Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

Upgrade
‘A recently renovated three bedroom, three bath open concept cape-cod walk up with attached two car garage, green house, in ground pool, and scenic view of the bay.’ the listing had begun, a tempting offer to be sure ‘close to schools, shopping and on major transit lines, perfect for the urban professional, or family seeking a fresh start…’
she stood before the home together looking up at it. The realtor talking to her husband laying out the final details of the sale. They had gotten the property for half a song from a foreclosure auction, the remnants of the housing crunch. Apparently the chance to move further into the city had been too much for Kurt to pass up. Sometimes she hated his overt practicality. But there were instances, such as this new, beautiful home, that Lisa could allow such a quality to fall to the side. They had purchased the home sight unseen and now as the three moved up the stairs to the front door she felt a strange chill about her. Perhaps it was the October air, the leaves around them beginning to burn a motley orange red and gold, or the excitement of finally saying the house was theirs, none the less as they crossed the threshold she could feel something vague about the home, as if the building itself were holding it‘s breath.
The tour seemed a passing dream as each room opened upon the other with a natural ease. From the grand master suite, to the fully finished basement the home had been perfect, even the colouring of the home seemed to suit the family. Jennifer’s room was a fairy-princess pink, Rory’s a sage green. The office area for Kurt was a topaz brown, and her favourite option the green house was still in full bloom. Whoever had kept it before Lisa certainly knew their way around a garden.
“Here’s to the first of many changes.” Kurt said standing in the front hall with Lisa, he leaned in and kissed her lovingly.
The move in process had been easy, their geometric modern furniture suited this new home far better it seemed to the cramped-yet-cozy bungalow they had left behind in the addled mire of suburbia. In this new home the family could spread themselves out, yet there was no sense of isolation. A perfect balance that Lisa grew to love over the next few days.
She stood in the mirror checking herself over as she curled her blonde hair in the morning. She had a meeting with a client to discuss the latest marketing campaign for a new line of soft drinks. She spoke the new slogan aloud to herself testing once again how it sounded “Carlsbad Cola; Fall into the Flavour Hole.” that was the slogan the client had liked best. And although there was plenty of room for parody, she would do nothing to stop the client from their decision. Sometimes people had to make their own mistakes.
She slid the iron out from the coiled hair checking how it dangled near her eyes, they were a heady green flaked with brown. She reached for her glasses, and instead fumbled with the curling iron almost dropping the hot rod onto the floor. She reached out to catch the falling item as a reaction and for her trouble burned her hand.
“Ow! Holy F-uh!” biting back the swear she dropped the item again plunging her hand under the nozzle of the sink running cold water over it. This wasn’t the first time she had done that, she scolded herself mentally. And doubted it would be the last.
Kurt opened the bathroom door and poked his head in “Hun? Are you okay?” he asked slipping in
“I dropped the curling iron again. You’d think I’d learn by now.” she pouted holding her hand up for him to kiss.
He gently brushed his lips over her hand the tickle of his dark moustache making the burn feel all the more alien. He was a handsome man, mature looking with his dark hair going grey at thirty, the silvered hair waging a war from his temples and spreading upwards. He picked up her glasses and held them to his own brown eyes and teased “Maybe wearing these would help cut down on that.” he slid them onto her face with careful ease. “Otherwise people will start to think I beat ya.” he kissed the side of her neck.
“I doubt you’d stand the chance.” she was a blue belt in judo having taken up the sport in university both as self defence and to break up the monotony of business lectures. Kurt on the other hand had been attending on a rugby scholarship, until an injury to his back had taken him permanently out of the athletic field. He worked as a sports reporter, and his athletic body had begun to melt into that of a couch potato around the time of their second child, Rory’s birth.
Outside the dog began to bark at the back door wanting to come back inside. Kurt removed his arms from around her and headed down through the house to let the dog in. Roscoe was a Border collie, Newfoundland cross that gave him the exact same proportions of a couch Jennifer would joke. He was seven years old. And quite active loving nothing more than games of fetch and laying in the sun. the dog moved to their bowl and seeing that it was empty turned his eyes to Kurt hopefully.
Into the Kitchen burst Jennifer; twelve years old and bursting with energy for the day. She was wearing her soccer uniform, ready for the morning practice before classes. Like a one-girl plague of locusts she descended upon the table with the morning offering; eggs and pancakes of Kurt’s making. Then like a flash she was gone out the door her braided dark hair whipping behind to catch the bus.
Rory entered more tentatively, dragging a ratty security blanket behind him his three year old thumb in his mouth. He approached his father and lifted his arms asking for Ups. He had had a dry night before, which had been a relief for all involved. Kurt carried him about the kitchen for a moment before seating the boy at the table to help him get ready for the day at the neighbours for babysitting.
Lisa descended the stairs now dressed in her favorite business suit, she was still nursing her burnt hand. She stopped on her way to the coffee maker to kiss her son on the head and check with Kurt on the days plans. He had a meeting of his own with the editor to talk about getting his own column instead of just ghost-writing the scores under his supervisor’s title. It would be about time she had agreed.
