Page 22 of Light Locked
“That’s a lie.” She pushed harder, leaning forward more, raising her voice higher. She imagined hitting a walnut against a rock, trying to get it to break. No. She imagined being alone on a deserted island with a walnut, and no other food, trying to get it to break.
“It’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” she said.
He didn’t reply. Clea was almost leaning on her hands with a full and confrontational stare, waiting in the wake of yet another sudden silence. This time, she wasn’t content with letting the conversation die. It felt like she was withering away in perpetual silence.
“See? Why do you do that?.” She leaned back again, as if to recharge for her second full-scale attempt. “Don’t you want to talk? Get to know each other? Have a conversation?”
“Because it’s the only way you stop talking. You’re like a small, yapping dog.” He was irritated now. His tone didn’t show it, but she knew more words meant that she was stirring him.
“Well, at least I’m not a pompous, old hound,” she shot back.
“I’m so hurt,” he mocked, deadpan again.
She massaged her temples. “I find you so frustrating. I don’teven care if you know any longer. It’s like I’m trying to make peace with war!”
“I was wondering when you would stop trying to be so hypocritical.”
“I was trying to be professional! You make it incredibly difficult. You never talk. When you do, you’re rude, and when you’re not rude, you’re correcting me!” She threw her arms back at him and then crossed them, perhaps only to throw them again.
“Friends is not professional,” he corrected.
“Fine! Friendly! Is that such a crime? We spend all day together! Every day! We still have weeks left!”
No reply.
Clea sighed and stared at the flames, wondering why she couldn’t find them as fascinating as he could. “I give up,” she whispered.
He rose to his feet.
“I’m going to look around,” he said.
She perked up. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“It’s only a precaution. I won’t be far.”
“How do I know you won’t leave?” she asked, alarmed at the sudden nature of his decision.
Ryson rolled his eyes, and in a single fluid movement, he slid the strap of his scythe off his shoulder and tossed the weaponto her. She gasped at the weight as it fell into her arms.
“If anything happens, I’ll come back to make sure the weapon is safe.” He made his way into the forest, and Clea watched as his form dissolved into the darkness.
†††
Ryson breathed a sigh of relief when the night closed in around him. He walked until it felt like he’d left Clea in another world.
He ran a hand through his hair and paced. He dug his heels hard into the ground, and clenched his fists, indulging any whim that he felt might diffuse his anger. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a figure leaning against a tree to his left. He turned and continued pacing.
“Don’t say a word,” he hissed.
How can I resist?The figure laughed. Ryson turned back toward it and glanced up to see the replica of himself.
“Can’t you manifest as something other than me?” he grumbled before turning and pacing again.
Well, seeing as I am your cien, I felt it would be most appropriate. Do you prefer this?
Ryson looked back to see the perfect likeness of Alina curtsy by the tree. Ryson kept his eyes trained on her black irises, the only proof that the likeness was an illusion of his cien. There were times when he focused on that blackness to stay grounded in reality. His cien would happily drive him to insanity with its illusions if it could. That was the risk, after all, of giving cien your mind.
