Alex Bledsoe - Wisp of a Thing

He put his guitar down hard on the table and stalked away, trying to get control of his temper. What the hell was going on?

“Rob?” Bliss asked. She had to be very careful now, to sense the right things to say. She was certain the winds had brought her here for this conversation, this moment.

“If you want to help me,” he snapped, “convince me this is a coincidence. Convince me there’s no connection between what the guy who told me about the Tufa said in Atlanta, and the fact that you drive me out into the middle of nowhere and then tell me the same thing.”

“I didn’t tell you anything, I just played a song,” she said.

“‘On a hill, long forgotten, carved in stone.’ Which is exactly where I found those verses.” He stared out across the valley. Either she was telling the truth, which seemed impossible, or she wasn’t, and he was the focus of an elaborate multi-state conspiracy designed to do… what? Make him read the epitaphs? Who the hell went to that kind of trouble?

He sighed and kicked at the ground. “All right, look, I’m sorry. This is all just a little much.”

She still kept a distance between them. “That’s some temper you’ve got.”

“Yeah. It gets away from me on occasion.” He felt the same hollow, shaky shivers that drove him into the stairwell that night in Atlanta. “I’m okay now. At least, I’m not going to punch anything. Or anyone.”

She moved closer. Suddenly she knew what to say. “I want to ask you something, and I really want you to think about the answer. Okay?”

He nodded.

She looked steadily into his eyes. “ Why are you so angry?”

He snorted sarcastically. “Well, let’s see, my girlfriend died, and—”

“No. You were angry before that, and before we played ‘Wrought Iron Fences.’ That ‘whim’ story might fool some people, but a man like you doesn’t go up for that TV show unless he’s angry.” With certainty she said, “You auditioned to make someone eat their words. Who? The guys in your band?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “Anna. She was… disappointed with my career progress.”

“She wanted you to quit music?”

“No, she wanted me to reprioritize it. Make it a hobby.” He laughed at the inane cliché of it. “Get a real job.”

“So you thought if you made it on the show, it would prove you had talent.”

He nodded. His chest felt tight, and the back of his throat swelled.

She took his hand. They stood in silence, the wind rustling the trees around them. At last she said, “There’s nothing wrong with feeling regret over this.”

“Oh, it gets better. That surprise visit at the finals? It wasn’t a surprise. She wasn’t going to do it, but the producers were adamant she had to be there. I had to…” He wiped hot liquid from his cheeks. “I begged her to come. Pleaded. Promised her everything. And she came.”

For a long moment there was only the wind around them. At last Bliss said, “That’s a lot of pain to carry around.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I came all this way, why I need to find… that song.”

He couldn’t hold it back then. He began to cry, big gulping sobs bereft of dignity or solace.

Bliss put her arms around him and pulled him close. This pain was real. The night winds could be capricious, even enigmatic, but she’d never known them to be deliberately, truly cruel. Whatever the truth about that night in Atlanta, they’d blown this sad man to her because he needed her help.

She rested one strong, small hand up between his shoulder blades. “Some things a song can’t fix, Rob,” she said softly. And she moved her fingers, making a sign.

He pulled away enough to look into her eyes. She met his gaze expectantly, eyes clear and strong. He was torn between the desire to kiss her right there on the spot, and tenderly protect her from anyone who’d come near her with rough intent. He sensed, though, that neither reaction was quite the appropriate one. Still, he leaned closer.

Their lips almost met. Then he turned away and walked to the edge of the slope. After a few moments she came and stood beside him.

“You didn’t want to kiss me,” she said, not asking but simply stating.

He looked out at the valley, eyes squinted tight from tears and the sun’s glare. “Yes, I did. It just would’ve been the wrong thing, for the wrong reasons. But I do need your help.”

“So what can I do?”

“Help me find the rest of the song. Whether it’s magical or not, I need to do it. For myself, for Anna, and for—” He took a deep breath. “—for all the broken hearts in the world.”

“Okay,” she answered with certainty. The wind rustled the trees, and she knew what to do next. “But if I’m going to help you, there’s someplace else I have to take you.”

“Okay. When?”

“Now. Tonight.”

And before he could say another word, the sun dropped behind the mountains as if the cord holding it up had been cut. They were plunged into twilight.

“Is something wrong?” Bliss asked as she drove.

Besides the fact that it got dark so fast, I worried that I was passing out? he almost said, but didn’t. Instead, he decided to play his last card. The Tufa weirdness grew deeper with each revelation; he couldn’t wait to hear her explain this one. “This afternoon, while I taking a nap… I met your sister Curnen.”

Bliss didn’t take her eyes off the road. She said, “Hm.” How could Curnen be so stupid? she thought. Then she realized what time of year it was, and what this cycle in particular meant. When the last leaf fell, the curse on Curnen would become permanent and irrevocable; the girl would become a wild animal, lost to herself, her family, and the Tufa.

And what did this mean for her, for Bliss? The night winds had blown her into Rob’s path, and she was doing her best to sense and follow their desires. Was Curnen, all feral instinct and instant gratification, working with or against the winds? If she was defying them out of selfishness and fear, then it would resolve itself soon enough. But what if the winds really were blowing both sisters into the path of the same man? What could be the reason? Or the ultimate outcome?

The immediate problem, though, was explaining Curnen, and many other things, to Rob. He’d already proved an enigma with his ability to see things that should be hidden to non-Tufas. She’d promised to help him, but how far did she dare trust him? What was the right thing to do?

Finally she said, “I guess you’ve got some questions about Curnen, then.”

“Yeah. She’s been coming into my room for the last two nights, hasn’t she?”

“Did you get rid of something that looked like a piece of blue glass on the windowsill?”

“Yeah.”

“That would’ve kept her out. So yes, she’s probably been visiting you.”

“Why?”

“She’s not entirely…”

“Normal?”

“I was going to say… Well, normal’s as good a word as any. No, she’s definitely not normal.”

“What is she, then?”

Bliss didn’t answer. They drove in silence for several minutes, and eventually turned onto a gravel road. Finally Rob asked, “Hey, where are we going?”

“There’s a place up here where some of the local musicians gather. I thought you might like to see it.”

“What’s that got to do with the magic song?” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “Is Rockhouse Hicks going to be there?”

“No, Rockhouse isn’t welcome. Most people have the same opinion of him as you do. The only place you’re likely to hear him play is the Pair-A-Dice. That’s neutral territory.”

“You still haven’t answered my question about Curnen.”