She picked up the coffee mug ready to drink when a small headache overtook her. Lisa pushed her wrist against left eye out of habit as if it would cure the pain, and it passed as soon as it had kicked up. Relieved she raised her mug again and took a sip. Then lowering the mug she looked inside; It wasn’t her usual brew of Coffee with milk and sugar that she had been so looking forward to, instead it was green tea, sweetened with honey.
“Are we out of coffee?” she asked over her shoulder to Kurt, he looked back at her.
“Isn’t that what I poured, or did you grab mine instead?” he asked helping Rory to finish his meal.
“This would be tea.” she swirled her mug.
“Then that would be mine.” He looked up at the clock. “And we have got to go.” he scooped up the boy making him squeal. Rushing out of the kitchen to the neighbours the men left Lisa alone in the home.
She set to work cleaning up breakfast finishing off the meal before she noticed something was off. She couldn’t place why but it felt as though something were different. Collecting the cereal bowls she stacked them in the dishwasher the last of the oatmeal clinging to the sides.
The meeting had gone swimmingly. With a last few tweaks to the presentation they had gotten the final green light on the advertising campaign, soon the country would be awash in radio, print, television, and banner ads bombarding the audience for the soda. Personally Lisa thought it tasted of refurbished factory run-off of a competitors brand, but the pay-check ruled her more mercantile needs. She had a family to look after, and every drop in the bucket helped. Even if the task today had given her another tense headache.
Walking out to her parking space she noticed something off. Not only was her sable gone from her personalized spot, but someone had parked a jeep in there. Taking a breath she assumed the valet had made a mistake and thumbed the lock button on her keys twice. The jeeps lights blinked and the horn tooted once. She looked around and tried again getting the same result. The sound certainly wasn’t helping her aching head. She looked around for the car and in time spotted it. The trusty jeep waiting in her personalized space. She unlocked it and drove home.
When she arrived home there stood Kurt with two flutes of champagne he held one out when she climbed the front stairs “Do I say congratulations, or better luck next time?” he asked clinking the glasses.
“Tomorrow, at 4:15 we go to air.” she clinked his glass back. “And what did the editor say?”
“As of next Monday you’ll be sleeping with a fully fledged column journalist.” he grinned proudly.
“Oh? So what’s his name?” she joked moving past him into the house. He playfully swatted her rump with the paper.
After a dinner of Stir-fry and egg noodles, her favourite Lisa took to the greenhouse to tend to the plants. The air smelled so fresh and humid in the small space, and what she liked best was that from this room she had a full view of the back yard where Jennifer and Rory were playing with the dog. As the dog bounded after the ball and pranced back she began to wonder about what the next job would be. And hoped that she hadn’t burned herself out on the soda campaign. Maybe that’s what the headaches were trying to tell her.
That had always been her worry, both professionally and through her schooling, what if she burned out and that was all. She had drive and passion, but with it came the nagging insecurity. Next! Bigger! More! Next! Bigger! More! It made her sick, it made her crave another wonderful smoke. Though Kurt made her promise when she had found out she was pregnant the first time to give up the habit. There was that damn practicality again.
She took a deep breath and drank from her Mojito. The delicate mix of mint and lime felt soothing. Kurt could certainly mix a brew when he wasn’t in the kitchen. She returned her focus to the children in the yard, watching Rory try to throw the slobbered tennis ball while keeping a firm grip on his security blanket. Surrendering the smokes had had it’s advantages.
She opened the door and walked outside, Kurt was doing laps in the pool while supervising the children; the one bit of exercise he both enjoyed and didn’t strain his trick back. When he did so he used his arms letting his legs trail behind to put in minimal work. She took a seat on a lounger near him. Putting her hand to her forehead when the sun stung her eyes. “Kurt, Who’s that dog?” she asked looking across the lawn as a Terrier picked up Roscoe’s ball to join in the children’s game. The larger dog was nowhere in sight.
Bellying up to the poolside he too looked. “That’s Roscoe hun. I think you’ve had quite enough of this,” he stole her drink taking a deep drag of it himself.
“Roscoe’s bigger.” she asserted, getting ready to stand up. “He’s not one a terrier.”
“Hun, I brought roscoe home. He’s always been that size. You told me you didn’t want a big dog because of Rory.” he sounded worried as she got to her feet. he pushed himself out of the water and tried to catch her hand again. Lisa was already calling for the children to come away from the animal and get them inside. Kurt looked at her worried.
That night when Lisa had gone to bed Kurt called a local doctor worried about the incident. Though it came as little relief when the doctor assumed it was stress, but an appointment was made for Monday to get a proper examination done. He looked through the glass doors out at Roscoe, the small dog pawed and whimpered wanting inside. They licked their nose little puffs of steam rising into the night air. Kurt put his finger to his lips and brought the dog inside. Roscoe curled up on the couch ready to sleep.
