TWO
Sarah gripped the strap on her backpack nestled between her legs and glanced uneasily out of the plane window. The engines droned tirelessly as she readjusted the navy green bandana across her forehead. Her silky black hair, piled behind her like an ebon turret, caught a glint of sunshine as the pilot banked hard, preparing to land. Below, she could make out the island: it was oblong, with a varied topography seeming to account for most of it. She could see a central knoll or hill in the center, as well as a number of beaches and several tributaries that ran into the blue ocean.
Home away from home, she thought sardonically. In the top of her backpack, she still had Dylan Clover’s profile. She took one last look at his close-lipped smile and the shrugging handsome arc of his eyes, as if he were bemused by something. She puffed out her cheeks, noticing that her leg was twitching, one of her many nervous tics. She consciously planted the heel of her hiking boot to stop it. Her legs felt stiff from the long train ride, and then the early morning flight. Even though she considered herself quite fit, she felt her hamstrings cramping up. The tight black tank-top stretched across her small breasts as she rubbed her flat stomach to try and settle the butterflies and the mixture of nausea she always got when flying.
“Coming in,” the pilot said, “best hold on.”
“How long am I going to be here?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“As long as the training takes. Usually, it’s only a month or so. Dylan’s been on the island for six already though,” the pilot said and flashed a smile. “Don’t worry. Time flies, believe me.”
She gave him another tight-lipped smile in response, only half believing him. In reality, she resented the idea of being dragged from her own clan and forced onto an island with a man she had never met. An outdated tradition, she thought to herself. Sure, Dylan looked fine on paper but she couldn’t escape the fact that she was being forced to marry someone without even having ever shook his hand. A knot of fear wrapped itself like a snake-pit in her stomach as the plane descended, its pontoons touching down on the waves.
Dylan and another man, Chris, she remembered, were already waiting on the makeshift quay as the plane burbled closer. She walked out on the wing and leapt towards the rocky shore in one bound, her boots crunching under the pebbles and looked up at the two men. Both of them seemed a bit taken aback by her antics. Not lady-like enough, she thought.
“Er,” the bigger man fumbled for his words, “Welcome to the Island! I’m Chris, I’m Dylan’s patron for his training here. And this, of course, is Dylan.”
The younger man took a step forward. He had on a blue T-shirt and green pants that looked as if they’d been mended more than a few times. He had on a goofy grin but he looked very much like his picture. Handsome sheets of black hair loomed over his broad forehead, and his eyes were suddenly emerald in the reflection of sun off the lapping waves. He tried to smile, but like his picture, it was close-lipped. Probably as nervous as I am, she thought, and decided she wouldn’t stand on ceremony.
She extended her hand and grinned back, and felt giddy with the sensation of taking control. Even Dylan seemed a bit unnerved. Good, she thought mischievously. “I’m Sarah. I think you’ve been expecting me,” she said. Behind her, the float plane was already turning around, getting ready to head back to civilization.
Chris grinned at the awkward tension and almost started to laugh through his thick cheeks. He clapped his hands together, and Sarah was surprised at how strong he was. His thick arms seemed to buckle like tree roots as he offered to take her backpack. She gave him a quick look. He was bigger than Dylan, and looked more mature, too. It was obvious he had already gone through his initiation and training by the way he was enjoying himself.
“I can carry it,” she said. “I pack light.”
“Told you she was a catch!” Chris said conspicuously and elbowed Dylan, who bit down and flushed red. Sarah had to grin at that, at least she and Chris had that much in common, making Dylan uncomfortable.
As they made their way back to the cabin, Chris took point and started to whistle to himself, almost as if he’d forgotten the other two were following. Sarah breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the deep scents of the forest. There were worse places to get stuck, she figured. Then she caught Dylan looking at her.
“Awkward, isn’t it?” she said matter-of-factly.
He scratched his head shyly. “Something like that. Kind of puts me in a weird position, y’know?”
“How so?”
“Well,” he tried to find the right words, “I’m the one that chose you. Not the other way around. I know how I’d feel in your position. Heh. I’d probably hate it.”
She nodded. At least he was intuitive enough to realize the absurdity of the old traditions. She found herself relaxing a bit after this revelation. This whole time she had built up Dylan in her mind, assuming he was just as complicit in their arranged marriage as the elders were. I’m being selfish, she realized.
“Don’t worry about it,” she grinned, and readjusted the straps on her backpack. “I’m a bit prickly, at first. Everyone tells me that. It makes it hard for people to get to know me; I know that. Don’t take it personally, ‘k?”
“I’m not usually so clumsy,” he said in kind, trying to make a joke.
She narrowed her eyes at him, joining in. “I’ll try to remember that,” she smirked, “So, since we both probably know everything official about the other…”
“You grew up on the Silverback Farm,” he said, “and like Jane Austen.”
