The Knights of Sheba, Episode Five: "Finding Comfort" B

The Knights of Sheba 105 B…Start

 

            “Kit.  Kit!  Kit,” Geneva calls while weaving her way through the flow of students.  She can see Kit’s tall, blonde head above the crowd, and uses it like a lighthouse to guide her.  She has to be careful, because if she makes one wrong move, she will…

            “Ow!”  Geneva rests against the wall and cradles her injured arm.  She feels tired and not at all young.  Kit, a whole herd of people away, acknowledges her, and moves smoothly through the crowd.

            “Genny?”

            “Kit!”  Geneva looks up and tries to look well.  Failing that, she settles for looking alive.  “Hey, how are you?”

            “I’m fine.”  Kit looks over her shoulder.  “I need to get going or the I.S.S. officer will…”

            “Yeah.”

            “So?”

            “Hey, do you want to meet up after school? Or hang out.  Or whatever you kids are calling it these days.”

            “What?”

            “I was just thinking,” Geneva shrugs to finish the sentence.

            “I guess we should talk.”

            “I’d like to.  I’ve been doing some thinking lately.  A lot of thinking.”

            “Mm.  Then, I’ll drive you home?”

            Geneva nods.  “That works,” she says.  “That definitely works.”

            “Okay.”  The bell rings, and both girls look up.  Only now do they realize how empty the halls have become.  “Crap.”

            “Yeah, we’ll both be late. See you after school,” Geneva says, and she doesn’t trust herself not to fumble at this point, so she runs.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After that, Geneva’s day passes quickly.  She stays quiet in class, hugs the back of the room.  The other students hardly notice her without Kit to draw attention, and increasingly her teachers seem to mimic that behavior.  Outside of Mrs. Campbell, Geneva’s morning passes by without incident, and considering things, Geneva counts that as a success.

            Due to her arm injury, Geneva finds herself sitting out in gym class, which suits her fine.  She uses the extra time to catch up on homework neglected during her recovery.  At this point in the year she is passing all of her classes, even Biology.  Her parents are ecstatic but pushy.  They still expect more from her, and she doesn’t have to heart to tell them that this is her best.

            Without Lana and Kit parading around, the school is quieter.  For a long time, Geneva never understood how Kit, as pretty and sweet as she is, could have no friends.  Now, after spending weeks without Lana there, she understands.  Lana is like a force of nature.  She runs the school, and it isn’t so much that people hate Kit, as it is that people fear Lana.

            Still, Geneva misses Lana a little.  Without her in class, she has to work with Mrs. Campbell, the greater of two evils, in Biology labs.

            “Ms. Oaks, may I speak with you for a moment,” Ms. Olivia asks, jarring Geneva from her thoughts.  Geneva is sitting on the bleachers with her books and notebooks scattered around her, and Ms. Olivia is now standing over her.  On the gym floor, the students take advantage of their lax supervision.

            “Aren’t you doing that already?”  Ms. Olivia frowns, and Geneva marks the page she is on and sets her book aside.  “Sorry, what’s up?”

            “I was hoping that after class I might take you to the compound and introduce you to my commanding officer.  Maybe, we could even take time to answer more questions and go over the things expected of you in the days to come.”

            Geneva frowns.  “But I’m injured.”

            “Yes, but we have no time to waste, and I won’t push you physically.  I simply want to introduce you slowly, so as allow you to acclimate to your new schedule.  It will be simple, mind you.  I know better than to strain your injured body.”

            “But I’ve got plans.”

            “Then cancel them.”

            “Listen, Ms. Olivia, can’t we do it tomorrow? Seriously, it’s really important.”

            “I apologize, sincerely, Ms. Oaks, for whatever trouble this may cause you, but it is not negotiable.”

            Geneva’s frown turns sharply into a glare.  “So, what, my life just revolves around your wishes now?”

            Ms. Olivia crosses her arms and glares back.  She looks taller than Geneva remembers.  “In a manner, yes.  Until we figure out how the demons are moving or why, this is your life.”

            “Well, that doesn’t seem fair.”

            “I gave you warning about the ring.  It was your choice to wear it, Ms. Oaks.”

            “Those people were in trouble, so it wasn’t a choice.”  Pouting, Geneva looks past Ms. Olivia.  She watches one young girl spike the volleyball hard into another student’s face. “Listen, you might want to get back to your class.  Otherwise, you’ll get a reputation as a negligent teacher.”