The next morning under Kurt’s advice Lisa stayed home from work. ‘A well earned rest’ he had called it, deciding to down-play the incident from the day before. She sat in her housecoat and night gown on the couch armed with coffee to stay awake and Tylenol for her headaches one of which was in full swing. She kept watch over Rory as he sat at the coffee table drawing pictures in crayon. He picked up his cup of juice and took a deep drink. Apparently drawing pictures of cats was thirsty work. She smiled at the boy and stood hearing the toaster pop.
Making her way into the kitchen she took out the four slices and coated them all in thick raspberry jam. Turning to take the food back into the living room she froze. The way to the room had been walled off completely it was as if the house itself had swallowed up the wide archway.
“Rory?!” she screamed dropping the plates and ran into the living room. To her horror she found the room neatly organized. Gone were the crayons splayed about with youthful energy, the half-drawn picture of cat was replaced with a stack of home-décor magazines, it was as If the home had folded over itself and consumed the child. She screamed for him again running through the home but found no trace, the pool was empty, the back yard devoid of life except for the terrier, she ran upstairs to his room, instead of the child’s mess the room was filled with Kurt’s office furniture. Rushing to the phone she called for the police.
Was called from work he came home in a hurry to find his wife once again talking to the officers as she gave out yet another physical description of the small boy, she was sobbing, and he moved to comfort her. He held back when answering questions as not to upset her further. But when he was taken aside by the officer he explained.
“She’s been rather stressed the past few days. She didn’t even recognize our dog last night. We’ve made an appointment for Monday to get her checked out.” he explained though he seemed worried.
“Still, we’re going to keep looking.” the officer flipped through the pad and made a few more notes. Missing children was something they always took seriously. And at the moment it seemed suspicious that the mother was so upset, and the father was claiming her to be having a mental health issue.
Eventually after checking and double checking her story the police left. She had moved from the Living room to the dining room table where she sat shivering. How had it happened? The sudden appearance of the wall, and the subtraction of their child. She looked up at the offending architecture with an incomplete portrait of the family. The sincere faces sneering at her, only three people and that little shitty dog.
Sitting at the table her husband spoke to Lisa quietly. “Honey, I think you need help we never had a son we-”
“Shove it Kurt.” She snapped. “I would ******** well know if I had another god-damn child!” she slammed her hands on the table screaming at him hot tears coursing down her face. “We have a son! His name is Rory!” the man drew back and asked.
“Then what happened to him.
“The house!” she sobbed from between her hands. “It’s the house! It took him!”
“Where?” he shouted back getting angry with her. Grabbing her wrists firmly in his hands he pulled them away from her face. She stared at him bug-eyed for a moment and fled running to their bedroom feeling frustrated that she wasn’t believed.
That night he didn’t come to bed. She lay awake waiting for him, wishing for his comforting body to lay against her own. She tired to remember how it was in their old home. Sure it had been too small for the three of them. No. four of them ‘Keep your head in the game Lisa’ she scolded herself. ‘Focus!’ the red bungalow with the clapboard sides, where they had spent twelve years and raised a beautiful daughter and -son-. She emphasised the word in her own head. Through Christmases, birthdays, fights, groundings the four of them had been together. Sure the house had been cramped, but it had also been cozy. They could always know where each other was. She tried to picture the last movie night of the four of them in the little living room. Jennifer on the floor, Kurt next to her, Where had Rory sat? she couldn’t remember and the lack of detail sickened her. The one absence spiralled out and blurred the rest of the memory. She began to cry again.
The door opened eventually. It was Jennifer. The young girl climbed into bed with her mother cuddling into the woman when she rolled over to embrace her child. In the dark she clung to the girl as if by letting go all of reality would be pulled out from under her. In the sickly pale morning light she opened her eyes looking down at her daughter in the bed next to her she bolted from the bed. Instead of the golden haired twelve year old lay the sprawled out body of a sixteen year old. Her purple and black hair covering most of her face. When disturbed from slumber by the absence of the woman’s warmth the girl sat up.
“Mom? What’s wrong?” she asked watching the terrified woman withdraw from the bedside raise her hands to her mouth in silent horror and flee the room.
Another stranger met Lisa on the stairs, a handsome man, his dark skin paired quizzically with dyed blonde hair for a beach-babe look. He caught her in his arms as she nearly stumbled down the stairs. “Honey? What’s wrong?”
“Who the hell are you?! Where’s Kurt!” she tried to push the man away but he held strong.
“Madeline? Who’s Kurt? What’s the matter?” the man asked worried about his wife.
“My name is not Madeline! It’s Lisa!” she Kicked out from his hold, nearly going with him as the man tumbled down the stairs. She ran past him towards the door, but found only a solid wall where she had thought it to be. Frightened, confused, and upset Lisa withdrew into the bathroom, the window was open, she’d leap out into the garden if she had to, locking the door after her she clawed over the washing machine, and pushed aside the screen.
The man pushed himself from the floor his body hurt but he could still move. He made his way through the house and pulling open the unlocked bathroom door poked his head in.
“Madeline? Are you ready?” he asked looking at the dark haired woman as she finished with the mirror her green eyes highlighted with dark red eye shadow.
She turned to him and smiled. “Ready. You have the concert tickets right?”

