[story] like the deserts miss the rain
author: shinju yuri (shinju_yuri)
The air was heavy and still. There was no wind; not even a breeze stirred the stifling air. Even the grasshoppers were silent. It would be worse indoors. He let out a long breath and tried to pull his shirt and jacket away from his damp skin. The garden was at least quiet, but the overpowering scent of jasmine gave him a headache. Perhaps it was the heat; Justin hated heat. It had been summer when his brother died.
He wanted to go fly. There was no way a windrunner would sail in weather like this. Even so, he wanted to go higher and higher into the sky until he broke free of the head and spiraled above it, by himself. He could almost feel the strong, light wings of the windrunner beneath him, rising on heat waves and circling like a great white bird above the city below.
He tilted his head and stared at the searing blue sky above him for a minute and then turned back to the house. In the parlor Sophia was listening with every appearance of attention and interest to an older man describing the heat of the summers of his youth. Her manners forbade her to work as she listened, and she had set aside her basket. She was bent a little forward, watching him with steady, unreadable eyes. Justin wondered what she was thinking of, or if she was really thinking of anything in particular at all. It was as if she was closed off but watching from some window of her mind.
He came up quietly behind her and leaned against the back of her chair. She glanced up and smiled for a single second before returning her attention to the man talking to her. Justin wondered who he was. The Fleming family was so large that Justin had trouble remembering all their names. Perhaps he was an older cousin, or an uncle.
"Ah, the young Montgomery," said the man. His voice was reserved but not unfriendly; he looked at Justin with wary interest.
"How do you do, sir," said Justin.
"Uncle Edward was just telling me about a kite competition they used to hold when he was in school," said Sophia. "He went to St Andrew's College as well."
"You're wasted on me," murmured Justin, into her ear. His hand brushed the side of her shoulder for a single breath. Sophia smiled a little but didn't look at him. Justin took a deep breath. The itchy, hot feeling along his spine almost disappeared. It was bearable. "I haven't flown kites for years," he said. "Not since...." he stopped and began again. "We - I used to be quite good at it."
Sophia's uncle gave him a hard look, as if he was trying to read past Justin's layers and defenses. Justin's eyes half-dropped and his head bent a little forward so his hair fell over the scar over his eye and covered it more completely. "You should try it again," Edward said finally. "You might enjoy it."
"I'm quite sure," said Justin. He sat down on the couch beside Sophia and began to talk politely of St Andrew's to her uncle. His headache was getting worse. It was hard to keep track of the conversation. Sophia's uncle got up and wandered off to another group, and Sophia, with a restrained air of relief, picked up her work again. She was knitting lace. The movements of her hands at first attracted him, in a fretful way, and then soothed him.
He dreams that he and his brother are flying on kites. His heart is beating too hard and he keeps trying to tell Thomas that they should stop, that they shouldn't do this. They'll crash. They'll die. Thomas laughs and laughs. His smile bares all of his teeth and there is something feral and joyful in his eyes.
It's fine, says Thomas, it will be all right. We'll catch each other. Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid. Fall with me.
He catches Justin's hand and the kites rip away from their backs, like butterfly wings, sailing higher and higher as Justin and Thomas fall.
"Justin?" said Sophia. He jerked at the touch of her cool hand. He must have dozed off, or blanked out for a minute. He wasn't dreaming but he remembered the dream that he'd had the night before with razor clarity. "Do you feel all right?"
He tried to smile at her, despite the crowded room. "I'm fine. Just a little hot."
Sophia's lips tightened slightly. She reached out and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're feverish," she said. "You should go home."
He tried to protest that he was fine, he just needed some water, but he knew she could tell that all he wanted was to be alone. Dear Sophia. Dear, dear Sophia. She took him by one arm and made his excuses to her family. He knew he should have tried to object more, but he was so hot he could barely breathe. His head pounded dully. Perhaps it would storm soon. He always had headaches before a bad storm.
She kissed him by the doorway, a light, cool brush of lips against his cheek. "Do be careful," she said.
He touched her cheek affectionately and left.
The air-tram's movement brought a small, false breeze with it; he leaned against the hot glass and waited to be home. As he stepped off he brushed against a stranger wearing a sailor's cloak, heavy hooded against the intense sun on the airships. The stranger smelled of sandalwood and tobacco. Justin's nose wrinkled but he ignored the other man beyond murmuring an apology.
"This heat's a killer," said the stranger. "Ought to storm soon."
Justin shrugged politely.
He woke up in his room, still in his jacket. Outside, night had fallen. A cross, fretful breeze blew at the curtains of his windows, hot and damp. There was a sudden crack of thunder and the air outside burst into white light for a second. The air smelled sickly of hot, dying grass, and then of clean dirt with water pouring on it.
