Eye of the Ocean Book 3 Ji'jin Station

Eye of the Ocean – Book 3: Ji’Jin Station
Gently, Bolda eased the sodden padding off Ulanda's other arm. It came
cleanly, no fresh power breaks, only old scars that looked like stretch marks. But
there was no muscle to speak of over the bones much less fat, the skin was
transparent, he could see veins and arteries, her pulse was regular. Over the
present reality, he saw how her arms had looked in the garden on Camerat -
whole and strong - and how she had fought against the habit of protecting her
wrists. That had been her, he was almost sure.
Without prompting, Mirwin held a small blue jar out and the weaver smoothed
white cream over the skin and wrapped a fresh pad in place. Besides the designs,
the boy smelled of incense, he must have spoken prayers for the ti'Linn Priest, or
for Ulanda while she slept. Or not prayers, he kept confusing the Zimmer customs
with Temple. A ceremony of some sort... or it might have been prayers after all.
He suspected the distinction between the Temple rites and the common were
more in the words, not the intent.
Rit picked up one of the opal colored strands of the used underbraid cords.
Primary braid size, silver in the silk, the core, he thought. The feel put his teeth
on edge, he tasted silver again, a taste that would always be a sad one to him.
Would all his regrets be that he hadn't loved enough when given the chance? And
Ulanda? Her regrets or only his?
“We should talk about it,” he said to her again to no more response that he
had gotten before.
He stood up and let the cord drop. Even if she wouldn't talk, the rest of them
would have to. He tried one more time. “We didn't fight last night,” he said softly.
Instantly, the skimming rock sank out of sight, she was lost to him. It had been
her then, at least for the first part. Did she remember, or had the retreat been
instinctive? He shook his head to Bolda's unspoken question then risked another
look at Peecit. Just Peecit as he'd seen her dozens of times.
Alicia took his arm. “Come on. Bath time.”
A short bath. He would have liked to stay longer in the warm water, taking the
peaceful moment as a gift. Flower petals floated on the water's surface, bruised
white petals and fragrant with their own scent and that of an oil that gave an
added shine. Something mossy with an undertone of apples. His hair was heavy
with the oil, the soap wouldn't lather and he was too lazy to make the effort to do
it separately.
Too soon, Alicia had his clothes ready, plain heavy cotton tunic and pants, his
Zimmer knife and extra warding beads. “Stand still,” she said, combing out then
braiding his single long tail of hair, adding the beads as she went. He moved the
cracked bead from his bathrobe pocket to the tunic, his wife watching that as she
had watched so much this morning - without saying a word.
She had obviously made up her mind they were leaving. “Alicia,” he said,
putting both hands on her shoulders. “I love you, I want you to know that.”
Laurel Hickey www.2morrow.bc.ca