Page 44 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

Locane exhales and turns away from me, his expression back to neutral boredom. “I suppose that’s something that we shall work on together, that I will prioritize for you. I don’t have any experience with your gift myself, but we will find a way. Follow me.”

Locane is moving before I’ve had time to fully register his change in demeanor. He is impossible to keep up with, but the way my own emotions have been so up and down, am I any better?

He brings me back to the front porch of the house and tells me to sit. I obey and wait on the steps while he goes inside.

I stare vacantly at the hydrangeas next to me, seeing but not fully taking in the blues, yellows, pinks, and whites of the different miniscule blooms. Numbing exhaustion that I’m growing so accustomed to is weighing my mind when Locane returns. He’s brought a large plush pillow, a jar of lemon water, and a canvas bag filled with what I can only hope is food.

My hopes are fulfilled when he sits down next to me, throws the pillow in the grass, and unwraps a block of butcher’s paper toreveal a fat sandwich, stacked with all the fixings I was dreaming about. He looks at me knowingly while he hands me half, and I offer a weak thank you.

“Eat, rest for a minute. Then we will get to work on you trying to pull a vision forth,” he states. When I lift the sandwich to take a bite, he narrows his eyes at my dirt crusted hands. “Perhaps you’d like to go clean up first?”

I glance down at my dirt caked fingers and then stuff my mouth, “No, thanks,” I say through the mouthful of food as Locane’s lip curls with utter disgust. Staring at him unblinking, I wipe the back of my mouth—no doubt leaving a trail of dirt and rendering the motion useless.

Locane lets out a frustrated breath but chooses not to retort. He wants me to try to summon a vision, and we both know I will need strength for that. We finish our lunch in silence, and he downs half the jar of water and hands the rest to me.

Peering at him timidly, I say, “I fear you will be disappointed in this next endeavor. I don’t think I can control my visions. Not like I do my other magic. I don’t remember a single time that I’ve had any real control over them.”

I can think of a few where I had none at all, but I choose not to tell him that.

“You will learn.” His flat tone does nothing to comfort my apprehension.

Locane gets up and shakes off the crumbs from his tan trousers, rolls up the sleeves of a loose white shirt, showing off the dark muscles of his arms. The color doesn’t match the paleness of his face that still hasn’t regained its color. There’s a slight tremor in his pinky finger when he drops his hands back to his sides.

“Are you alright?” My brows knit in concern as I cock my head to the side, taking him in. The dark shine of his hair is missing some luster now, even under the bright rays of the sun.

“I’m fine.”

Locane walks down the steps and grabs the plush pillow he had thrown on the ground, obviously trying to brush me off. I follow him off the porch, crossing my arms and stare him down, doubt clouding my eyes.

“I figured you would have recovered more from the exertion of magic by now. You still look quite sickly.”

“I guess it took more out of me than I initially thought. Again, I’m fine.” He rolls his shoulders, eyes closed, and shakes his head. His eyes snap back open, and he motions his chin towards the pillow on the ground. “Sit.” The command is simple and direct.

As I sit, I tell him, “With all your worry of me getting things dirty, I’m shocked you have sacrificed a precious pillow for me to sit on the ground.” I chuckle, remembering how he stopped me from sitting on this exact pillow because I was—in his words—filthy.

“You have an affinity for drawing energy from the earth. And you’re fond of that pillow. I want you to be comfortable.”

The thoughtfulness takes me by surprise. Offering thanks, I settle back on the pillow that he’s placed in a sunny spot of the yard. The warm hazy rays beat down on the bare skin of my arms and shoulders; warmth and brightness radiate within me. I close my eyes and smile.

“Are you comfortable?” Locane asks from just behind me. I give a quiet hum of approval. “Good. Do your breathing exercises that you did before. That helped you really become in tune with yourself and helped you channel, yes?”

Of course, he had followed me without my noticing and had watched me the whole time I experimented with my newly discovered electricity.

“Yes. They help. Nana taught me that. Helps me to clear my mind,” I explain.

“Good. Do that.” Locane’s voice is soft but holds a hint of excitement.

Crossing my legs, I roll my neck from side to side. My shoulders push back, fixing my posture as I place my palms to rest on my knees. My eyes are closed, and I’m doing my best to remember my breathing exercises and clear my mind.

But my senses are too keenly aware of the very intense man somewhere behind me—and the high expectations he has for me.

That thought then snowballs into the ramifications if I don’t master this particular gift. What will happen if my incompetence allows the gems to fall in the hands of less desirable people? What could it mean for me, or for the world as a whole? My breathing becomes uneven; a tight grip in my belly chokes the life of those delicate golden threads before I even have a chance to pull them free.

My eyes pop open, irritation overriding my brief anxiety. I turn my head back to Locane. “You need to leave.” I face forward again, not waiting for a response.

“What?” He sounds legitimately surprised. “Why?”

“Because you make me uncomfortable. Your presence… It’s too heavy. I can’t focus. I’ll never be able to do this with you standing over my shoulder. All I can think about is your inevitable disappointment. Go away.” I turn my head over my shoulder to him. “Seeing is my most vital gift in my role for these gods’ gems, right?”