Intaglio: Dragons All The Way Down (30 page)

“Supper’s on!”
Nina called out again, voice louder.  She turned back to Ava and Cole, shaking
her head in exasperation.  “I swear that man needs a hearing aid, but he’s more
stubborn than anyone else I know.”  Her eyes jumped to Cole, a smile curling up
one side of her mouth.  “Well, except maybe for his son,” she teased.

He grinned
before his attention drifted to the stairs.

“I can go get
him if you want,” he offered.  “He in your room?”

Nina’s face
changed, growing wary.  She reached out and touched Cole’s arm.

“He’s gone up to
Hanna’s room...” she paused. and Ava saw the surprise in Cole’s face.  “He’s
starting to put a few things away.  Clothes for now, nothing else.” Nina
smiled.  “But it’s a start.”

Cole swallowed
hard, his eyes on the empty space at the top of the stairs.

“I’ll go help.”

Thomas awoke in
the darkness, mind hazy with sleep.  Around him, a faint blue light marked the
borders of his limbs and the undersides of objects wrapped in sooty shadows.
‘Payne’s
gray and indigo,’
his mind whispered, and he frowned in confusion. His torso
was cast in shades of blue, the muscles highlighted with pale bands.  This
wasn’t any place he recognized…
or was it?
  A thrill of realization ran
the length of his spine.

This was Ava’s
painting
…
the one of him in the nude. 

He shifted,
fabric brushing against bare skin, and details began to appear.  He recognized
his own heavily-muscled body, the sight of it reclining an echo of another
image. He squinted, a long-ago conversation answering his unspoken question. 

“Why am I blue?”

“Because it’s
night... and you’re swimming in the dark... the only light is the moon that’s
just come through the storm clouds.  It’s just you and the water…”

He couldn’t
remember when they’d been talking about that, or why.

As the fog of
sleep lifted, things pulled into focus.  He saw, to his surprise, that he was
in a room. 
‘Not water at all,’
his mind whispered.  He was lying in an
unfamiliar bed, moonlight coming through the mullioned panes of a bare window. 

“It’s just you
there … Nothing and no one else as far as you can see… You’re free.  It’s a new
beginning… like a sacrament…”

The ripples he
could see under his hip and leg were the loose folds of threadbare covers, the
shimmering patch near his shoulder a pool of light coming through the nearby
glass.  He recognized the shape of the quickly-fading image, but the story
behind it had changed. 

He tried to
dredge up the memory. 

‘A painting…?’ 

He closed his
eyes, trying to draw the dream forward, but the threads linking his thoughts
were fragile.  His lids fluttered open and he stared upward at the raftered
roof, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light.  For some reason, he knew that
Ava would appreciate the interplay of moonlight and shadow.  That, in turn,
lifted the memory from the depths once more.   

“It’s your
beginning,” she whispered.

“There’s no
point to a beginning if you have to be alone...”

He couldn’t
remember when she’d said that to him.

Without warning,
someone shifted next to him in the darkness, and Thomas jerked in surprise. 
Rolling onto his side, he caught sight of a woman’s curving back and pale sheet
of hair, blending into the pillow.  Shrouded by mismatched blankets, Ava was
stirring. 

 “Is it morning
already, Thomas?” she mumbled.

He smiled as the
memory rushed forward.

They’d married
hours ago.  Tomorrow they set off to the new world.

“Not yet, my
love,” he whispered.  “The boats don’t leave until dawn.” 

He wrapped his
arm around her, pulling Ava into the hollow of his arms, their bodies blurring
into the shadowy folds of the bed.  She made a soft, dove-like sound as he
dropped his mouth to hers.  Ava kissed him with a fierceness which still
surprised him, lips sliding against his in a heady dance.  The night on the
wharf had altered things between them…
and it had changed Thomas and Ava
too.
  There’d been months of uncertainty for Thomas as he’d waited for her
to decide, but they’d been burned away by a single moment in the rain. 

For a brief
moment, he remembered Ava in the weeks after her father’s death, meek and
subdued, her face colourless.  She’d been bound by an obligation so strong
Thomas had feared she’d chose someone else at her mother’s insistence.  

‘Jon…’
his mind
hissed. 

He pushed the
thought away, refusing to entertain his fears.  That night in the rain, he’d
been desperate.  He’d pulled her into his arms and kissed Ava, and that had
changed it all. 

This
here
was the result.

Ava was all the
things he wanted; no other woman had ever been close to the connection he felt
with her.  He moved nearer, sharing his meagre heat as he lay alongside her in
the narrow bed.  The kiss deepened, while his hands explored the length of her,
tugging the thin cotton of her chemise up to her hips, leaving him free to
play.  Ava sighed into his mouth, her body melting against him as sleep faded. 
He stroked her inner thighs, feeling her shiver under his caresses. 

“Thomas...” she
moaned.  The sound of her voice left him gasping for air.  He couldn’t imagine
life without Ava.  Couldn’t imagine
not
having this moment.

Leaving her
lips, Thomas’s mouth travelled the length of her neck and downward, tasting her
flesh.  Reaching her chest, he tugged at the ties of her chemise before taking
one nipple in his mouth, then the other.  Ava gasped, arching against the thin
mattress, half sobbing with pent-up desire.  Thomas revelled in the freedom
their vows had bequeathed: to do the things he’d dreamed of doing so many times. 

Thomas’ fingers
moved deeper, finding her ready for him.  Ava’s breath hitched with each brush
of his fingers, one hand tightening on his shoulders, the other tight in his
hair.  Cautious of hurting Ava, Thomas eased himself atop her, awed by the flood
of sensation which met him: her body, lithe and warm, wrapped around him.  He
slid forward, groaning at the perfection of their fit.  A rising tide of
passion began to build as they moved together in a familiar rhythm, a sensation
he could almost
recognize
fluttering just beyond his awareness.

