- hold on tight., quint

[finley eiríksson]

She could still feel the press of his hands against her arms; his fingers digging into her soft flesh, leaving their imprint. “You’re not trying, princess. If you don’t make some effort this will never work. You’ve just got to try,” Jonathan Eiríksson had said gently, ignoring his daughter’s struggles as he pulled her to the edge of the staircase once more. “Papa, please …” Finley’s pleas were in vain as her father had unceremoniously pushed her down the stairs. Such exercises were becoming increasingly common as he sought new ways to restore her ability. Finley had attempted to reason with him to no avail. Once Jonathan Eiríksson’s mind was made there was no swaying him. None of his plans for his daughter had worked. With each tumble down the stairs, each crack as bones snapped, Finley felt a piece of herself die. Numbness had become her constant companion; the one thing she could depend upon. If she knew how to fly once more she would have traded anything. Instead it seemed as though her feet were to remain firmly on the ground, rooted to a life she was no longer certain she wanted.

It had been like this since the accident; since the moment her sister had stolen her memories. At first Finley had thought her father was trying to help her. He had been patient at first, gently coaxing her. When that had failed his attempts had grown more desperate, throwing her from heights like a mother bird teaching its young to fly. But it never worked. Each session ending with Jonathan walking away and a Healer crouching over Finley’s broken form.

She wanted to remember. Experiences were what created a person, insignificant moments forming the latticework for greater events. Without her own memories Finley felt as though she were adrift, carried upon the currents of life without ever truly experiencing it for herself. Her days were usually spent alongside her cousin, Heather, dutifully following her around town and spending time with their mutual ‘friends.’ Increasingly, though, Finley had begun to crave solitude. She longed to rediscover herself without the help of those around her. The problem with Eventide was that there was no place to hide, and even less ways to escape her family name.

There were few places she could go within the town limits that begged silence, and after wandering for an hour she had settled upon the library. A gift from one of the other Heritage family’s, Finley had always thought the ornately carved bookshelves and heavy mahogany desks seemed out of place in the sleepy town. Brass ladders curved towards high bookshelves that were destined to remain empty. There were never enough patrons to justify filling them, and now the only people who ever came were students trying to find a peaceful place to study outside of their homes.

Her fingers trailed across carvings of vines and flowers; lingering upon plastic-covered spines of antique books whose stories had long been forgotten. There was a sense of kinship with them; knowledge of what it meant to be overlooked. It was so easy to replace something. Books with Internet and movies; memories with silent voids. As a girl her father had told her stories about the library and the secrets hidden within its walls. “Knowledge is everywhere; the intelligent just know where to look.” She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, only that she needed to find it. Perhaps then she could be whole again.

[quint reed]

Sometimes, Quint would forget. He would walk to the grocery and watch the pattern of falling snow on blue coats and red sweaters and forget that she was gone. It wasn’t even that he would forget, he would…imagine a different life. She was only a couple miles down the direction he was heading, warm in her home or buying a book. But whenever Quint reached the thought of her checking out books, he knew instinctively she would be looking at books of the aurora borealis and reality came drifting back, slow and cold.

He walked up from the Hafnarsjóður, the sea air still stinging his lips. He had hauled fish all day with his uncle. His hands felt cracked, as he rubbed them together, from grappling a slick fish between them. He cherished his time as a fisherman – they were quiet, deliberate days. He imagined going home – the last place he ever wanted to return. The riggings and nets he understood – where they went, and how they worked. He never knew what to do when he was home, trying to ignore every thought and feeling. He had too much to think about, all that he could have done and all that he shouldn’t have.

Hands stuffed in his coat pockets he walked by the library. He stood, staring at the frosted windows for a time thinking of her. The curiosity was too much -- he walked in and was greeted by the musty smell of old paper. He had never been much of a reader, but lately he found a comfort hiding away in their words. There, he could be taken away to that different life, one that was without abilities.

He never knew where to begin -- instead he took walks down each aisle, brushing his gaze across all the spines. He always forgot though, the emotions of readers. He passed a woman sitting at a table, quiet and calm, but he was washed in a thrilling sense of anticipation and desire. Quint cleared his throat and hurried along to the next row. Another man, hunched over a thick book, sank the hunger of danger into Quint. He walked across the atrium towards the mythology section.