            “I can expect you after school.”

            “Yeah, see you then,” Geneva says, tugging her textbook back onto her lap and flipping it open.

            Ms. Olivia nods and turns.  She starts down the stairs and stops, looking back.  “Truly, Ms. Oaks, I do apologize.”

            “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Geneva waits anxiously beneath the awning by the back door Ash View High.  The sun is out and the air is hot.  It clings to her skin in beads of sweat but she hardly notices.  Her mind is preoccupied with responsibilities and excuses.  She imagines Kit coming out the door and all the shapes the conversation could take, will take.  None of them end on a positive note.

            The students are mostly gone.  Kit is always a bit later after I.S.S., but she has her own car and is rarely in a hurry.  She comes out the door and catches Geneva out of the corner of her eye.  Lifting her backpack onto her shoulders, she manages a smile.

            “Hey, ready to go?” She sounds happy, happier than she has been in a while, at least.  It makes the conversation that much worse to have.  Geneva averts her gaze, and Kit notices and crosses her arms.  “What now?”

            “Sorry, Kit, really.  I kind of have to bail.”

            “Kind of have to…”  Kit groans and throws her arms up.  “Of course, you do.  I can’t believe you.  Whatever, Genny, just whatever.”

            “Wait,” Geneva says, taking Kit by the arm, but Kit jerks away and nearly knocks Geneva flat.

            “No!  I’m done with this.  When you figure out what you really want, get back to me.  Or, better yet, don’t get back to me, because I am done.  Just done. Have a nice life.”

            “It’s not my fault, Kit!  It’s Ms. Olivia, throwing her weight around, being a bossy bit…”

            “Ms. Olivia?  Our gym teacher? Really.  And how exactly is she responsible for this?”
            “I am serving as Ms. Oaks’ private tutor,” Ms. Olivia says from the doorway.  She has been watching for some time, her bag tucked conservatively under her arm, and carries herself with her usual confidence and ease.  “And I insisted that Ms. Oaks forego personal pleasures for the evening and focus on her studies.”

            “Oh,” Kit says, calming, going blank.  “So, you were telling the truth.”

            “In a manner of speaking,” Geneva says.  “Anyway, I really didn’t have much of a choice.”

            “Surely, you two could meet later,” Ms. Olivia says.

            Kit looks between them.  She nods.  “Yeah, that works.  So, later?”

            Geneva smiles, weakly.  “Later,” she says, and she follows Ms. Olivia away.  Kit calls after them, and Geneva turns to her.

            “Sorry,” Kit says.  “For blowing up.”

            “After everything, I understand.  I promise, though, I’ll try and clear it up.”

            Kit grins broadly in return.  “Then call me when you get out,” she says, and she stuffs her hands in her pockets and saunters away.

            “You were busy with her,” Ms. Olivia asks.  She is standing straight, waiting patiently for Geneva.

            “Yeah, that was the intention,” Geneva says.  Ms. Olivia starts walking, and Geneva follows again.

            “Are things well between you?”

            “Listen, I appreciate your interest and your help and whatever, but if there is a single person alive who I would feel less comfortable talking to about this with, I don’t know who they are.  I mean, seriously, this is like third intergalactic crisis levels personal we’re talking.”  Geneva pauses.  “Or would it be interdimensional?  Now that I think about it, I’m unclear on the threat.  You know what we need? A prologue.  Narrated by someone British.  Yeah, British would be sexy.”

            “Yes, well, get in,” Ms. Oivia says, unlocking door and holding it for Geneva.  Again, she stows Geneva’s things in the back before climbing into the driver’s seat.  She fastens her seatbelt and waits for Geneva to do the same.

            “You know, you sound kind of European-y.  I think.” Geneva shrugs.  “Don’t know many Europeans.

            “That would make sense. First contact with your people was in what you would call Europe,” Ms. Olivia says as she pulls out.  She weaves onto the highway.  “At least, one of them.”

            “There were multiple first contacts? That’s a thing?”

            Ms. Olivia nods while watching the road.  She slows into traffic.  “Gate Trees last longer but still age and will wither and die like any other, given time.  First contact with the deities, your ancient gods, was near your Middle East.  After that tree died, we made contact with the Europeans before the tree moved here.  Your English is actually descended from old elvish dialects.”

            “Wait, the deities are gods?”

