Unbound, p.9
Unbound, page 9
I nodded my head slowly, thinking. “I understand what you’ve said about history, but...I’m still not sure how, or why, you’re involved.”
“An immortal’s duty is to witness the events of humanity from a single perspective – it is the closest thing to objectivity that exists. I am a vessel for knowledge, a live receptacle that holds truth, to be used or ignored as they see fit. They collect the human experience, Rachel, like children collect seashells at the beach.” He shook his head. “The truth is that I have endured more than fifteen hundred years of life and I’m still not sure that I have contributed meaningfully to the benefit of humankind. I have watched my life stretch beyond anything remotely human, and the longer I live, the less certain I am that I have done anyone any good.”
This wasn’t true, couldn’t be true. He had been nothing but a positive force in my life; he was the epitome of right action, of goodness. But I knew how juvenile that would sound out loud. I swallowed my objections. Too scared to risk sounding as stupid as I felt.
“Can you... stop?” I bit my lip as soon as the words left my mouth, knowing that question was just as hopelessly immature. This wasn’t a job, this was a supernatural legacy.
His stiff smile was cynical. “We are bound by our very essence to honour our commitment and to fulfill our destiny. There would be no place on earth to hide were I to choose to break my vow. The repercussions would be...unpleasant.” Eaden gripped my arm tightly and I looked up, startled, realizing that we were approaching a busy intersection. Waiting for a break in traffic, he led me across the street and then released my arm. He had not been rough, but my skin tingled where he had touched me, as if the physical contact had left a permanent trace.
On the other side of the street, he picked up the conversation where he had left off. “There is compensation. We are denied nothing that the physical world can offer,” his small smile was grim, “except true fellowship with mortals. Our objectivity is the highest priority and must be protected. So we are discouraged from active participation in the world we live in. Forming connections and relationships would build alliances – and alliances sway beliefs. In essence, the filter through which we witness would be tainted by our associations with others.” He sounded remote, disconnected, as if he were reciting a script from memory.
“You’re not allowed to have relationships?” My voice was high-pitched and harsh, even to my own ears. What was he telling me? What was all that talk about friendship if he wasn’t permitted to even associate with me?
He seemed pained by my question, “We’re discouraged from building lives, from having identities. I don’t exist in the world you live in, Rachel. You will find no record of me in any book or document.” He held his hands out in front of him as if puzzled to find them bare. “The gloves I usually wear are necessary to ensure I leave no physical trace of myself behind.” He looked at me. “I don’t exist,” he said again, softly.
He said nothing for a time, and it seemed that candour warred with indecision.
Candour won.
His hand scrubbed through his hair again so ferociously I wondered if immortals could go bald. “In spite of that edict, it is impossible to live entirely alone without connections to others and remain rational. Humans are social creatures, and madness brought on by isolation is not unusual in our race. Instead, there are guidelines for our interactions with others. It is expected that we be discreet, that we avoid exposure, and that we protect our real identities. We are encouraged to,” he cleared his throat, and glanced away from me, “meet our needs in any way that does not compromise this anonymity.”
His discomfort affected me in an unexpected way. I felt a flutter of excitement at this discreet reference to his needs. He had them, it seemed. This was good to know. My cheeks felt warm as I thought of my dream last week and I hoped the darkness concealed any blush that coloured them.
“It sounds unfair,” I said.
He reached around me and gently guided me around a jagged break in the sidewalk, partially covered by leaves. “As harsh as these proscriptions seem, they’re protective in their own way. Immortality is not a trophy, nor a reward – multiple lifetimes mean multiple losses, and some grief does not lessen over time.” The impartial tone he had adopted throughout his explanation fell away. He looked at me with the most bewildering expression in his eyes. “There are some things worth risking and there are some things worth taking risks for. I’ve come to know the difference.”