There were only two short rows, mostly filled of Old Norse with clichéd titles involving Odin’s eye. He stared, unwilling to touch them. There was one book she had always read, but the title escaped him. Something to do specifically with Iceland and the lights but he didn’t see it amongst the others. He reached out and touched a vacant slot the other books lolled to try and fill. He finally picked up the book next to it and read: When the Valkyrior ride forth on their errand, their armour sheds a strange flickering light, which flashes up over the northern skies, making what men call the "aurora borealis", or "Northern Lights."

Two nights ago he had seen the lights. He had taken the long way home, through Kvöld Valley, again trying to avoid the mire of home. On the verge of a plateau he had stopped. The bleed of blue-green light had cut a visage in the purple bruised sky. The stars looked merely as dustings shaken from the motes of colors. The wind howled a pale moan, as he stood completely alone. For a breadth of time, he stared at the sky not thinking of her, not thinking of Eventide, but merely wondering. What did this all mean? The impossible weight of the question landed heavily and he was burdened with anger. There was no emotion that could belong solely to himself, and why? For the first time, there was a yearning to understand.

He had moved without realizing and it was his loss of balance that brought him back with cold panic. He looked down and saw the arcs of his sneakers parallel with the edge of the cliff. He scrambled back, staring at what could have been his imminent death as he caught his breath. He looked up at the sky again just as the lights began to dim.

Back in the library, he closed his eyes in embarrassment and snapped the book shut. The sound echoed in the quiet hall, making a girl in the opposite aisle jump. She turned around and Quint groaned. But she had seen him and it was no use ignoring it. Book still in hand, he walked over and said a gruff, ”Hey. What brings you here?” He winced inwardly at how awkward it sounded.

For a moment, he could have sworn it was her. That it was Hanna. But instead, it was Finley, who he unfortunately never forgot.

[/size]

[finley eiríksson]

The plastic cover crackled as Finley pulled the book from its place on the shelf. It was a slender gray book with faded gold pages whose title was barely visible along the spine. She grimaced as the book opened with a loud crack, seeming to protest her disturbing its forgotten existence upon the shelf. Indigenous Plant Species of Eventide was scrawled in precise calligraphy on the first page. Beneath the title, in neat printing was the name of the author: Elke Eiríksson – Finley’s eight-times great aunt.

Tales regarding Elke were limited. Finley’s father claimed that she was a disappointment to the family both in ability and in actions. Elke had not been satisfied to merely be a Heritage daughter and follow the course her father had set for her. She did not wish to marry the young man that she had been betrothed to the moment she was born. Instead she fell in love – and eventually ran away with – a young school teacher. She had been gifted with plant manipulation; an ability Finley’s father felt was useless. Little was known of what happened to Elke after she left Eventide. As Finley gently flipped through the precise renderings of plants and the short descriptions of their properties, she hoped Elke had found happiness.

It seemed odd to be holding in her hands a piece of her legacy. The tales of her family’s past were etched into every street and building within Eventide’s boundaries. Her entire life she had been regaled with tales of their greatness and might. But there was so much she didn’t know. Surely Elke was not the first or the last Eiríksson to despise all that accompanied her family name. She couldn’t be, Finley thought sullenly, because she hated her last name as well. In the end it didn’t matter how she felt. Her name was a cage.

Annoyed, Finley was about to return the book, when the final page turned over revealing the library card affixed to the back cover. Her fingers deftly pulled the narrow card out of its pocket. Finely scanned the names listed, looking for anyone she knew. Only one name scraped against a ghosted memory. The last person to check the book out nearly two years ago. A Hanna Riis.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to place the name. Why did she recognize it? Fragments of a memory lay scattered across her mind, refusing to knit together into a clear image. Her brother, Caleb, had dated this girl, she realized. That was why she knew the name. But there was something more. And though Finley did not know what that was, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was an important piece to the puzzle her life had become.

A book snapped shut, breaking her concentration and causing Finley to jump. She turned toward the sound, half expecting to see her brother’s teasing smile, only to see Quint Reed. She smiled at him in acknowledgement and was about to turn around when he moved toward her, book still in hand. “Hey. What brings you here?”

Finley nodded toward the book he was holding with a smile. “The same thing as you it would seem.” She closed the book she had been holding and returned it to its place on the shelf. “I needed to get out of the house and didn’t really feel up to another one of Heather’s adventures. I’m surprised she didn’t try to rope you into going out with her.”

Smiles and feigned happiness were all she had. No one would believe the truth about her or her family. The scars she carried were invisible and ached with longing for a different life. A life she could never tell someone like Quint Reed about.