“And you hate scary movies and studied anthropology,” she fired back; they both laughed. In front of them, Chris gave a quick flitting glance over his shoulder and continued to whistle. “Well, how about unofficially?”
Dylan scratched his head again, trying to think of something that wouldn’t have been included in his profile. Sarah walked beside him, raising her eyes to him expectedly. He was surprised at how full of life she was. It was hard to describe a person’s personality in a few pieces of writing but he was pleasantly surprised by her openness. There was something decisive about her, a sharp edge that he found attractive. Not coy or demure at all.
More than that, she seemed to live up to his expectations. There was nothing soft or pampered about her, which was a quality he had come to expect (and dread) in the females that belonged to his caste. She was neither prim nor polished and there were no masks to her, as far as he could tell. What you saw was what there was, and it was refreshing. She was even more sure-footed over the uneven terrain of the island than he seemed to be.
“Well, I’m going out on a limb here,” he said and lowered his voice, and she craned her head toward him in kind, “and you must never tell anyone. Especially Chris… but I write a lot of poetry. I’m quite prolific, actually.”
Sarah let out the beginning of a boisterous laugh and quickly covered her mouth with both hands and gave him a tremulous look. Up ahead, Chris’ head half-turned toward them, but then went back to leading the trail.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
He gave her a look. “You can make up for that by telling me something about yourself, then. Also, unofficial,” he said, giving her the ultimatum with a good-natured tone.
“Okay,” she said, “but let me think. I feel like it should be something good… I owe you that much. Ask me again, sometime, ‘k?”
He nodded and chuckled. Alright, I’ll bite.
After giving her a tour of the nearby area: the waterfall that fed the small creek by the cabin, the cabin itself, the little garden that Chris and Dylan had tried to plant with little success, it was already time for dinner.
Time flies, Sarah thought to herself, remembering the pilot’s sage advice. She hadn’t liked the idea of coming to the island in the first place but she was surprised at how quickly her opinion had changed. Misery loves company, she felt like reiterating. All three of them were stuck here together, and that, more than anything else, seemed to tie them all together.
Chris was an amazing cook and she was delighted in the strange cuisine he had prepared for them. She had expected dry rations, the sort that were occasionally dropped off by the float plane every month or so. But instead, the burly patron had a selection of fresh grilled salmon with a garlic sauce of his own invention, combined with a stew that had a variety of fresh herbs and vegetables he had stocked up on or foraged off the island itself, like sorrel, salal and several pungent but hearty kinds of mushroom.
“Delicious!” she exclaimed, ladling some to her large lips.
“Well, thank you. I’m glad someone appreciates it,” Chris said.
“What are you talking about? I always compliment you on your cooking skills,” Dylan admonished. “As for me, I’d burn water if left to my own devices. Add that as another unofficial detail.”
Both Sarah and Chris laughed. “Well, I’m sure your mate feels lucky to have you,” Sarah blurted, and took a bite off the grilled salmon. She didn’t seem to notice the stillness that had filled the room until she looked up and saw Dylan staring down at his food with that scrunched up look on his face again. Chris merely smiled thinly, and picked up their empty soup bowls.
“I’ll go start washing,” he offered hurriedly. Sarah stood up but he quickly said with a firmness in his voice, “No, no, don’t worry… you’re our guest, you stay.”
She waited until he’d gathered the dishes and headed down to the creek before speaking. “What was that about?” she hissed at Dylan.
“… I should have warned you, I’m sorry. My fault. But that’s kind of a sore topic for Chris. Suzy… er, his mate. She uh… she died,” he said softly.
“Oh, geezus.”
“There was no way you could’ve known,” Dylan shook his head.
“Still,” a pained look spread on her face. “Aw, shit. Great impression, huh?”
He gave her a weak smile. “Don’t let it get to you. He’ll be fine. And now you know.”
“This must be awful for him,” she said, and saw Dylan raise an eyebrow. “I mean, you’re finishing your training. And that means…” she blushed, “well, you know. Finding a mate. And… anyway, I was just thinking, must be hard for him. Kind of like living it all over again.”
Dylan hadn’t thought about that. He frowned, suddenly feeling ashamed. He hadn’t even hesitated about asking Chris to be his patron and to join him on the island. And of course, Chris had said yes, how could he say no. I’m such an idiot, Dylan realized. Suddenly felt a bit sick to his stomach. He pushed the remains of his grilled salmon away and both he and Sarah fidgeted in their silence.
“Speaking of training,” he offered after a spell, trying to break the tension, “what uh… what sort of training did you get? All this initiation stuff, I feel like they keep it under wraps on purpose.”
