Read Online Of Delicate Pieces by A. Lynden Rolland - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A. Lynden Rolland
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sharp, black eye.
“How do you feel?” Skye asked.
“What?”
“Tell me what you feel when you look at them.”
“The flowers?” Bemused, Alex turned back to the field. At first, her cynicism hindered her senses, but she focused on the symmetrical rows. The clouds lingered low, thought-bubbles of puffy white.
She sensed so many different things at one time, yanking her mind in so many directions. She felt the comfortable fatigue after finishing a task. She felt the gratification of winning first place. She felt the humility of accepting defeat gracefully without regret. She felt the dissatisfaction of a bittersweet ending and the promise of meeting someone new. She felt the heartbreak of losing someone special.
Skye watched her, nodding.
“I feel …” Alex felt the emotions swirl around her, pulling her back and forth at her elbows, “… full.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“What is this place?”
“I tried to ask Duvall about it once, but she told me that some things don’t need to be discussed. When I’m walking through the woods, I wait until that feeling hits, and then I follow it. The tree we need is just past here.”
Alex didn’t want to leave. These sensations were fulfilling. “We don’t have go yet, do we? What’s in the cave?”
“No clue.”
The gray flowers shone like light behind stained glass, glinting despite the overcast of redwood shadows. She crouched down next to them.
“Have you ever picked one?”
“No way. I don’t know what they are!”
Alex gazed longingly at the T-shaped blooms, considering the risk.
“Come on,” Skye said. “The tree is back here.”
“Can’t we stay a little longer?”
Skye grinned, exposing a line of perfect teeth. “Oh! I thought you wanted to head back and spend some time stacking your books and practicing your handwriting.”
“Shut up.”
Skye held up the sack. “Let’s go. It might take a little while to peel this much bark.”
Alex bid goodbye to the field and trudged slowly after Skye. “Is this going to take forever?”
“Stop complaining,” Skye reprimanded, lifting her knees high to step through the plants. “You won’t even remember all the hard labor.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Alex swatted at tree branches.
“We’re peeling the bark from a tree that makes the mind forget. Trust me, you won’t remember.”
Alex couldn’t decide if that made the task better or worse. She knew Thymoserum tricked people into forgetting what they saw. It was how the spirited removed things they needed from the bodied world.
“We’re almost at Eidolon’s gate.”
Alex could sense the border before they reached it. It pushed against her like walking into the wind, cautioning her. Finally, she saw the withered grandmother of a tree wilting near the perimeter, stretching its knobby branches in through the gate. Even its thin, frail leaves wrinkled with age.
Alex ran her hand along the bark, which broke away easily like brittle bones. She pitied the tree. It begged to come inside, reaching out to them. “Will it hurt the tree if we take too much of its bark?”
Skye sat on a root, like a child on a grandparent’s knee. “I think she likes being needed. She wouldn’t stretch through the gate otherwise. The rest of them aren’t so willing.”
“The rest?”
“These trees are all around the perimeter. I think they were planted there so if people happen to get too close, they won’t remember.”
“You always take the bark from this tree?”
“Her branches are the only ones I can reach without going outside the boundary.”
The bars of the gate intertwined and zigzagged in a spider web pattern. Alex closed her fingers around a section of it, testing the durability. “Out of curiosity, do you know how to get through?”
Skye’s voice dropped. “Why?”
“So we can take bark from some of the other branches. That way, this side won’t be bare.”
“Yeah, I know how.”
“After I died, Ellington said
“How do you feel?” Skye asked.
“What?”
“Tell me what you feel when you look at them.”
“The flowers?” Bemused, Alex turned back to the field. At first, her cynicism hindered her senses, but she focused on the symmetrical rows. The clouds lingered low, thought-bubbles of puffy white.
She sensed so many different things at one time, yanking her mind in so many directions. She felt the comfortable fatigue after finishing a task. She felt the gratification of winning first place. She felt the humility of accepting defeat gracefully without regret. She felt the dissatisfaction of a bittersweet ending and the promise of meeting someone new. She felt the heartbreak of losing someone special.
Skye watched her, nodding.
“I feel …” Alex felt the emotions swirl around her, pulling her back and forth at her elbows, “… full.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
“What is this place?”
“I tried to ask Duvall about it once, but she told me that some things don’t need to be discussed. When I’m walking through the woods, I wait until that feeling hits, and then I follow it. The tree we need is just past here.”
Alex didn’t want to leave. These sensations were fulfilling. “We don’t have go yet, do we? What’s in the cave?”
“No clue.”
The gray flowers shone like light behind stained glass, glinting despite the overcast of redwood shadows. She crouched down next to them.
“Have you ever picked one?”
“No way. I don’t know what they are!”
Alex gazed longingly at the T-shaped blooms, considering the risk.
“Come on,” Skye said. “The tree is back here.”
“Can’t we stay a little longer?”
Skye grinned, exposing a line of perfect teeth. “Oh! I thought you wanted to head back and spend some time stacking your books and practicing your handwriting.”
“Shut up.”
Skye held up the sack. “Let’s go. It might take a little while to peel this much bark.”
Alex bid goodbye to the field and trudged slowly after Skye. “Is this going to take forever?”
“Stop complaining,” Skye reprimanded, lifting her knees high to step through the plants. “You won’t even remember all the hard labor.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Alex swatted at tree branches.
“We’re peeling the bark from a tree that makes the mind forget. Trust me, you won’t remember.”
Alex couldn’t decide if that made the task better or worse. She knew Thymoserum tricked people into forgetting what they saw. It was how the spirited removed things they needed from the bodied world.
“We’re almost at Eidolon’s gate.”
Alex could sense the border before they reached it. It pushed against her like walking into the wind, cautioning her. Finally, she saw the withered grandmother of a tree wilting near the perimeter, stretching its knobby branches in through the gate. Even its thin, frail leaves wrinkled with age.
Alex ran her hand along the bark, which broke away easily like brittle bones. She pitied the tree. It begged to come inside, reaching out to them. “Will it hurt the tree if we take too much of its bark?”
Skye sat on a root, like a child on a grandparent’s knee. “I think she likes being needed. She wouldn’t stretch through the gate otherwise. The rest of them aren’t so willing.”
“The rest?”
“These trees are all around the perimeter. I think they were planted there so if people happen to get too close, they won’t remember.”
“You always take the bark from this tree?”
“Her branches are the only ones I can reach without going outside the boundary.”
The bars of the gate intertwined and zigzagged in a spider web pattern. Alex closed her fingers around a section of it, testing the durability. “Out of curiosity, do you know how to get through?”
Skye’s voice dropped. “Why?”
“So we can take bark from some of the other branches. That way, this side won’t be bare.”
“Yeah, I know how.”
“After I died, Ellington said
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