Page 44 of Tear of Destiny

His closeness does me a world of good. His arms give me strength and anchor me, preventing me from losing myself in infinity.

“The threads. They’re coming out of the flute and now they’re all through my hand. They’re streaming forward. Trying to get somewhere.”

“They’re trying to get to a door,” says Noah.

I tear my eyes away from the dark spot in the distance and turn to look at Noah.

“Tess, keep focusing on your hand.”

He gently strokes my arm, inducing the sweetest shiver in me. His touch is the promise of safety, closeness, and warmth. Everything I long for right now. Noah’s hand wanders down my arm, brushing my wrist, the back of my hand, and finally my fingers, which are shaped as if they’re trying to pull something toward them.

“That hand position is very familiar to me,” he whispers in my ear.

His breath brushes the bare skin of my throat, and for a moment, I have to resist the urge to turn toward it.

“That’s exactly the gesture you make to pull a door toward you.”

My pulse accelerates. I’m not sure why. Is it because I can feel Noah’s voice right by my ear and his fingers gently stroking mine? Or is it the information he just shared with me? I feel momentarily breathless and stare at my outstretched hand, knowing instinctively that Noah’s right.

“The flute seems to be trying to lead us to a door. I’m guessing you sense which one you need to summon?”

I slowly nod and see a movement out of the corner of my eye. Frances is watching us in silence. Her gaze is gloomy and desolate. It’s only for a brief moment, but I think I detect a deep longing, overlaid with resignation. Frances takes out her key and turns around. I’m about to turn to her and call her back, but she’s already gone. I swallow hard because I’m pretty sure I know how she feels about Noah. Looking at us both like this must really hurt. Despite our differences, I don’t want her to suffer.

“Try it, Tess,” Noah says, calling me back to the present. I have no idea where Frances has gone, and I’m probably the last person she wants to talk to right now. I look at my outstretched hand. It’s entirely up to me to solve this puzzle. If I succeed in pulling the door toward me, I’ll find an answer. But to do that, I have to push everything else out of my mind and focus solely on this task.

“Picture the door you want to summon. You should have an image of it in your subconscious mind. Look at it, reach for it,” says Noah.

He slightly adjusts the position of his left hand on my forearm, and I feel his fingers through the fabric of my sweater. It’s aloving, gentle touch that sends a tingle down my spine.

I try to completely let go internally, and I know I can. Noah will hold on to me no matter what happens. My thoughts wander to the doors; I try to picture the one that I want to summon. Do I really know what it looks like? Essentially, I have no idea. First, I visualize a collection of unremarkable doors before me: wood, plastic, huge heavy entrance doors of the kind that adorn grandiose houses, slanted, bent, weathered, and damaged ones.

And suddenly, a wooden door appears. There’s nothing unusual about it at first glance. It’s made of dark wood, which looks very old but not neglected or damaged. The only thing that’s unusual about it is the curled silver handle decorated with a flower pattern. I know this is the door I’m looking for – although I have no idea how I know this.

“Do you see it?” asks Noah.

I nod slowly.

“Now imagine yourself reaching out for the handle or knob. Hold it firmly, don’t let go, and pull as hard as you can. Pull the door toward you.”

It really feels as if I’m standing in front of it, so it’s not hard for me to imagine reaching out and grasping the handle. I can almost feel the cool metal. I pull hard, but nothing happens. I try again, but it’s as if the door is anchored to the ground.

“At first it feels like it weighs a ton. But it’s hovering in space; it’s not connected to the ground. It’s as if it’s attached to an elastic band, which stretches when you pull on the handle so that the door can move toward you.”

I bite my lip and try to picture what he just described. But no matter what I do, the door won’t budge. My hand begins to tremble with the effort. It’s so heavy. My lungs pump oxygen around my body, and my heart races under the strain.

“Take it slow. It’s difficult at first,” says Noah.

But I want it so much! I don’t want any obstacles in my way. Idon’t want to be this close to an answer and then fail. It has to work!

I double my efforts, trying to tear the door off its hinges, lift it up off the ground – even blow it up if I have to. Heat rips through every fiber of my being as if I’m about to burst into flames. But I can’t give up now. My heart struggles to pump the hot blood through my veins. My breathing becomes harder and faster. The door in front of me slowly starts to blur. I just have to hold out a second longer, just a tiny bit more…

“Tess, that’s enough,” Noah hisses, pushing my arm down. The door disappears abruptly, and I slump.

Noah holds me upright on my wobbly legs, which can no longer support me on their own. I pant and gasp for air, my heart still pounding. I feel sick, as if I might throw up at any moment.

“Are you okay?” he asks when I don’t stop shivering. His nurturing caress on my arms actually causes the shivering to subside a little.

“Yeah, I think so,” I reply, hearing how weak my voice sounds.

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