            “From your mythologies,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Yes, though we prefer the divine or deities to separate them from a creator spirit, mind you.”

            “Right,” Geneva says.  She stares out the window, watches the sunlight bounce off the cars around her.  “And do elves believe in God? Or gods or whatever?”

            “I would say some do, but not popularly,” Ms. Olivia says.  “We’re a people who prefer to believe we created ourselves, and our pride would never allow any other story for long.”

            “Sounds, uh, pleasant.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

           

            The elves cultivated a large plot of land just outside of the city when the gate tree blossomed there.  It is largely undeveloped, composed primarily of rich woodland and rolling fields.  At the very heart of this land, hidden from human eyes, is a single building: the compound.  It is three stories tall and very long, with a deck stretching around the entirety of its exterior.  The roof is slanted from the front.

            When Geneva first sees it, she is more distracted by the number of black SUVs parked in the front.  She can’t help but think that for an organization hoping to blend in, their choice in transportation could not be more conspicuous.  Ms. Olivia rolls to a stop among the other SUVs and turns the car off.

            Once at a stop, Geneva takes the time to consider the imposing visage that is the compound itself and frowns.  “You know, I’m really starting to regret this decision.”  She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “You sure I can’t just go talk to Kit instead?”

            “Quite sure, Ms. Oaks.”

            “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

            Ms. Olivia sighs.

            “I’ll haunt you.”

            “Ms. Oaks.”

            “I’m just saying, I will.  Watch you while you bathe and…other stuff.  I’ll leaves message on your mirror,” Geneva says.  “No pound will go unnoticed.”

            Ms. Olivia gives a long, unamused stare before undoing her seatbelt.  “Ms. Oaks, if you would.”

            “Get out of the car, I know,” Geneva says, undoing her own belt.  She grips the door handle.  “Goodbye, cruel world.”

            “Ms. Oaks, please.”

            They exit the vehicle and Geneva follows Ms. Olivia up to the compound.  Up close the building appears larger and older than Geneva first thought, but it is also very well-kept.  It has a rustic air about it, like the people who own it are slow to change.  The lights inside are off and the windows are open and for a moment Geneva thinks it might be abandoned.

            They reach the door and Ms. Olivia unlocks it while Geneva asks, “So, what exactly is this place?”

            “The elves have long watched over humanity, and they often do so with what they believe to be a healthy distance, assuming it offers them impartiality.  This is where they watch from.  Consider it their bastion in the fastmoving world around them.”

            “And why exactly do the elves watch over humanity?”

            “That answer is long and complex,” Ms. Olivia says.  She is standing at the door, her hand resting on the knob.

            “You can go ahead and try to explain it to me, and I’ll do my best to wrap my feeble little mind around it,” Geneva says.  “So not as dumb as I look.”

            “Yes, well, the truth doesn’t paint my people in the best light.  We watch the tree and humanity both, to keep you isolated, for we fear what will happen should your people become aware of their secret history.”

            “You’re afraid?  Of what?”

            Ms. Olivia pauses thoughtfully and then asks, “Are you certain you wish to hear this?”

            “I asked, didn’t I?”

            “So, you did,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Fine, if you must know, think of the demons.  They are considered a threat, yes?”

            “I guess so,” Geneva says.  “Haven’t actually gotten that far into the assigned reading.  Sorry.”

            Ms. Olivia clicks her tongue.  “Well, they are.  Once, the demons descended like a flood and washed away the most advanced civilization known to history, and it is popular opinion among the elves that the humans are capable of the same.”

            “Really?  Why is that?”

            “Because you’re an active and sometimes violent people, always moving and shifting.  And like a force of nature, you’re always changing the world around you.  Think on your history, on your world wars and your genocides and tell me the fear is unfounded.”

            Geneva shifts her weight, purses her lips.  After some thought she says, “Okay, I guess I can see that.”

            “Don’t let it bother you, Ms. Oaks.  However awful humanity can be, I can assure you that the elven people are no better, despite our claims.  Just as there are those who exist in opposition to the storm for your people, there are those who bring the storm among mine.  Now then, do you have any other questions before we enter?”

            “Yeah.  Where are the power lines?  Or, well, anything.  All I see are trees and, uh,” Geneva looks around, “Nope, nothing else.  Just trees.”