The earnestness of his words rendered us both silent for a time and we walked unspeaking until we reached the front steps of my building. Feeling awkward, I wrapped my arms around myself to stop the shiver that was building, due in part to his words and in part to the cold night air.
“Thank you for joining me this evening, Rachel.” He sounded so formal I thought he might bow. Would I ever know him well enough to understand what he was thinking, covered as it was by civility?
“You’re welcome. I had a really good time.” An astonishing, exhilarating, bizarre, remarkable, unforgettable time, I thought. I tried to smile, but found the gesture too flippant, too contrary to what he’d just shared.
He nodded, but looked hesitant. “I’d like to see you again tomorrow, but I’ll understand if you need some time to think this through.” He regarded me with his usual grim expression, all traces of the carefree Eaden of late afternoon gone. My heartbeat accelerated, the butterflies began to wing around in my stomach again.
Only gone for now, I hoped, only for now. “Eaden, I –”
He held his hand up to stop me. “I do not want to make assumptions about our friendship, Rachel. What I can offer you is limited in many ways.”
I reached out and touched his arm lightly, trying to meet his eyes.
“Eaden, maybe I haven’t been clear.” His face was impassive, but his eyes narrowed as if he readied himself for a blow. “You’re already my friend. There’s nothing to think through.”
Did I only imagine the relief in his eyes? His smile was stiff, but sincere.
“Tomorrow then,” he said, resolved. “Is ten o’clock too early?”
“No. It’s perfect.”
He leaned forward and brought his lips to my forehead. “Sleep well.”
“Good night.” My heart skittering with the touch of his lips, I walked up the stone steps to the entrance with the sure knowledge that he would be there if I turned around, making sure I found my way safely inside.
Turning anyway and cursing myself for doing so, I waved one last time before ducking through the door. Giddy, I manoeuvred slowly up the stairs to our apartment, trying to comprehend what was simultaneously the most conventional and the most unusual evening I’d ever had. My cheeks grew warm as I remembered the feel of his arm around me during the play and I realized I was humming something under my breath. I stopped. Although I was unconvinced that he looked at me with anything more than fondness, I had to admit that tonight there had been some evidence to the contrary. Enough to give me hope. Could it be possible that Eaden might think of me in the same way I thought of him? I sighed, feeling hopeless and elated and miserable all at once.
Getting ready for bed, I paused as I tugged my worn-out Nirvana tee-shirt over my head, so old it was more grey than white; Eaden’s explanation of immortality echoing in my mind. How on earth did I fit into his existence? It had seemed as if he were telling me that, if I chose, there was a place for me in his world, as exceptional as it might be. His words had held warning, were meant to caution me, but I knew with certainty that any choice I had was simply pretence. My life had been entwined with his since the day I was born, for reasons that I only partly understood. Poking my head through the shirt, I focused on what I sure of. Whether our relationship was conventional or not, there was no chance that I was going to give up now, not after waiting so long to find him. He was the safest thing I knew.
Climbing under my thick duvet, I suspected it would be hours before I would be able to fall asleep. So much had happened since I got out of bed this morning; I expected a night of tossing and turning, trying to integrate so many new pieces into the puzzle. I was wrong. Within minutes of closing my eyes, I fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Seven: White Horse
At exactly ten o’ clock, Eaden arrived at our door bearing hot coffee and a warm smile. Easing off the lid, I looked inside and smiled back. It was black, exactly the way I drank it.
Leaving the building, I automatically began heading down the street in the direction of the downtown core. The way I always walked to work.
Behind me, Eaden cleared his throat. “Rachel?” He was holding open the door of a sleek, tiny black sports car, the kind I didn’t know the name of, but recognized as expensive. He looked amused at the way my mouth fell open a little.
“You drive?” I was dumbfounded. I walked back towards him and the glossy black automobile.
He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I drive. I’m immortal, not Amish.”
Chagrined, I climbed in and sank into a plush leather seat. He closed my door gently and came around to the other side.
