A shimmer within trees
Brae's meteorite
“Do you hear it?” she whispered.
If you are new (hi!), this is my novella, Brae’s meteorite. I’m serialising it here on Substack. Each entry is a 5-10min read. You’re welcome to jump right in here, but my recommendation would be to head to the start. That fabled place of beginnings. You can find all the previous entries—including the introduction—here:
The often cryptic writing and shorthand of Renn has once more been untangled and translated. Parts of this latest entry eluded me at first, but I think I’ve pieced together another set of pages of his words, pulling at the threads of meaning, his recounting of events.
You may have noticed I’ve changed the naming of the post. This is the fifth entry, but I’m going to do away with chapter numbering in the post titles from now on1, keeping them only in the table of contents.
I hope you enjoy.
Darn, 15-on-Rye, 568
On the evening of the sixth night, near three full days after sighting the meteorite, Brae held out her arm. My head—eyes to the ground and looking for the occasional glowbug flaring green—walked straight into it.
“Ow!”
“Shhh,” she hissed, swatting me round the back of my head.
“Ow!” I repeated. Brae was scowling, hand contemplating a second strike. I glared at her, mouthing the shape of a single, silent word: What?
She pointed ahead to where a low hill rose up from the ground. Its top was crowned by a line of trees, solemn guardians to the cloudless night sky. As I looked, Brae continued to point.
And then there, between two thick trunks, something stirred. The air rippled, like the shimmer of a hot Ochre day.
I watched, unsure of what I was seeing as the rippling shifted and spread. In one moment it was gone, but then it returned. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Brae’s hands go to her mouth. “Have I found it?” she said, words coming through closed fingers. She took two steps forward. “An oracle.”
I couldn’t grasp her meaning. “An oracle? Is that what you said? An oracle?”
She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the shifting haze. The air rippled, then changed, as though it were not air between those trees but water, and someone—something—were casting small pebbles across its surface.
The faintest of smiles pulled its way across Brae’s lips. At first I mistook it for simple awe or amazement. But no, it was not awe, I realised. It was relief.
I stalked up to her. “You knew?”
Again Brae nodded. “Yes,” she managed. “It is why we came.”
It was precisely not why we came. There had been no mention of an oracle on this little errand. The letter that was tucked into my satchel—the one sealed and rolled tightly with the threads of Toӧr—was not destined for an oracle. For some creature of myth.
“Why we came?” I let out, all too loud.
That landed me another strike around the head, a fierce look now in Brae’s eyes. This time, though, it proved too much. In an act part retaliation, part fury, and, well, mostly idiocy, I made to push her.
I got so far as lifting my arms.
Brae moved like lightning, sidestepping and sweeping her hands down and across my own, knocking them back. Her hands grasped my wrists, clamping onto them with an ox’s strength. With a twisting motion she flung me to the floor and I landed face down, head striking the dirt. I let out a muffled groan.
But Brae wasn’t done. She was on top of me, spinning me over, straddling me and pressing a forearm against my throat. Her knees pinioned my arms, driving a steady pain deep within. Her left palm went over my mouth, stifling pathetic emanations as she leaned in.
“You are a foolish boy,” she hissed. “Never listening; always playing the fool. You think being Darrow’s son affords you such?”
Brae’s face was close. So close. My heart raced as I looked into flared nostrils. Her hair, that deep copper-bronze, fell in thick curls around my cheeks, creating a secret cave. In the dim light of this sudden and marvellous cave—rapidly filling, I recall, with her delicate scent—I could make out the freckles that dotted her cheeks.
Through all this, I did not speak. Could not speak. Brae’s palm stayed across my mouth as her arm remained pressed to my throat. I shook my head in a rapid side-to-side.