            “We are off the grid, in a sense.  We supply our own power here and purchased the land long, long ago, while the city was still young or perhaps even before.  As I told you, my people prefer isolation here.”

            Geneva looks around the empty forests and fields and shivers.  “Creepy,” she says.  “And you live here?”

            “No,” Ms. Olivia says.  “I walk a different path.  Now, come, we’ve little time if we’re to allow for your meeting with Ms. Wright.”

            “Right, right,” Geneva says.  “Onward, into the belly of the beast.”

            Ms. Olivia pushes the door open and leads them inside.  Geneva steps into the foyer and is struck by how cramped the house is.  Like most old houses, it was built in a different age, and it was not built with comfort in mind.  The entrance opens to a staircase leading to the second floor and hallways leading deeper inside.  In the back she can see a small kitchenette.  The other two rooms are out of her vision.

            There are people, elves, everywhere Geneva can see.  Some are moving busily, others are reclining and talking among themselves.  They are speaking a foreign language that sounds like nonsense at first but slowly takes proper form as she listens, and they are talking about her.  She is surprised by the diversity in them—a fair amount are the elves she imagined, tall, lithe, pretty, but some are different.  More than a handful carry weight in their shoulders and stomachs, and some move not with the natural grace of Ms. Olivia, but with the clumsy awkwardness of Geneva herself.

            All of them are wearing various parts of a green military uniform.

            Ms. Olivia closes the door behind her.  “And this, Ms. Oaks, will be your home away from home.  I will train you downstairs every day, as a soldier.  As a knight.”

            “Yay,” Geneva says, twirling a finger lethargically.

            Ms. Olivia leads them down a hall to the right of the stairs, to a door tucked into the wall.  They take a set of long, tight stairs down to an expansive finished basement.  It is easily twice as long and wide as the house above.  Mats line one side and, in the distance, she can see an in-door firing range.  She can also see weapons of all kinds sorted carefully into their own stations.

            “Here is where the true training will take place.”

            “Right,” Geneva says, pacing a small circle and taking it in.  The walls are grey, colorless, and leave her feeling unwelcome.  The leers from the elves don’t help.  “So, what kind of training will we be doing exactly?  Just for reference.”

            “Once your arm heals, we will focus on endurance training, hand-to-hand combat, and sword combat, as your armor should have a blade weapon within it.  Beyond that, I will quiz you on elven history, true human history, and at a certain point run drills so that you are prepared for anything.  Ideally, when you next meet a demon, you will be able to defeat it easily.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “Oh, thanks, lay it on thick while my arm is hurt why don’t you?”  Geneva nods toward the firing range.  “Will I be doing any of that?”

            “We can train you with firearms, though it is likely unnecessary.  The armors are built for melee combat primarily.  While you may find yourself with military support, you, yourself will not be using such weapons in service.”

            “And why not?  Seems a damn sight more effective than a sword.”

            Ms. Olivia tilts her head.  “A damn sight?”

            “It’s something my grandpa says,” Geneva says.  “Grandpa Neil, on my dad’s side.  Not as crazy as Pop-pop Larry, but way more racist.”

            “Regardless, even should you undergo proper training, where would you keep a firearm?  Especially when you have weapons built into the signet?”

            “Fine, you win.  No guns for Geneva.”

            “Good.  Now then, we need to find Erak and introduce you to him.”

            “Erak?”

            “He is my commanding officer and is in charge of the defense forces on this side of the gate tree.  You will answer to him, should I be unavailable.”

            “Oh, goodie.  Have I told you how much I love authority figures?”

            Ms. Olivia returns upstairs with Geneva trailing.  They pass through another room that is tightly packed with computers and personnel and then out a door leading to the back deck.  In the back she finds an archery range set up.  A short distance from that elven soldiers are skirmishing.  Some are half-naked, showing their sleek, tightly muscled frames dancing around each other.  Geneva is surprised to see how strong they appear.

            They approach the skirmishers.  A tall, chiseled elf with dark blond hair is watching from the sidelines.  He is in full uniform and has a cigarette hanging from his mouth.  At first glance he seems unimpressed by the display in front of him.  After further investigation Geneva realizes that is just the natural set of his face.

            As they approach the skirmish escalates.  It is three elven men again one elf with a long braid of dark hair.  Braid is smaller than the others and slender in frame, but when he moves muscle shows.  Every action is precise and measured, and each is seamless.