“This is your car?” It was hard not to stroke the seat with my fingertips.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he said.
Incredulous, I simply stared at him. Had he stolen it?
His smile was crooked. “That was supposed to be a joke, Rachel. Of course it’s my car.” He glanced at me, puzzled. “Why are you so surprised?”
“Well...whenever I see you, you’re always walking.”
“That’s because you’re always walking.”
“Oh,” I said, seeing his point. My grin started on the inside and radiated out. “This is a very nice car,” I said, belatedly.
“It is, isn’t it?” He looked boyishly proud. Immortal or not, Eaden was definitely still male. This was inordinately pleasing for some reason. Driving a car was such a normal thing to do, even if you did live in the city.
“It looks expensive.” The front dash was an array of red blinking lights and cool chrome detailing. I wondered how it was possible for Eaden to buy a car at all. Hadn’t he said there was no record of him in the system? Although I didn’t have my licence yet, I was pretty sure you couldn’t get one without a birth certificate.
Eaden seemed to understand the direction my thoughts were taking. “Investments,” he explained as we pulled out of my street. The engine was so quiet I couldn’t hear it. “I have access to a number of bank accounts, registered in names that are untraceable to me.”
But Eaden’s mood seemed to dim a little with even this slight reference to his immortality and I resolved not to bring it up for the next few hours. The traffic became lighter as we turned away from the core and merged onto the highway.
Feeling light hearted, I leaned forward and turned the radio on, searching for a song that I recognized. Usually I was very nervous in cars, a back-seat driver regardless of what seat I sat in. Mute with terror, my hands were almost always bloody at the end of any drive, the imprints of my fingernails clearly embedded in my palms. Yet once again, Eaden’s presence seemed to be having its typical effect. Rather than feeling frightened, I felt uninhibited. The speed was exhilarating, actually. I felt as if I were flying. Sensing Eaden’s eyes were on me, I turned to meet his steady gaze. He seemed at a complete loss.
“What?” I grinned at him.
“You look happy.”
“That’s a bad thing?”
“On the contrary, I’m just relieved. I was under the impression that you weren’t fond of cars.”
Was there anything he didn’t know about me?
“I’m not usually,” I said. “This is good though,” I admitted, surprised. He was still looking at me, and I felt my cheeks burn under his stare. “I’m really okay,” I said.
“I believe you, Rachel. It’s just wonderful to see you this way.”
I looked out the window hoping my bliss was not quite so obvious as it felt.
We left the highway, heading north out of the city, towards the escarpment. The autumn colours here, a bit further north, were at their absolute zenith. Like fireworks suspended in time, the forest was giving up everything it had before succumbing to its inevitable loss.
We drove for a stretch, farmers’ fields and forests flashing by until Eaden turned onto an unmarked dirt road that led us even farther up the stony climb. Rocky terrain bordered us on either side, the bright trees and sumac lining the road like torches. Cresting a hill, we left the trees behind and drove beside a large verdant pasture nestled on the plateau. Fields of sun-soaked meadow were broken only by the occasional glimpse of white fence, jutting up against the steep sides of the escarpment. Directly ahead of us the road ended and a large, rust-red building came into view, a peaked black-tiled roof and white crosses on its double door hinting at its purpose. Pulling up beside it, Eaden eagerly jumped out and opened my door before I had even managed to free myself from the seat belt. I bit my lip as I looked around. It looked like a stable, and stables usually meant horses. My stomach dropped.
Eaden seemed to read my mind. “You’ve never ridden before?” He nodded in the direction of two horses I could see now quite plainly in a penned area adjacent to the building.
“You tell me.” My apprehension was making me a bit peevish.
He grinned at my irritation. “As fascinating as you are, I did manage to tear myself away from you a few times during the last two decades. I told you, there are a number of things I don’t know about you.”