Heron and Raine were not brothers. The thought was constantly on Herons mind as he and Raine Traveled together towards his hometown of Exotus. He looked back at Dajin. Where he knew the fox head inn and bar had been it was there he met Raine only a few hours before. But in that short amount of time they had learned of their common bonds. Most prominent was the fact that Heron's father Ceiles had raised Raine, and the fact that both of them were mentalists was something they had found out quite easily. Heron looked ahead at Raine as they rode watching him intently. His well pointed Elvin ears; his tied back blonde hair. His rather erect and stiff posture as he rode upon his horse his thin yet muscular build were all characteristic of his kind. He was a noble man of fine delicate features soft and almost feminine in his appearance. But behind the pale blue eyes a hamlet like past haunted him.

He had been chosen to be the successor of his mother's noble lineage since no living female heir could be brought to the world. But his uncle who had previously murdered his father blocked him out. He was banished and searched for revenge. Upon the night of his exile he stabbed his uncle while he slept. When it was discovered he was hunted down and had to seek the protection of the wandering mage lord Ceiles. From whom he was raised until Ceiles wandered alone again leaving Raine on his own to live his life.

Heron had a different tale to tell. His father left when he was a few years old, his mother paid him little heeding, except for the Daily occurrence when he would 'Misbehave.' then it was the jeweled cane she used for walking that would discipline the child. 'Spare the rod spoil the child' was a phrase he had learned well for she never did spare the rod. But he had endured the pain 'Much like a weed endures the hand of mother nature.' to quote her again. Until the day he broke and discovered the fate destiny had laid ahead. Thunder was his savior, his inborn lightning fought against her during one of the disciplining moments. The rod had melted in her hand as she was flung to the wall of the market place; he was found out by the royal leader first servant and bought as a chamber boy to the king. Where his original suffering was put to an end but a new rewarded digression was laid upon him. For the king would take no wife due to a strange craving for the company of young men.

"Hey brother how far are we from Exotus?" Raine asked pulling his horse around and looking at Heron.

His pale eyes scanned over him upon his Ubu, a strange ostrich like bird that had bat wings and a lizards skin. Heron himself was far more attractive with his black hair streaked with very early bars of dark silver, his dark green eyes showing to the world his loss of purity or so the belief was held that someone who had green eyes was believed to have an impure soul. His Tanned skin, well built frame and his height was equal to Raine's despite him being four years the elder at the age of twenty-four.

"A distance yet, and I know what your thinking. Yes. Pull it up." He said indicating Raines hood. As much as Heron did not wish to see Raine hide himself, it wasn't safe for the dethroned prince of a disbanded elf clan to show himself. Though it had been six years since the murder there was still a bounty to be had.

"And I know what you think brother. Push it down." He said laughing; he had before seen Heron's rather unmentionable thoughts and found them rather entertaining.

"Do not mock me." Heron said trying to do what his unrelated brother had told him to do. The two rode on.

Eventually the two came to a crossroads as the shades of night fell. Heron held out his hand and a small web of lightning illuminated the road signs, neither of which pointed to Exodus. "We won't be able to make it tonight." Heron said putting down his hand. "Let us rest then press on in the morning," they turned their animals up the northern fork as Heron remembered a small secondary inn was on the way to the northern city. There they stopped for the night.

"What do you mean there's only one bed per room?" Raine asked in nervous surprise. The innkeeper shook their head saying simply.
"We are small; there's not enough space."
"But we don't have enough money for two rooms."
"Do not worry brother Sadiron." Heron said calling him by his traveling name. "We can share a bed. We are brothers after all."
'Brother your advances leave me little recourse' Raine thought as he despondently nodded his hood hiding the frail smile on his face.

The two were led upstairs to the room at the end of the hall. They thanked their guide and settled in. the room next door left little of the silence the two men made as they looked at each other then at the single small bed. The next room was full of laughing voices of women and a so far single man. But the noises that underlay the voices suggested that there was more then just talking going on. For every so often a happy shout or thumping combined with a moan would echo through the man's room.
"So do you want to be on top or under?" Heron blurted out catching Raine of guard.
"What?" He asked Looking at him his eyebrows cocked. Fearing one of his brother's Dark thoughts was to come to pass.

"Do you want to sleep On top of the blankets or under? Because I will take the other." Heron said sensing his discomfort. "You Decide, I am going to have a shower." Heron walked across the room to the small closet of a bathroom and closed the door. Raine sat on the bed and sighed feeling relieved and strangely disappointed. He turned and pulled back the covers on what he knew was Herons preferred side of the bed and crawled under it simply to annoy him. He listened to the man in the shower coupled with the women in the next room. Soon he drifted into sleep.