            The three surround braid and strike simultaneously, and Geneva watches in awe as all three are taken down.  She tries to follow the movements but can’t quite keep up.  Braid seems to bounce between them, landing swift, debilitating blows and then ends it by flipping the last one on his back.  By the end all three are on the ground with him standing over them looking triumphant and slightly sweaty.

            Geneva stares.

            “Major,” Ms. Olivia says, drawing the blond elf’s attention.  She salutes, and he stares back at her critically before giving Geneva a quick appraisal.  He remains unimpressed

            “Lieutenant,” he says.  “So, this is her.  Your human?”

            “Geneva.  Nice to meet you.”  Geneva holds out her hand.  He gives her a humorless smirk in return.

            “Yes, Geneva.  And how did you hurt your arm, Geneva?”

            “She was injured fighting…”

            Erak glares at Ms. Olivia, and it silences her immediately.  “I asked her Lieutenant, and she can clearly speak for herself.”  He nods at Geneva.  “Go ahead.”

            Geneva glances at Ms. Olivia, who stands rigid beside her.  “Well, one of those demon things attacked a couple of people, and I got in a fight with it.  It, uh, it won.”

            “You decided to rescue them.  Admirable,” Erak says, while his tone says something else.  “Wear the injury proudly, then, because once we’re done training you, you won’t be wearing a sling ever again.” He nods at Ms. Olivia and returns to the skirmish.  “Enough gawking.  Continue the work.  Get more people in there.  First one to even touch the new recruit gets extra rations.”

            Ms. Olivia leads them away as a group of five surround braid.  He smiles at Geneva and winks before entering the fight.  Geneva doesn’t stay to watch, but she’s sure he will be alright.

            Geneva turns and finds Ms. Olivia leaving.  She hurries to keep stride with her teacher’s wide gait.  Once side-by-side with her, she says, “Well, that was uncomfortable.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.

            “I’ve got to ask, and you’ve got to answer: does he always have crazy eyes?”

            Ms. Olivia smirks briefly and then quickly restrains herself.  “The major is intense.  He, like many elves, doesn’t approve of the resurrection of the knights.”

            “Oh.  That’s why.”

            “Also, that is just the way he is.”

            Geneva sighs.  “Delightful.  Well, was the meeting everything you hoped it would be?”

            “I am uncertain.  Major Draco has his own agenda.  I’m still trying to figure it out.”

            “So, we don’t trust him.”

            “I don’t, but you should focus on your training.”

            “Right, training,” Geneva says.  “Would it help if I clutched my arm and complained about the pain?  The pain I have because of my incredibly heroic deed?”

            Ms. Olivia looks at her.  “You really want to leave, don’t you?”

            “As much as I enjoy the sight of sweaty men—men who would look better in a dress than I do, I might add—beating on each other, yes.” She glances back at braid’s progress just before they enter the house.  He already has four on the ground and takes the fifth down with a kick.  “Yes, I really want to leave.”

            “Fine, then.  I’ll return you home, and you can focus on your talk with your friend.  No more concessions, however.  From tomorrow on your training will be serious.”

            Geneva smiles.  “Awesome, thanks! Sounds like a plan!”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            As soon as Geneva gets home she runs upstairs and calls Kit.  They set up a time to meet and then Geneva goes for a quick shower.  Once clean, she returns to her room to dress and then returns to the bathroom to groom.  For her, that involves squinting in the mirror a lot and wondering what to do.

            Beatrice catches her in the act while passing through the hall, and she stops and leans against the doorframe to watch.  “Well, aren’t you getting all gussied up,” she asks, grinning.

            “Shut up,” Geneva says while carefully applying eyeliner.  So far, she has managed to keep from stabbing herself in the eyes and feels very accomplished.

            “What’s going on? Got a big date?”

            “Shut up,” Geneva says, eying the powder.  Her last experience with it ended with a comical fit of coughs.

            “You know, not to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re still not old enough to get gay married.”

            “Shut up,” Geneva says, doing something with her eyebrows.  She isn’t sure what she is doing with them, but she feels something has to be done.  After a few seconds of fiddling, she decides it’s nothing, and then she changes her mind when she looks in the mirror again.  She grabs for the tweezers.

            Beatrice watches.  “What’re you doing?”

            “Preening?”

            “Your eyebrows are fine.”

            “You’re an eyebrow.”

            “Give me those,” Beatrice says, finally stepping into the bathroom.