With small quiet patters that burst suddenly into heavy drops, it began to rain.
the end
The air was heavy and still. There was no wind; not even a breeze stirred the stifling air. Even the grasshoppers were silent. It would be worse indoors. He let out a long breath and tried to pull his shirt and jacket away from his damp skin. The garden was at least quiet, but the overpowering scent of jasmine gave him a headache. Perhaps it was the heat; Justin hated heat. It had been summer when his brother died.
He wanted to go fly. There was no way a windrunner would sail in weather like this. Even so, he wanted to go higher and higher into the sky until he broke free of the head and spiraled above it, by himself. He could almost feel the strong, light wings of the windrunner beneath him, rising on heat waves and circling like a great white bird above the city below.
He tilted his head and stared at the searing blue sky above him for a minute and then turned back to the house. In the parlor Sophia was listening with every appearance of attention and interest to an older man describing the heat of the summers of his youth. Her manners forbade her to work as she listened, and she had set aside her basket. She was bent a little forward, watching him with steady, unreadable eyes. Justin wondered what she was thinking of, or if she was really thinking of anything in particular at all. It was as if she was closed off but watching from some window of her mind.
He came up quietly behind her and leaned against the back of her chair. She glanced up and smiled for a single second before returning her attention to the man talking to her. Justin wondered who he was. The Fleming family was so large that Justin had trouble remembering all their names. Perhaps he was an older cousin, or an uncle.
"Ah, the young Montgomery," said the man. His voice was reserved but not unfriendly; he looked at Justin with wary interest.
"How do you do, sir," said Justin.
"Uncle Edward was just telling me about a kite competition they used to hold when he was in school," said Sophia. "He went to St Andrew's College as well."
"You're wasted on me," murmured Justin, into her ear. His hand brushed the side of her shoulder for a single breath. Sophia smiled a little but didn't look at him. Justin took a deep breath. The itchy, hot feeling along his spine almost disappeared. It was bearable. "I haven't flown kites for years," he said. "Not since...." he stopped and began again. "We - I used to be quite good at it."
Sophia's uncle gave him a hard look, as if he was trying to read past Justin's layers and defenses. Justin's eyes half-dropped and his head bent a little forward so his hair fell over the scar over his eye and covered it more completely. "You should try it again," Edward said finally. "You might enjoy it."
"I'm quite sure," said Justin. He sat down on the couch beside Sophia and began to talk politely of St Andrew's to her uncle. His headache was getting worse. It was hard to keep track of the conversation. Sophia's uncle got up and wandered off to another group, and Sophia, with a restrained air of relief, picked up her work again. She was knitting lace. The movements of her hands at first attracted him, in a fretful way, and then soothed him.
He dreams that he and his brother are flying on kites. His heart is beating too hard and he keeps trying to tell Thomas that they should stop, that they shouldn't do this. They'll crash. They'll die. Thomas laughs and laughs. His smile bares all of his teeth and there is something feral and joyful in his eyes.
It's fine, says Thomas, it will be all right. We'll catch each other. Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid. Fall with me.
He catches Justin's hand and the kites rip away from their backs, like butterfly wings, sailing higher and higher as Justin and Thomas fall.
"Justin?" said Sophia. He jerked at the touch of her cool hand. He must have dozed off, or blanked out for a minute. He wasn't dreaming but he remembered the dream that he'd had the night before with razor clarity. "Do you feel all right?"
He tried to smile at her, despite the crowded room. "I'm fine. Just a little hot."
Sophia's lips tightened slightly. She reached out and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're feverish," she said. "You should go home."
He tried to protest that he was fine, he just needed some water, but he knew she could tell that all he wanted was to be alone. Dear Sophia. Dear, dear Sophia. She took him by one arm and made his excuses to her family. He knew he should have tried to object more, but he was so hot he could barely breathe. His head pounded dully. Perhaps it would storm soon. He always had headaches before a bad storm.
She kissed him by the doorway, a light, cool brush of lips against his cheek. "Do be careful," she said.
He touched her cheek affectionately and left.
The air-tram's movement brought a small, false breeze with it; he leaned against the hot glass and waited to be home. As he stepped off he brushed against a stranger wearing a sailor's cloak, heavy hooded against the intense sun on the airships. The stranger smelled of sandalwood and tobacco. Justin's nose wrinkled but he ignored the other man beyond murmuring an apology.
"This heat's a killer," said the stranger. "Ought to storm soon."
Justin shrugged politely.
He woke up in his room, still in his jacket. Outside, night had fallen. A cross, fretful breeze blew at the curtains of his windows, hot and damp. There was a sudden crack of thunder and the air outside burst into white light for a second. The air smelled sickly of hot, dying grass, and then of clean dirt with water pouring on it.
With small quiet patters that burst suddenly into heavy drops, it began to rain.
the end