Heron Slowly undressed, first unhooking his long ornate belt and laid it on the counter then his long heavy knit outer robe which stated his connection to the crown and also his role and status. Leaving him in his regular wear. A black sleeveless shirt which clung to him tightly and loose pants that hung at his knees he turned on the water and removed these, his shoes, and his under garments leaving him naked. He climbed into the shower to clean himself. Soaping himself up as the water flowed down him. Thinking only of Raine in the other room. But this soon stopped when he felt himself change; he returned his thoughts to the task at hand and continued to wash.

Raine slept soundly. He breathed slowly dreaming of happy memories when his father was still alive before he knew of his uncle's existence. But despite his better dreaming judgment, he dreamt of Heron. In his dream they were together in an empty forest, Heron stood close to him staring deeply into his eyes, Raine looking back in the same way. Carefully Raine moved forward and kissed Heron who broke away and stepped back confused and almost afraid looking. Sticking from Heron's chest was a dagger of dark fire. Blood gushed from the hole it made filling the dream until Raine was drowning in the red ocean. Raine awoke with a startled cry.

"Bad dream?" Heron asked leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom still wet a towel hanging loosely around his waist; the shower was still running in the bathroom and steam seeped across the floor.

"Heron... I" he started then stopped "I want to tell you something but I'm afraid to."

"That's alright, you can tell me later, I trust you Raine." Heron said shutting the door to complete his shower, which was taking him close to an hour to finish. But soon he was done and after that the water was turned off, he got dressed and joined Raine on the bed. Where the two slept. Heron woke up close after midnight and looking through the dark he could see Raine's supposedly sleeping body. He cuddled closer to him until both were on he same pillow, he whispered to him "Raine, and I love you. Do you feel the same?"
A whisper returned from the dark form "Yes. Ever since we met." Raine Kissed Heron gently across his lower lip missing his mouth but getting the point across.
Heron asked a second question a few minutes later. "Will you have me?"

This time there was no response only the tired breath of a man asleep. Heron rolled over and lay against the far edge of the bed, slowly drifting into sleep.

Morning came and the two men left the inn, Heron was shocked to learn that his Ubu had died of unknown causes and that Raine had no memory of their late night conversation. Claiming it another of Herons fantasies. The two rode on Raine's horse. Heron holding tightly to the other mans waist. They rode together in this manner for most of the day, stopping to eat as they went. Heron still could feel the kiss Raine had given him and he knew that was no dream. He felt hurt that Raine didn't remember. But for the moment decided to let it end there. 'All things in time to those who wait.' he thought.
"Wait for what?" Raine asked looking over his shoulder as they crossed a small bridge.
"Just looking forward to getting home."
"You're lying. I can sense it."
"Well I have my secrets and you yours brother, as you do yours I shall mine."

The two rode on for the rest of the day reaching Exotus by sundown. Heron walked Raine through the bustling city to a small dwelling near the central palace; here he unlocked the door with a few chanted words and allowed him entrance. "Be it ever so humble..." Heron said removing his outer layer hanging it by the door. Raine looked around amazed. Inside what had appeared to be from the outside a simple one-room hovel inside was a mansion rivaling any he ever knew.
"You live here?" He said in awe Heron shrugged.
"Whenever I'm not attending the king's personage."

"I see." Raine Said looking around the large room. Then something odd caught his eye. There was a small screen door between several different windows inside each was a different area of the world. Forest, Desert, Ocean, City, Mountain and a snow covered field. Under each window was hung a key.

"I see you have noticed the windows." Heron said taking a key off the wall. He put it in the lock and opened the door, the darkness beyond morphed into a cliff edge on the top of a mountain. Heron walked out into the snow. "Are you coming?" He asked coyly to Raine as if the question was more than it sounded.
"I'm on my way..." he said taking a careful step upon the white. It was warm. He looked to Heron as if confused. "It's not cold?"
"I hate the cold. I prefer things around body temperature or higher, it's so much more comfortable. Don't you agree?"

"I suppose." Raine said walking closer to Heron. Looking around in amazement. The entire sidewall of the house was there free standing the rest was simply elsewhere. He walked all around the wall, it was the same on both sides as it had been, the far side was the interior still intact the other the outer. Oddly unaware of it's current position. Raine peeked through the door and was pelted in the face by a snowball thrown by Heron. He wiped the warm snow off his face shaking the whiteness from him. "I'm going to get you for that!" He shouted running at Heron then tackling him. They both went down into the knee-deep snow. Heron looked up into Raines blue eyes smiling. "I think I have snow in my underwear."
"Are you always so well spoken?" Raine asks looking down at him laughing.
"Not always." Heron said laughing to.
Raines face came close to Herons "You know when I said I didn't remember what I said last night...?"
"Yes?"
"It was no lie. What was it you thought I had said?"
"That you Loved me, then you kissed me." Heron said pointing to his lower lip. "Right there."
"Like this?" He asked leaning in closer.
"MASTER HERON?!" Shouted the voice of a messenger from inside the house. Raine stopped and let Heron up. He did not look amused.
"My master Calls. Raine I'll be back later. Why don't you stay and rest, I'll be back before night fall."
"Alright.... I'll wait in the house though." Both walked through the door and Heron shut it. Hanging the key back in place. He turned to Raine a last time before leaving the house
"Feel free to explore. My house is yours for the day. Your room to sleep in is upstairs on the right." And with that he exited leaving Raine to his own devices.