            “No!”  Geneva jerks away from Beatrice, holds the tweezers just out of reach.  “I need these, Bea, I need them!”

            “Neva, I will break you!  Break you Bane-style!”

            Sulking, Geneva slaps the tweezers down into Beatrice’s hands.  “Fine.”

            “Ow!  Thanks for stabbing me.”

            “I didn’t stab you.”

            “Uh, yeah, you did.”

            “No, I didn’t.  I just gave you the damn tweezers.”

            “Well, it still hurt!”  She slams the tweezers down on the counter and stares at Geneva in the mirror.  They go quiet.  Beatrice says, “You look pretty.”

            Silence again, and then, “Really?”

            “Yup.  Hardly recognize you,” Beatrice says.  “Not that you weren’t pretty before.”  She messes Geneva’s hair and has her hand slapped away.  “So, what prompted all of,” she gestures at Geneva, “This?”

            Geneva, now fussing over her hair, “If you must know, I am talking to Kit tonight.”

            “Oh, Kit?”  Beatrice smiles.  “Do I smell wedding bells?”

            Geneva stops, looks at her sister in the mirror.  “I don’t know, do you?  Is that—Is that a stroke thing?”

            “It’s a metaphor.”

            “No.  I don’t think it is.”

            “Semantics,” Beatrice says.  “So, wedding bells?”

            Downstairs there is a knock.  Geneva smiles with false confidence and walks briskly past her sister, who hangs out of the bathroom doorway.

            “Geneva!  The bells, you got to tell me!”

            “Later,” Geneva says, hurrying down the stairs and telling her parents that she has the door.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Kit drives them to a well-lit park on the edge of town.  The leaves are changing here, and a cool wind makes the branches dance.  They walk together to a nearby swing set, where they stop and watch the sun setting in the distance.  The very tops of the trees burn with twilight like freshly lit matches.  Kit sits on a swing and holds the chains while moving idly, dragging her feet in the bare earth beneath her.  Geneva just stares at the ground.   

            After a long silence, Kit looks over and says, “You look pretty.”

            Geneva blushes, scratches her injured arm.  “Thanks,” she says.  “Didn’t do much, it’s just eyeliner, but I’m not used to all of this make-up and stuff, and honestly, I’m not used to getting dressed up at all, mom gets mad sometimes, she says it’s not lady-like, but there was this one time that I found a potato chip in my hair—or was it a pretzel—anyway, I ate it, even though I don’t know how long it was there, and so I don’t think I’m much of a lady, and sorry I’m talking so much, I’m not used to compliments.”  She coughs nervously.  “Really, sorry.”

            Kit laughs.  “It’s fine, and you really look good.  Kind of confident.”

            “Even with the busted arm?”

            “Even with the busted arm.”  Kit stops, swivels her feet in the dirt.  She pulls the chains inward until they touch.  “Listen, Genny, you said you wanted to talk, but I want to get this out, so please forgive me.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that I’ve been stand-offish or cold toward you.  I’m not mad at you, I’m just,” she sighs.  “Okay, I am a bit mad, but I wanted to give you time to heal, to recover from all of the craziness, before we talked about the kiss.”

            “Yeah, about that…”

            “Wait, let me finish,” Kit says.  “See, thing is, I like you, but I was okay with being friends.  Really, I was, but then you kissed me, and then you ran, and it just confused things. And I think that you don’t really know what you want, and I don’t want to be around to distract you.  So, that’s the other reason why I’ve been avoiding you, so you could…”

            Geneva kisses her, and nearly sends them both tumbling out the other side of the swing.  It is clumsy, as kisses go, deeper than intended but lacking the hesitation of those before it.  This time, Geneva holds Kit’s face, pulls her forward.

            In return, Kit recoils.  She breaks contact, shoving Geneva back and nearly falling flat for the effort.  She stumbles away from the swing set while wiping her mouth and glaring.  When she stops, she finds Geneva working her way back to standing and wiping the dust from her rear.

            “Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

            “I was just,” Geneva looks up, “What do you mean what’s my problem?  First you kiss me and get hurt when I don’t kiss back, now you get all hurt when I do kiss you.  What’s your problem?”

            “My problem?  My problem is your flip-flopping!  What do you want from us, Geneva? What do you want from me?”

            “Isn’t it obvious?”

            Kit, looking mad with bewilderment, flails.  “No!”

