5. Eliza

Another year, another church.

It had been three years now and five graveyards. I had finished five mantles and working hard on the sixth. I needed to finish more than two a year, if I was to succeed.

Some days doubt crept in. Mostly on the days my fingers hurt from the blisters and stung the worst.

Sometimes I cried. When I did, my brothers surrounded me with their love, nudged me with their beaks, brushed their feathery wings against my skin, reminding me why I was doing this. That’s when I shamefacedly realized that their lot was so much worse than mine. Imprisoned in bodies that weren’t theirs, relying on me to save them, helpless to do anything for me, their suffering was a thousand times more terrible than mine.

A few times I caught one or two of my brothers trying to sneak away with the sack of nettles, as if telling me to stop. But how could I?

Wordlessly we held each other, none of us able to speak, to give sound to our emotions, helpless to even say I love you.

But it was there. In everything we did for each other. When they kept me warm at night, or when I sowed the nettles into a mantle while my fingers bled. Our love for one another was stronger than any curse and I was determined we would prevail.

We moved from one graveyard to another, leaving once there were no more nettles to be found. Winter or summer, it didn’t matter to us. When it got too cold, my brothers enveloped me and their warm feathery bodies kept me alive, cozy even.

They ate whatever they found around the various bodies of water we encountered, and I, by selling one piece of jewelry at a time. It saddened me whenever I had to sell the next piece, because it felt as if I were giving up another part of my mother, but deep in my heart I knew that this was what she would have wanted me to do.

I was careful about it, always selling the jewelry on our way out of town, so that nobody would find me if they came looking, planning on robbing me. It had nearly happened once, but my brothers had chased the man off, so I was extra careful now.

It had been hard leaving Fable Forest behind and everything we had ever known, the Outside still intimidated me. The first car I saw chased me into the bushes. Three years later though, I thought I had gotten the hang of things, mostly. Here or there we still encountered something new. Like farther down from the church there were people building what seemed like an entire town. They used machines larger than I could have ever imagined. Their tires alone were taller than me.

This new graveyard though, not only offered a fortune in nettles, but the dilapidated church was an excellent hiding spot.

The breaking of the church’s steeple during the first night had been frightening, so much so, I had imagined hearing a roar before it happened, but I blamed my overactive imagination for it. After all, I had been asleep until the rumbling woke me.

I was still a bit concerned the entire building would come crashing down on us, but after a closer inspection it looked sturdy enough. At least to keep us protected from the elements.

With the jewelry I could have bought all kinds of things, like blankets and pillows, but with us being constantly on the move they would have been more of a hinderance than provided comfort. My brothers kept me plenty warm and cozy at night. I figured the less we had, the less of a target we would make, and the less I had to carry.

For some reason I really liked this place and dreaded the day we would have to inevitably leave. I also liked the idea of the town being built, it held a promise of new beginnings and hope.

The pond was large enough for my brothers to frolic in and offered plenty of nourishment for them.

The hotel on the other side of the forest beckoned me. Sleeping in a bed and having a hot bath sounded like heaven, but the certainty that I would feel guilty enjoying those comforts while my brothers couldn’t stopped me.

Caspian nudged me a few times with his beak, pointing his head meaningfully at the hotel, but I stubbornly shook my head. It wasn’t very often that I was grateful for my vow of silence, but that time I was. Caspian would have pressed me for an explanation if I hadn’t, and giving it to him would have made him feel guilty.

I had sold another of my mother’s rings in the town we left two days ago and used the funds now to buy some supplies at the small market, mostly filled with construction workers.

It seemed as if everybody was staring at me when I walked in and while I was making my way through the aisles with my shopping cart, slowly filling it up. I didn’t like going out in public much, so usually when we first arrived in a new town I bought as much as I thought we would need, hoping not to have to come back until it was time to sell more jewelry and leave.

Men moved out of my way as I pushed the cart along. I was used to being stared at, but usually it was men and women alike, here there were mostly men.