He explored the house for two hours, becoming quite familiar with it. He walked into the large bathroom looking around; a waterfall he assumed was used in place of a shower dominated the far wall. He took this opportunity to cleanse himself he removed his garb and walked across the ankle deep pool under the warmed water. It was the perfect temperature. He did not undo his braided hair But instead Lathered up his tied back hair with practiced ease cleaning it better than if he had let it fall and scrubbed his skin with a pumice stone he had found floating in the water. He patted himself dry with a thick black towel and rinsed out his clothes finding a spare pair of clean clothing waiting for him in a bin by the door. It didn't fit him to well being Herons but it would be better than running around the house in the stark. He then moved on to the bedroom Heron had told him was his.

Hours later he lay curled up on the bed staring at his hand. 'With these I could do it.' he thought but remained still. His people's laws wouldn't allow that kind of freedom. Despite the fact they had disbanded. The ancient law would stand for him. Slowly he scanned the room startled by the man standing there.
"Heron..." he whispered in surprise.
"Raine, free your self." The man said giving him a kind order. Walking to the elf side. "I know that you want to."
"I can't... The law won't allow it."
"The law is lost. Free your self." He said softly as he took Raine's hands in his then laid them on Raines thighs. "I promise nothing bad will happen I will protect you."
*"Thank you." Raine said tears coming to his eyes as he cast off his old society.
"Your still beautiful." Heron said watching all the time not moving from his spot, a meter up from the foot of the bed a foot back from it. When Raine stopped he climbed onto the bed crawling over to him and kissed Raine running his hand down his bare torso.

'Thank you brother.' Raine thought with happy tears running down his face. Heron then broke the kiss. "Sleep well little brother, I'll be in the next room. If you want me. I'll be there." He then got off the bed and walked to the door; with a final look back went to his own room and undressed with a quiet satisfaction. Raine had looked so happy to be freed, a pleasure he had learned of when he was a chamber servant to the unmarried king. Which (guilt to be admitted) was one he inherited and practiced still. He lay down under his covers all thoughts on his so-called younger brother; he stared out the large window at the rising full blue moon. He yawned drifting into sleep.

Another nightmare haunted his sleeping mind as Raine lay in the bed. The eyeless, blood-spewing visage of Heron chased after him. Howling declarations of love and murder. Raine awoke with screaming tears. He hugged his nude body in an attempt to calm himself rushed from the room leaving his clothing and (he prayed) the nightmares behind. He pounded on Heron's door calling out desperately the door was opened. He rushed in wrapping his arms around the naked body of Heron crying while babbling about the murderous dream. The elder smiled telling him to pay the dreams no mind because that's all they were. Simply dreams.

"Can I sleep in here with you?" Raine asked like a child frightened by noises in the night. Heron stroked the back of his head affectionately then shook his head no.
"My bed is not large enough for two, and we are both to close to risk it. Your dreams will be safe from now on if you wear this." He slipped a black stone pendant from around his neck onto Raines, then gave him a kiss and pushed him back to his own room closing the door for the night.

In the morning heron awoke. He got dressed and walked to Raine's room.
"Raine are you up?"
"Yes." called the voice of the man he loved.
"I'm going to start breakfast. Anything in particular you hunger for?"
*'You...should know...' he heard a mental whisper but that was quickly drown out by Raine's voice. "Whatever your making."
"Alright." heron laughed walking down the stairs to the kitchen. Where a pan was already on the stove heating itself up and already oiled. Heron prepared the meal able to get it done without any mishaps... for once. He looked up as Raine came down the stairs clad in more borrowed clothing.
"Thank you for the clothes."
"I'm just glad you look good in my pants." Heron said not paying attention to himself. Raine laughed.