            “Oh.”  Geneva stares for a minute, clears her throat.  Then, she leans against the framework of the swing set and shrugs.  “Well.”

            “Well?”

            “I was just doing what they do in the movies.  It’s romantic.”

            Kit stares a moment longer and then sighs.  She shakes her head.  “No, it’s not.  It’s confusing.”  She approaches, hesitantly.  “In situations like this it’s best to talk your feelings through, make sure the other person’s on the same page.”

            “Sorry,” Geneva says.  “I got the talking bit down.  Not so much with the feels.”

            “No kidding.”  Kit slumps back into her swing and sways.  “So?”

            “So,” Geneva says, finding a swing of her own.  She takes a deep breath, holds it, releases. “So.”

            “You kissed me again.”

            “Yup.”

            “What do you want here, Genny?”

            “I don’t know.”

            Kit stops, stares.  “You really don’t?”

            “No.  Yes.  I mean, I do, I just,” she sighs, “I just told you I’m no good with feelings.”

            “Try.”

            “Kit.”

            “Try,” Kit says, more insistently.

            “Fine!  When you first kissed me, I was confused.  I mean, like, we’ve known each other for a few years, but we’ve never—you never,” a pause, “expressed interest? Then, suddenly, you were all about hanging out, all about being my friend, all about being more, and I always thought I was straight, but Beatrice thinks I might be bi, and I liked the kiss, but I was afraid of how it would change our relationship, but at the same time look at me—I can’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

            “Geneva, you’re a catch.”

            “Shut up,” Geneva snaps.  “No interruptions.  Feels!”

            Kit nods.  “Sorry.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath.  “Then, after all of that, I kissed you, because I wanted to kiss you, but I still didn’t know if I wanted to date you.  I was confused, I got scared that our friendship was ruined and, thing is, Kit, I don’t have many friends.  So, I bolted.”

            “Right into the mugger.”

            “Yeah, the mugger.”  Geneva rubs her shoulder.

            “Okay,” Kit says after a thoughtful pause.  “What about that kiss just now?”

            “What about it?”

            “What was it?”  Kit looks at her again.  “You still confused?”

            “No.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “Pretty sure.”

            Kit turns in the swing, twisting the chain into a knot above her, and she takes Geneva’s good hand and looks her in the eyes. “Geneva, are you saying that you…?”

            “I’m not saying anything.  I’ve done enough talking.  Now, it’s your turn.”

            Kit smiles and crawls from her swing.  Holding Geneva’s hand, she wraps one arm around her neck and pulls her into a kiss.  This one lingers, allowing them time to learn each other’s lips, each other’s warmth.  They stay like this, Geneva slouching into Kit, and Kit rising to meet her.  As they part, they are both smiling, and Geneva is blushing.

            “I thought that wasn’t romantic,” Geneva says, breathless.

            Kit shrugs.  “I was just doing what they do in the movies.  Besides, don’t actions speak louder than words?”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            At the hotel, Claude lies awake in his bed and stares up at the ceiling.  He has been like this for hours, his blanket wadded up beside him.  The room is dark and cold, but each time he covers himself it becomes stiflingly hot.  His mind races from point-to-point, never settling long enough to focus on one single thing.

            After a few more sleepless minutes he climbs from the bed and goes to his bag.  His room is still a mess, clothes scattered about, everything scattered.  He reaches into the bag and pulls out some photos, and he looks them over.

            He looks at him and his brother, both children, playing in a nearby creek.  The water there was cold and clear, even in the summer.  They would go every year, and they would swim.

            He looks at him with his mother.  She is holding a bow in her hands and smiling at the camera while Claude, still a child, is taking aim in the background.  He has many memories like this one, to the point where they all bleed together.

            He looks at his fifteenth birthday party, where only one guest was invited.  A young girl with auburn hair and an infectious smile.  It wasn’t the first time she visited, and it wouldn’t be the last.

            He looks at that same girl, years older.  She changed a lot, grew taller, filled out.  Her hips were broad, womanly, but her smile was the same.  Claude stays on this photo, stares at it as he sets the others aside.

            He returns to bed and sets the photo on the nightstand, propped up against the lamp.  Then, he crawls into bed and pulls the covers over his body.  He gives the photo one last glance before curling up and, finally finding comfort, falls asleep.

 

The Knights of Sheba 105…End