up.
Stiff, ancient silks unfolded.
There was a gentle dip in the bottom of the box, perfect for the katana to rest in. Maybe designed for it.
I took the sword in both hands. Head bent, my forehead resting gently on the curve of the saya, I whispered, “I’m sorry. I should never have taken him out. I’m sorry, Ojiichan. I’m sorry, Hidden One.”
So, so sorry…
I slowly eased the katana back into the box. After clumsily flipping the silks over the shining black and gold, I lunged for the lid and shoved it down. The hollow boom of the two halves of the case coming together rang in my ears like a church bell.
I rested like that for a little while, both hands on the lid, holding it down. Holding me up.
Finally I eased to my feet, grabbing the torch. My legs wobbled. Sickness surged in my stomach, and emptiness yawned in my chest. I wrapped my free arm around my midriff, trying to breathe around that awful, wrenching sense of wrongness.
Mine
. He was mine. And I was leaving him. I was leaving him trapped here alone, shut up in the dark…
“Just a sword,” I panted between chattering teeth. “Just … a … sword.”
It was nearly over. Now I just had to get out of the attic. I just had to get away.
My first step was slow, wobbly, as if I had forgotten how to use my legs. The high, singing note inside me hadn’t cut off with the closing of the box this time. It was like a cord tied inside my ribs, stretched taut as a violin string, screaming with tension; shrill, desperate.
The second step, even slower than the first, made my breath sob in my ears and cold sweat spring up all over my body. My heart reached back for the sword with everything it had. Or maybe it was the sword reaching for me.
Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t let go
.
The third step broke me.
I couldn’t move another step without ripping out my own heart.
My legs gave way. I fell down onto the dusty floorboards, gasping for breath.
Misery. Emptiness. Fear
.
No light. No air. Icy cold and dark, nothing but darkness. Oh God, I can’t leave him. I can’t let him go, not like this, I can’t let go. I can’t. I
can’t…
He’s mine
.
I didn’t make a decision to move. Before I knew what was happening, the box was before me again, the lid flying back. I ripped away the embroidered cloths.
The warm silk of the grip and cool lacquer of the saya leapt into my hands.
Relief swept over me – a gentle tide of sheer
rightness
like some beautiful piece of music reaching straight into my spirit. My stomach stopped churning. My head stopped throbbing. The high, screaming vibration that had shaken me and choked off my air turned golden and sweet, twining around me like an affectionate cat. The painful emotions dissolved into blessed calm. Joy. Warmth. Happiness.
I could feel the katana pulsing faintly in my grip, and a deep, thankful sigh shuddered out of me. I hugged it close.
You’re all right. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you. I won’t let go again
.
I won’t ever, ever let go
.
CHAPTER 5
THE BOY WITH THE SKY IN HIS EYES
I t was nine-thirty in the morning. I stared up at my bedroom ceiling and contemplated my options.
One: I had got so drunk at Natalie’s party that I’d tripped out and had a really elaborate and disturbing dream which I found impossible to distinguish from reality.
Two: I had experienced one of those psychotic breaks that people were always going on about, and from now on I was never going to be able to distinguish dreams from reality.
Three: Everything I had experienced last night was real. The antique sword I had pinched from my parents’ attic was … something else. Something more. So much more that it had somehow fixed me when I ought to have been dead and had been starring in the recurring dreams I’d had since I was a kid.
Personally, I was thinking that Option One looked pretty fricking good. Especially since the minute I started seriously considering Number Three, I’d be a candidate for Two.
I
Stiff, ancient silks unfolded.
There was a gentle dip in the bottom of the box, perfect for the katana to rest in. Maybe designed for it.
I took the sword in both hands. Head bent, my forehead resting gently on the curve of the saya, I whispered, “I’m sorry. I should never have taken him out. I’m sorry, Ojiichan. I’m sorry, Hidden One.”
So, so sorry…
I slowly eased the katana back into the box. After clumsily flipping the silks over the shining black and gold, I lunged for the lid and shoved it down. The hollow boom of the two halves of the case coming together rang in my ears like a church bell.
I rested like that for a little while, both hands on the lid, holding it down. Holding me up.
Finally I eased to my feet, grabbing the torch. My legs wobbled. Sickness surged in my stomach, and emptiness yawned in my chest. I wrapped my free arm around my midriff, trying to breathe around that awful, wrenching sense of wrongness.
Mine
. He was mine. And I was leaving him. I was leaving him trapped here alone, shut up in the dark…
“Just a sword,” I panted between chattering teeth. “Just … a … sword.”
It was nearly over. Now I just had to get out of the attic. I just had to get away.
My first step was slow, wobbly, as if I had forgotten how to use my legs. The high, singing note inside me hadn’t cut off with the closing of the box this time. It was like a cord tied inside my ribs, stretched taut as a violin string, screaming with tension; shrill, desperate.
The second step, even slower than the first, made my breath sob in my ears and cold sweat spring up all over my body. My heart reached back for the sword with everything it had. Or maybe it was the sword reaching for me.
Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t let go
.
The third step broke me.
I couldn’t move another step without ripping out my own heart.
My legs gave way. I fell down onto the dusty floorboards, gasping for breath.
Misery. Emptiness. Fear
.
No light. No air. Icy cold and dark, nothing but darkness. Oh God, I can’t leave him. I can’t let him go, not like this, I can’t let go. I can’t. I
can’t…
He’s mine
.
I didn’t make a decision to move. Before I knew what was happening, the box was before me again, the lid flying back. I ripped away the embroidered cloths.
The warm silk of the grip and cool lacquer of the saya leapt into my hands.
Relief swept over me – a gentle tide of sheer
rightness
like some beautiful piece of music reaching straight into my spirit. My stomach stopped churning. My head stopped throbbing. The high, screaming vibration that had shaken me and choked off my air turned golden and sweet, twining around me like an affectionate cat. The painful emotions dissolved into blessed calm. Joy. Warmth. Happiness.
I could feel the katana pulsing faintly in my grip, and a deep, thankful sigh shuddered out of me. I hugged it close.
You’re all right. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you. I won’t let go again
.
I won’t ever, ever let go
.
CHAPTER 5
THE BOY WITH THE SKY IN HIS EYES
I t was nine-thirty in the morning. I stared up at my bedroom ceiling and contemplated my options.
One: I had got so drunk at Natalie’s party that I’d tripped out and had a really elaborate and disturbing dream which I found impossible to distinguish from reality.
Two: I had experienced one of those psychotic breaks that people were always going on about, and from now on I was never going to be able to distinguish dreams from reality.
Three: Everything I had experienced last night was real. The antique sword I had pinched from my parents’ attic was … something else. Something more. So much more that it had somehow fixed me when I ought to have been dead and had been starring in the recurring dreams I’d had since I was a kid.
Personally, I was thinking that Option One looked pretty fricking good. Especially since the minute I started seriously considering Number Three, I’d be a candidate for Two.
I
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