The two conversed as they ate. All the while Heron nervously watched the clock. Raine noted his behavior. And hearing his mental whisperings he lay down his fork and asked. "Heron do you feel anything towards the king?"
"Anger, Hatred, Wrath, Fury, Animosity."
"I take it you do not like him."
"Apparently not."
"Why do you keep going back there then?"
"He makes me."
"You mean he actually comes down here, picks you up and carries you to the castle?"
"No, worse." Heron reached into a pocket of his pants and produced a small gold plated flask no bigger than a thumb and just as wide. "This tonic which I am ordered to take does the carrying for him." He said spitefully wrapping his hand around the bottle as if trying to crush it. Which he was.
"Oh? How so?" Raine asked innocently.
"Its a drug that takes away resistance, it wakes the body up but puts the mind to sleep."
"So why do you take it?"
"It's part of my job. If I could go a day without it that would be a blessing."
'Maybe that's what the dream is for.' Raine thought in the part of his mind Heron couldn't read. He nodded slowly. "You don't love him, but he forces love into you."
"I guess you could say that. Even the pun is true."
"Oh..." Raine stopped and thought. "What if someone went in your place?"
"No. I wont let you go little brother. The king would kill you. He wants no substitutions."
"But..."
"I'm sorry I have to go. Please. Stay here."
"...Alright." Raine said again retreating to the unread zone. 'I'll Stay here for part of the time, and follow you later. The pain he has caused you must be stopped. I promise you this Heron.'

It had been an hour long enough. Raine pulled on his hooded cloak and set out for the castle. He walked in through the servants door claiming to be a new chamber servant leaving a forged letter with the door guard. He was lead to the kings chamber. He could hear the older mans raunchy laughter. He felt rage building up inside him. He hadn't felt feelings like this since the day he killed his uncle. But this was more controlled. He pounded on the door. A young boy opened it. He walked across the bedroom pushing aside all who dared to stop him. He tore back the shroud around the bed and shouted. "GET OFF OF HIM!" before the king had any time to react Raine ripped him from heron and thrust the blade of his dagger against his skin. "If you wish to stay alive keep away from Heron." his slender body rigged with emotion. His eyes burning into those of the kings who stared back fearfully. His hand seemed to be searching for something.
"Call the guards and your head comes off." he snarled the hand stopped.

"Please don't kill me." The king begged. Raine scoffed.

"Stay away from him and I wont." Raine pulled the knife away. He picked up herons limp comatose body after wrapping a sheet around him and his clothing and carried him over his shoulder out of the castle back to the house here he lay him on a couch. He slumped on the one opposite trying to calm himself down. It had been a long time since he had ever been that angry. It scared him. He would have killed that man. He took a few calming breaths at least he had saved his love without any blood spilled. But had things gone awry he would have gladly laid down his life to rescue him.

Heron awoke around sundown. He looked around he was lying in his own bed fully clothed again. "How did I get here?" he asked aloud. Slowly sitting up. He looked over at Raine who was just nodding off.
Raine yawned. "I freed you from the king. You don't have to take the potion any more. The only love you have to feel is you own."
'I'd like to feel yours too...' Heron thought in the unreadable spot. He smiled over at Raine. "Thank you little brother."
"Please. Don't call me that any more. We aren't related." Raine said climbing onto the bed and wrapping his arms around heron. "I want these feelings to be completely natural. No more lies. I love you Heron."
"I know...I know..." heron said cuddling down into his arms. He had felt a change in their strength. Before Raine had felt like a younger brother should but now he was an equal man and lover. Heron swallowed as Raine pushed some hair up and out of his face. Soon the feeling of security and the late hour settled upon the two and they both agreed it was time to share the bed together they tucked themselves in gently embracing. Outside the moon rose and the stars shone through the darkness as heron and Raine proved to themselves there was no limitations on great expectations.

In the morning Raine woke up first before the sun rose, Heron slept on both arms and a leg wrapped around his loves body. Raine smiled and released himself from his embrace and slowly sat up careful not to disturb the sleeping man. He smiled pushing the tousled hair away from the mages face he then turned and looked down at the floor he rested his feet on the hardwood tense as they let out a small creak. Heron continued to snore. Raine bent over and sifted through the mêlée of his and his lovers shed clothing. He felt it. Tucked under his pants. He pulled it to himself seeing its outline in the dark. He turned and carefully rolled heron onto his back, leaned over kissed his soft lips thinking 'Goodbye my love, until we meet again.' and plunged the dagger into Herons chest. Killing him instantly and silently. He wiped a tear from his eye and looked out the large window, saying simply. "Morning will come soon."