My face grew hot again. How was it possible to blush this much? When I was with him it felt as if all of my nerve endings were exposed, everything was raw and too responsive. I was like a Christmas tree that someone forgot to unplug, each branch shiny and sparkling under his gaze.
My smile was rueful. “Well, in that case, no, I’ve never ridden.” In truth, horses scared me silly. I mean they had pretty large teeth for herbivores. And if they didn’t like you, you would end up on the ground.
As we walked towards the paddock, I eyed them nervously. The biggest horse was jet-black, sleek and handsome, with a thick dark mane and tail that swished from side to side. The other horse was classic white, not as large, but more graceful than her companion. Eaden turned to me when we reached the part of the fence nearest the black horse and with a flourish made the introductions.
“Rachel, I’d like you to meet Gus. Gus, this is Rachel.”
Reaching up, he patted the black horse soundly on the neck. Gus whickered in response, and I jumped back with a yelp, causing Gus to prance a few feet away, his head held high, eyes rolling. Eaden laughed and shook his head. Wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me from bolting, he gently guided me back towards the fence. With his other hand he extricated a small red apple from his jacket and presented it to Gus. With only a moment’s hesitation, Gus accepted the bribe and moved closer to the fence again, chomping in satisfaction.
Eaden reached up once more to stroke his neck, and inclined his head, encouraging me to do the same. Tentative, I stretched a shaky hand up to Gus’s neck and was pleased to find that his coat was soft and warm. I stood for a few moments, gently patting Gus while Eaden hovered close by. I wasn’t sure which one of us he was trying to reassure more with his presence.
Curious, the striking white horse that had been further afield pranced over towards us to investigate.
“Jealous as ever, aren’t you, Lilly?” Eaden laughed and fished out another apple. He gestured towards me with his hand, silently offering the chance to feed her, but I shook my head. They really did have big teeth.
Stroking her long, graceful neck, he crooned to her. “Never mind, an capal ban, she is only shy, like you.”
Behind the stable I spotted a larger barn that hadn’t been visible from the driveway. It slowly occurred to me that Eaden might actually own these horses, that he might actually own this land. My view of him seemed to be based entirely on him trailing behind me. How dense I’d been to assume his life was limited to what I’d seen of it.
“These are your horses, aren’t they?”
“They are,” he said, regarding them affectionately.
Flummoxed, my earlier question resurfaced. “But how can you own anything? Yesterday, you said that you didn’t even really exist.”
He leaned his forearms against the split rail fence, looking out over the paddock. “I don’t. You’d find no public record in any country for Eaden James MacAlister, no matter how long you searched. There are aliases that have been created specifically for me, to make all of this possible.” He gestured around him at the horses, the stables, the land. “It’s as I told you, Rachel. We’re denied almost nothing in the physical world. If money can buy it, I can have it.” His face expressionless again, he seemed absent, but with visible effort, he shook his head and shifted back. “Would you like to go for a ride? I can show you the escarpment.”
I eyed the horses dubiously. Summoning enough courage to touch them was one thing. Riding would be an entirely different matter.
He saw my hesitation and smiled. “What if we ride together? Gus can handle us both, can’t you, Gus?” he said, slapping him good-naturedly on the rump. Gus snorted in response and tossed his head.
“Did you name him?” It seemed a very casual name for such an impressive horse, and quite unlike Eaden’s usual decorous manner.
Leading Gus out of the paddock through the gate, he presented him to me. “His full name is Caesar Augustus,” he said. “I call him Gus for short.”
That’s more like it, I thought.
“And Lilly?”
“Ah… her full name is Eilidh Isobel MacWilliam.”
“Who was that?” I wasn’t familiar with the historical reference.
“My grandmother,” he said. Without warning, he placed his hands around my waist and hoisted me up easily onto Gus’s back. It happened so quickly, I had no time to be frightened, but a gasp escaped from my lips once I found myself seated. Eaden swung himself up in front of me, and reaching back, casually wrapped my arms around his waist.
