after all; a little celebration was in order.

“Ultimately, any relationship that doesn’t end in marriage is a failure,” Darrick said as they each took a slice. “Or at least in some sort of long-term monogamous domestic partnership, or whatever they’re calling it these days. And no one gets married when they’re only twenty, not outside the Ozarks.”

“Plenty of people get married at twenty,” Roger retorted. “It’s just that, in the Ozarks, it’s to their cousins.”

“Fine, whatever,” Darrick said, grabbing a seat at a corner table, Roger taking the one across from him. “People get married at twenty all the time, even outside of the Ozarks, or India, or China, or one of those places where you get married when you’re seven or something. But most of those people getting married at twenty are divorced by twenty-five, so my point still holds.”

“I’ve forgotten now,” Roger said. “What is your point?”

“That I’m not freakishly unique in my failure at relationships,” Darrick said, after thinking for a split second to try to remember himself. “We’re all failures in relationships. Not even marriage is a guarantee of success anymore.” Even before the last statement was out of his mouth, he realized that it hit him a bit too close to home. Roger must have noticed, because his expression quickly changed from one of amused exasperation to one of sympathy.

“How are your parents doing?” he asked in a tone a few steps quieter than the one they had been using. Darrick dropped his pizza slice after he had brought it halfway to his mouth, appetite vanished.

“They were fighting again this morning,” he said, matching his tone to Roger’s. He didn’t know if he had the will for anything stronger anyway. “I don’t even know what about; something stupid, I’m sure. I guess that’s not really news. They’ve been trying to have another baby recently and they haven’t gotten anywhere. Maybe that’s part of it. It’s really important to Mom that she have a daughter, but she’s never been able to, and she’s not interested in adopting. It’s probably just as well that they don’t.” Darrick ran his finger along the lid of his cup, staring into the depths of his Coke, not meeting his friend’s eyes. “I don’t know why they don’t just get divorced. I’m old enough to handle it. I think Dad’s afraid it would hurt me, but I’m an adult now. I could even live in the dorms if I had to, so I wouldn’t have to choose between them.”

“What about your mother?” Roger asked around a mouthful of pepperoni. He obviously had no problem with appetite. Darrick almost replied automatically, but he caught himself short. Why doesn’t she? he thought. She hasn’t been happy for as long as I can remember. She doesn’t seem to care for Dad. Why hasn’t she taken me and walked out? He remained silently pondering for long enough that Roger stopped eating and began to regard him with some concern.

“Are you OK, man?” he asked. Darrick ignored him for a few more seconds, then responded slowly, realizing the answer for himself as he said it.

“I think she’s waiting for something,” he said. “I think she always has been. Just the right moment, just the right milestone to pass, and then it’ll be over. Maybe she’s waiting for me to graduate, or until she finally gets another child out of my father. I don’t know.” He had lived with the possibility, the looming threat, of his parents’ divorce his entire remembered life, but the thought still nauseated him. As long as his parents were together, he felt he could always hold out hope that things might improve between them – after all, there had to have been something that brought them together in the first place – but once they were separated, he knew that it would be over. That possibility now seemed to him to be a certainty.

“Sorry,” Roger said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, no, you’re OK,” Darrick said, waving away his friend’s apology. “You know my parents almost as well as you know me. You have every right to ask, and I appreciate you doing so. At least I can say my parents are not my models for relationships. If they were, I would have kept the same girlfriend since high school, even though we had done nothing but fight since tenth grade. Compared to that, going through ten different girls in the same period of time doesn’t seem so bad.”

“It’s always good to realize you aren’t repeating your parents’ mistakes,” Roger said with a grin.

“Yes, my mistakes are all my own.”

“And you do have quite a few.”

“Hey, all it takes is for one to work out.” Darrick felt a smile returning to his face, and the nausea receding. “I’m happy with the odds on that one.”

“And until then,” Roger said with a wink, “you do get to have a lot of fun.”

Darrick’s only response was a blush and a bite of pizza.

* * * * *

Darrick stepped through the door of his home about an hour later. The rest of the conversation with Roger had fortunately gone along happier, more trivial lines, and he had headed out from school as soon as it was over. He had finals next week to study for, but he planned to spend the rest of the day relaxing, maybe going out with friends that evening, before hitting the books tomorrow. He and Roger already had a Sunday afternoon study session planned.

As soon as he stepped inside, however, he knew that his plans might be changing for the worse. Sitting on opposite sides of the living room were his parents, and as soon as he entered, they both turned to him as one. His father’s face was mournful, and his mother’s was triumphant. Darrick felt as though he had been hit in the gut.

Oh, god, this is it. They’re doing it. Splitting up, or at least separating. Despite his brave words earlier, he realized that he wasn’t even close to being ready for this.

“Sit down, Darrick,” his father said, his voice flat, betraying no emotion. “We need to talk to you about something very important.”

Darrick wanted to plead, to cry, to rage, to do anything to let them know exactly how he felt about what was happening. Instead, all he could get out was a plaintive “W-w-what?” around the lump in his throat. It was his mother that answered him.

“Darrick,” she said, “when you were a baby, we betrothed you to a girl, promised you to her as her husband. The time has come to fulfill that promise. By this time next month, you will be a married man.”

2010-10-22T07:33:00.003-04:00

National Novel Writing Month

National Novel Writing Month begins Nov. 1, and I will be posting my work on my contribution -- an urban fantasy entitled The Betrothed -- here on a daily basis. I have to reach 50,000 words by the end of the month, which I think I can do, but encouragement is always welcome.