In minutes,
Ava’s movements grew unsteady, mewling gasps growing into cries.  She put her
mouth against his shoulder, muffling a sudden shout as her body stiffened and
then relaxed.  In that moment, Thomas, realized what the familiar sensation
was...

Ava felt like
coming home.

An image
flickered to mind unexpectedly:
the two of them laying together on a couch,
sheets billowing around them, the air sharp and cold.  Behind them was a
painting of Ava, fury marking her features…
  With a groan, Thomas tumbled
into the scattered euphoria of their connection, the memory lost.  He shuddered
to a stop, ecstasy dragging all other thoughts away.   Ava’s hands ran slowly
over his head and shoulders, petting him the way his mother had when he’d been
a little boy, and he smiled.

“Love you,” he
murmured against her neck.  “Always, Ava… always.”

Jon stood on the
deck of the ship, the shouted prayers disappearing into the roaring voice of an
enraged ocean.  He
knew
the psalm, but he couldn’t hear it.  Still he
clung to the meaning of its words.

“They cried to
the Lord God in their distress; from their difficulties, He rescued them…”

A stone’s throw
from him, two sailors were lashing the sails, indifferent to his words.

 “
He calmed
the Storm to a gentle breeze, and the rage of the sea was stilled…”

A wave, the
height of a house rose on the starboard side and he grabbed hold of the rails,
his voice rising. 

“They were
joyful that the Seas were calmed, and that He brought them to their peaceful
destination…”

The wave slammed
downward with a weight that drove the air from his lungs.  Jon coughed and
gasped, choked by seawater.  When he opened his eyes again, there was only one
sailor holding the ropes. 

“Let these
Sailors give thanks,”
Jon screamed, terror rising. 
“Thanks to the Lord God for his Kindness!”

The deck
underneath him groaned, the mast snapping under the power of the wind.  Jon’s
voice faded to nothing, eyes wide like a child.  The ship lolled on its side,
dark hands of water reaching out for him.

“We’re lost…” he
gasped.

Fear was an
anchor in his chest, dragging him down.

: : : : : : : :
: :

Hanna O’Mally
walked along the sand, her bloodshot eyes squinting into the distance.

It was morning,
the night’s tempest spent.  Debris cluttered the shore, the once-proud ships
now broken down to kindling by God’s wrath.  Hanna lifted her hand, hastily
crossing herself.  She shouldn’t think such things, but the force of the storm
had left little doubt in her mind.

She was alive by
the grace of God alone.

There was a
man’s boot and a cask bobbing just off shore.  She’d been walking since she’d
awoken on the sand, her body bruised and battered, but still, impossibly,
alive.  There were other survivors too; a barber-surgeon from Dorset who was
assisting the wounded, and her Ladyship, Hanna’s employer, who’d shown herself
surprisingly effective at doling out food and water.  There was a Protestant
preacher with a broken arm, a lean, unsmiling man, who sat, whey-faced, on the
shore.  He’d been staring out at the waves as she’d passed him, his shoulders
hunched and sagging.

“Are you
praying?” Hanna had asked him.

He’d shaken his
head, not lifting his eyes.  Hanna had turned, meaning to help others, but
something about his grief-stricken face had stopped her.  She turned back,
shifting nervously.  They didn’t share a faith, and she wasn’t sure what he’d
say to the prayers of a so-called Papist.

“Would… would
you like me to pray with you, sir?” she asked gently.

He’d lifted his
gaze, the brokenness of his expression shocking her into silence.

“There’s no
point,” he muttered, “My faith is gone… G-god has forsaken me.”  His face
crumpled in despair.

On the beach,
Hanna crossed herself again, steps quickening.

There were several
sailors amongst the survivors.  They’d located one of the small dories, upended
but still seaworthy, a little ways off shore.  They trawled up and down the
coast, searching for the lost. For every person they pulled from the waves,
another five were floating face-down in the water.  Ahead of Hanna, a small
outcrop of trees spread out toward the shore, the limbs dropping down toward
the ocean.  She could hear water running somewhere and she narrowed her gaze,
trying to locate its source.

That’s when she saw
them.

Far in the
distance, their bodies shadows of blue against the bright gold sand, were two
figures.  As she reached the trees, she could see that they were lying side by
side on the beach.

“Hullo…?”  she
called.  “D’you need some help there?”

: : : : : : : :
: :

Kip lurched
upright in bed, gasping.  “Please, God, no!” he shouted, struggling against an
unseen opponent.  The sheets were tangled around his legs and he couldn’t move,
the nightmare still hanging just out of reach.

“Kip,” Raya
mumbled, her hand brushing his shoulder.  “Wake up.  You’re dreaming.”

He froze at the
sound of her voice.  He didn’t feel like he was asleep, the panic a noose
around his neck.  He scrubbed a hand across his face, reorienting himself with
his surroundings.  Raya flicked on the lamp on the bedside table.  The dark
wood headboard was exactly as he remembered it, the ochre walls, the large
mirror on one side… nothing had changed.

And yet it felt
like something had.

“You were
talking in your sleep,” Raya said.  “Praying, I think.”

He turned in
surprise.

“Praying?”

She shrugged.

“That’s what it
sounded like to me.”

Kip struggled to
recapture the dream, but it was already gone.  Across from the bed, Ava’s three
panels hung on the wall.  He’d had them since early Spring, but they were still
untouched, her brushstrokes exactly as she’d left them.  The truth was, Kip
hadn’t been able to bring himself to add to them.  They meant something.  The
riddle behind the story of the painting felt closer than ever tonight.

“Kip...?” Raya
prompted, touching his shoulder again.