Finally, Brae released her hand, though her forearm didn’t budge. I managed several thin wheezes, but I didn’t make to struggle. My mind was only interested in daring my physical self to do one thing: to kiss her. I could have done so, for her lips—so full and alluring—tempted me with their proximity. Should have done so, possibly. If I had, then maybe I would be gone and she would not have walked up to those trees. Or perhaps, like Brae’s notion of her guidance, there is only one path and we tread it regardless; a perception of choice is all we get.
Brae’s hair tickled my skin. Her arm began to loosen. Eyes of amber stared into mine. And we remained that way, unmoving. Time had slowed. It lasted minutes. Or it lasted but a few short seconds. I honestly cannot say. Whatever the reality, Brae eventually let her arm slide away and she sat up, placing a finger over my lips. She tilted her head toward the night sky, hair parting to allow the pink of an earlobe a cautious escape to attune to the night.
“Do you hear it?” she whispered, that rage now gone from her voice.
I strained, turning my head to mirror hers, trying to let as much sound reach my ear as possible. I quieted my mind. There was the rustle of leaves and Brae’s own breathing, the distant hoot of an owl, the sound of my heart beating rapid and heavy. As I tried to hear beyond, her finger stayed across my lips.
Then, in the distance, there was a glimmer of sound, faint and high-pitched. It wavered, sometimes there, sometimes not. It sent a series of chills through my body. Whatever it was, it sounded both terrifying and beautiful.
Brae looked to me. As I nodded, confirming, a slight smile crept back across her face.
And yet still she kept her finger pressed to my lips.
So I licked it. A short, quick lick.
I do not know why I did this. (That is not quite true, of course. I would be lying if I said I had never dreamt of doing such, before or since.) Brae flinched her hand away and slapped me. This time without a glove. A single deft swipe that left my cheek stinging.
“What was that, Renn?”
Perhaps I had gone too far.
“I’m sorry,” I said, lacking any other appropriate response. “I didn’t know how else to remove your finger. I can’t feel my hands.” This was true, at least. My arms had grown numb under the pressure from her knees.
As though realising the nature of her position for the first time, Brae looked down. “Oh,” she managed. Then she moved, rolling off and sitting to my left. “Sorry. Don’t push me. Ever.”
Technically, I hadn’t pushed her. I had only intended to push her, but somehow these were details I felt unwise to point out. Still, Brae had apologised. I mentally checked that off my list. In the space of several days I had elicited laughter and an apology. And, I had licked her finger. I allowed a smile at my small achievements.
“Shall we start again?” I asked, voice low. I pointed towards the hill, to where light and sound shifted and shimmered. “What’s happening, Brae? What is that, there within those trees?”
For a long moment, she looked at the hill and the trees and we both watched as that strange light flickered in and out. Then she turned to me, eyes now full of tears.
“It is something I have waited years for,” she said, looking down at the grass and then back to the trees. “A fleeting spirit, trapped between worlds.”
“Trapped between worlds?” I repeated, my words sounding stupid.
Brae nodded. “Between worlds. Between time. Within time, perhaps.” She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. “The very same my father searched for. The last thing he searched for, of that I am sure.” Her eyes closed and she took several deep breaths before speaking again. “It is many things. If any of this is true.”
If any of what is true? I wanted to ask.
“What do you know of such?” she said.
Of oracles? What did I know of oracles?
Nothing. Not then.
But that was all about to change.
So there we go. Another entry closes. As always, you can let Renn know how you feel by leaving a comment, allowing your mouse or finger to descend upon the little heart icon, or by sharing this post. Thank you for reading, it means the world.
My thoughts are that any new reader may be put off seeing “Part X” and simply not read at all. If you dislike this change, do let me know.
"...In the space of several days I had elicited laughter and an apology. And, I had licked her finger. I allowed a smile at my small achievements..." Poor guy. I love this small victory.
So much to love in this chapter. But I’m entirely hooked by something “trapped between worlds.” Your imagination is layered, mythic, and warm Nathan. And I also smile every time I read the narrator’s comments as he/you decipher Renn’s journals and delight in your discoveries.