I nearly left, thinking I could come by at a different time when it wasn’t so busy, but then a stubborn side in me took over. I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and ignored everybody, focusing only on the task at hand.

A few loaves of bread as well as some cookies would fill my brothers’ bellies as a rare treat. I bought peanut butter—my guilty pleasure—jelly, cans of vegetables, soups and stew, and water bottles—a convenience I really enjoyed. I also needed a new camp stove, having left the old one behind because it had been falling apart and I hadn’t needed the added burden.

There were a few small camping stoves on one of the shelves, but the little gas canisters needed were all gone. Or so I thought until I craned my neck and noticed more sitting on a high shelf.

With a sigh, I let go of the cart, staring up at the canisters. I would never be able to reach them. I was way too short.

Carefully, I climbed on the lowest shelf to see if that would give me enough of a boost so that the tips of my fingers could dislodge one of them enough for me to catch it falling down.

“Allow me,” a deep voice said behind me right before I felt a warm presence at my back, dwarfing me.

A long, muscular arm reached up and snagged the coveted object. Pulling it down with little to no effort at all. He wasn’t in a hurry to step back. His warm breath caressed my neck and I held mine.

He did step back eventually and I pivoted to stare at the most handsome man I had ever seen. A chiseled face loomed over me—he was at least a foot taller than me—but didn’t intimidate me at all. Full lips curved into a lazy smile that was enhanced by twin dimples on his cheeks.

His deep brownish, almost black hair was long and tied away from his face, accentuating his hard features. Deep green eyes bored into mine with an intensity that made me hold my breath again.

“Here you go,” he said easily, holding out the small gas canister to me.

I bit my tongue, it had been a long time since I almost spoke. A thank you, hovered right there on the tip of my tongue. Only years of having trained myself to remain mum saved me. Instead, I inclined my head and bestowed a grateful smile on him.

Holding the canister pressed to my chest, I couldn’t stop staring at him. His chest was so wide, I could have easily hidden in front of it. A shirt with a few specks of dirt on it, clung to his shoulders like a second skin, hinting at sculpted pecs.

He wore it untucked over a pair of, what I had learned were, blue jeans. His construction worker look was completed with a pair of heavy, well-worn boots.

Heat broke out from inside me, rose to my cheeks, and awakened long-forgotten, delicious sensations in me.

“My name is Edward,” he introduced himself. “Are you new to town?”

Numbly I nodded. I would have been rendered speechless by his presence no matter what.

His smile deepened. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

I blinked a few times, shaking my head, I pointed at my lips in a universal gesture to make it clear I couldn’t speak.

“Oh, but you understand me?” he asked without changing his expression to that of pity like I had seen many times before.

I bobbed my head up and down.

“Do you read lips?”

Again I shook my head, pointing at my ears and nodding, to convey that I could hear just fine.

“Hmm, how about writing? Do you want to write your name down for me?” His hands dove for his shirt pocket, where a notepad and a pen peeked out.

I stopped his hand, a jolt going through me at the contact of our skin. Pulling my hand back, I sliced it through the air to make him understand that I couldn’t write.

This time his brows drew together, but more in puzzlement than anything else. “Alright, no writing.”

He cocked his head to the side. “That makes it a bit harder to get to know you, but not impossible.”

I still stood frozen to the spot, craning my neck up, pressing the gas canister to my chest, listening to the deep sound of his voice. Never had I met a more fascinating man than him and with all my heart I wished I could give him my name, talk to him. But the cursed curse stopped me.

The curse!

As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stay, couldn’t get to know this man.

With more effort than the little canister required, I lifted it up to him, nodded my thanks, and placed it into the cart. I forced my left hand to grip the handle and my right to wave with a final smile, before I turned, feeling his stare at my back.

“Elizabeth,” he called behind me.

The closeness of him coming to almost guess my real name made me stop and turn. I threw another smile at him, shaking my head before I determinedly pivoted and walked out of the aisle.