What makes Atlantic Canadian literature a cohesive group? What themes can be found in these regional works that holds the genre together? There are three major dichotomies that can be gleaned in the novels, short stories, poems and plays of the provinces on the Atlantic. These themes are: Love and loneliness, protagonist versus nature, and the act of searching. For which references will be made to Random Passage by Bernice Morgan, Coastlines; the Poetry of Atlantic Canada an anthology of poems by various authors, Atlantica; Stories form the Maritimes and Newfoundland an anthology of short works by various authors as well as a passing reference to Alistair Macleod’s novel No Great Mischief.
It is important to remember the historical context of the country when looking at the literary works. Originally Canadian stories were handed down by word of mouth and by drawings done by the tribes of Native Americans in place of written stories. It’s not until well into when the Europeans arrive in the Atlantic region that written works are introduced. Most of which were simply transplanted stories from established authors. It was not until well into the settlement of the colonies that Atlantic Canadian literature began to bloom. The first of which being Quodlibets in 1628 by Robert Hayman the leader of the British colony Bristol’s Hope, Newfoundland which was a collection of poems.
Other works that followed shared the similar writing tone of those early writers. Being that despite the hard life the letters and works of fiction sent back to Europe spoke of a romanticized version of the colonies. Claiming them as places of constant adventure and excitement the romance of settling ‘untamed lands’ and converting the ‘heathens’ their in. Though these images were rarely matched reality; especially when it came to the mentioning of the Canadian climate- Mild in letters, harsh and prolonged in reality.
In Atlantic Canadian works love is an important theme since its beginnings to modern day. It is one of the fundamental forces that drive all humans no matter where they originate from to seek out one another in societies. In Atlantic literature it is the small population base of the stories that push the issue. Who will you love when your closest available male or female romantic prospects are your family? This is a reflection on the early settler history of the area as most people came over with their families to settle the lands and little other contact outside of one to two other families as seen in the Bernice Morgan novel Random Passage . Also the theme of love is shown to be ageless in the poem ‘Again with Music’ by Kay Smith the poem speaks of an old apple tree that is ‘never to put forth again a pink and white cloud of witnesses, Suddenly blossoms with yellow birds in its grey limbs, and is almost alive again with music. Love O Love let the birds happen to me. Let Wild sweet voices remember me.’ In this section of the poem the author is putting herself as the tree- barren and at the end of its life being suddenly refilled by the birds of new love- fluttery feelings one might say. Sentiments echoed in a second Kay Smith poem: ‘Old Women and Love’ in which she writes ‘...the blood of old women continues to cry out to sing even to dance wildly in their veins...’ in this rather explicit passage she states that even in old age people still have the passions for love. It is something that falls away as humans get older, but instead can become stronger as time goes by. Though it isn’t just romantic love found in the works. There’s also familial love and the loyalty love between a pet and their owner. The latter seen in No Great Mischief by Alistair Macloed.
Along the similar lines of the Love theme found in the works of the region can be found the other side; namely loneliness. Harkening back historically to the European settlers Canada was a very lonely area. So divorced from the lives they lived in Europe and the people they knew therein as well as the individual isolation brought about by the winters when people would frequently be snowed in and unable to visit others in their establishments it is easy to see why the theme took root in the writings. Such as in Milton Acorns short poem ‘Charlottetown Harbour’ which features a lone man sitting on the dock in thought. ‘An old docker with gutted cheeks, time arrested in the used-up-knuckled hands crossed in his lap, sits in a spell of the glittering water...’ the image is quite effective, the thought of a solitary man on the dock thinking deeply on his past accomplishments, the thoughts of how he once worked with others and is now alone, a feeling most people are familiar with; a sense of loneliness from isolation.
What causes this isolation- other than the settlers coming from the familiar to the unknown? That is the next main theme. The weather; in the early years what people accomplished was entirely dependant on the weather. Be it working the lands or out sailing or fishing such as the narrator in ‘That Corrugated Look to Water’ by Milton Acorn. ‘...No day this for men to be at business on the water – no longer ours, but winter’s. Wind’s so raw you don’t know if you’re freezing or boiling...’ this is a feeling to those who live in the Canadian winter. When he wind blows hard and it’s dropped below freezing windburn with wind chill can feel both cold and hot to the numbness sets in. But it is this toughness in the face of the elements that helps to make Atlantic Canadian literature what it is. The climate has engrained itself into the literature as much as any theme. As the line goes from Elizabeth Brewsters poem ‘Where I Come From’ ‘People are made of places’ This is definitely evident in the literature of the area. This can work for a wordsmith or against them as in the case of Bernice Morgan as it is reported she was told that basing her novel in the American settlements of Maine would be a better selling point then the fictional location of Random passage Newfoundland .
The next theme is the search. Everyone is looking for something. Be it home, a person, culture, an object, or a purpose in life. This sense of searching can be found parleyed in Atlantic Canadian literature in poems like ‘I lost My Talk’ where the author Rita Joe is imploring the audience to let her return to her native language to explain herself in comparison to the forced upon language of English. She is searching for her peoples past; A connection to her original culture. Something most Canadians can understand with the influx of American media and culture washing up from the south (Though to admit a majority is merely our own cultural artifacts repackaged in the Hollywood glamour.) or that of any newcomers to the country to balance between their culture and Canadian mainstream. Though the culture is not the only thing searched for in literature. In ‘The squall’ by Milton Acorn the main character is searching for direction in the face of a storm. This could be taken as literally a man simply lost in a storm trying to get where he wants to go. Or culturally similar to the searching of Rita Joe, but as a face value search it also has merit. When sailing on the ocean it is vital to have landmarks on shore or in the sky to prevent from getting lost on the water. ‘...Taking direction from where they’d been with only quick-snatched glances at where they’re going.’ This speaks of how Canadians seem to work. There is a reverence for the past that acts as a guide for the future. Some may say backwards but as the old saying goes ‘those who ignore history are destined to repeat it.’

Shhh.... hang on