She gave him a look, like she knew what he was trying to do: lighten the mood. But she seemed thankful for it, even if it was only her dark brown eyes that were doing the thanking. She leaned back in the chair and raised her hands on top of her head, staring at the ceiling. Dylan saw how lithe she was, her pale arms muscled but still thin, and looked away quickly when she saw his eyes brush across the low V-neck of her tank-top.
“We-ell… let’s see, nothing like this. Mostly it’s just… stupid stuff. Learning history, customs. Ceremonial crap; kind of boring. You got the better end of the deal… just get to spend your time living on an island,” she moved her head, as if to indicate his environment. “I’m a bit jealous, actually.”
“It’s not for everyone,” he said. “It can get lonely. With just two people-”
“Three now,” she said quickly, her eyes flashing. Dylan caught something in her gaze and tried to hide his blush again.
“Right, three. I like the wilderness though… it’s easier to feel the bear. Something about being around trees, a natural habitat. I’m going to miss this place, when we all go back,” he said, his voice suddenly drifting into melancholy. “This place… I dunno how to explain it, sometimes you just shift without even thinking about it.”
“Show me,” Sarah said.
“What, you mean right now?” Dylan stood up. Something sparked behind his eyes. He knew that of course eventually they would both see each other in form – and naked – but it was another thing he hadn’t prepared for. Not really.
“Well, sure, why not? Give Chris some time, too,” she said, obviously still cursing herself for bringing up his dead mate. “Besides, I want to get out… get some air. Come with me?”
*
Dylan only stumbled once as they followed the old trail from the cabin that wound down between a cedar grove, working more from muscle memory than actual sight as he negotiated the brambles and high ferns. He’d taken off his shoes again and was going barefoot; Sarah had done the same, though she was more unaccustomed and would occasionally swear under her breath and giggle at something sharp that had prodded her soles.
Finally, they made it to one of the other beaches. It was one of the only sandy areas on the island, and folded inward like a protected bay. The moon was already hugging the horizon, and gave them enough light to see each other now that they were out of the forest. Sarah let out a whoo sound as she sped past Dylan and gazed out on the gentle lapping of the moon-soaked bay.
“My god, it’s beautiful,” she said.
“I was hoping you’d like it,” Dylan said, his hands stuck in the back pockets of his pants, “I usually come down here every night. Puts me in a contemplative mood.”
She was quiet for a minute, taking it all in. When she spoke again, her voice was like a paddle moving gracefully through deep water, barely stirring a ripple. It was almost as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I think I’ll like it here too,” she whispered, and turned toward him. Her eyes were doe-dark and wide, and he let himself match her gaze without looking away. “Why did you choose… me?” she asked, in the same quiet undertone.
The question caused his heart to beat faster. “Wha-what do you mean?” he stuttered, knowing full well.
“I know how the caste system works,” she said, never breaking eye-contact. “I’m only one of many. I don’t know how many, heh. But I know I didn’t come here retroactively. You chose me… for some reason. I guess I’m curious… why…”
He sighed. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”
“Let me reciprocate on our list of unofficial facts,” she said quite suddenly. “I’ve never… I mean, I’ve had guys interested in me before, but… let’s just say most guys, once they get to know me, look in the other direction. That prickliness I told you about?”
“You do seem guarded,” he admitted brazenly. But then, he’d gotten to know her at least well enough to know that brazen honesty was one of the few things she required of others.
“It’s more than that. I just… never was very good at making friends,” she said, and there was a touch of loneliness and regret in her voice, “and anything more than friends. I’ve always been alone. Which is fine, you can get used to that.”
“What, you’ve never had a boyfriend?” he asked. It wasn’t uncommon for shifters to engage in the kind of playful antics that youth was privy to, even if there was an understanding that one day they would need to find a permanent mate. But the idea that she had never participated in those sorts of harmless activities was surprising. She gave him a hurt expression, and he gulped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s okay,” she lied. “I don’t mind telling you… this whole rendezvous, marriage… it scares the hell out of me. That’s why I wanted to know… why… you chose me, of all people.”
Dylan stepped closer, his bare feet hissing on the cool sand. He desperately wanted to sound genuine. “I chose you ‘cause you were the last profile… at the end of the booklet,” he said, his voice grave and steady, almost solemn.
She gaped at him, held his stare a full three long seconds and then burst into laughter. “Hahaha! I was the last picture!?” she gripped her sides and hunched over, laughing even harder, as Dylan gazed on, confused at her reaction. “Ah! Oh man…”
“No, no,” he said hurriedly, realizing how it had sounded. “I mean… I mean, you stood out. You weren’t like the other profiles. To be honest, it looked like you were the one that was least enthused about the whole thing…”
She stopped laughing and titled her head at him. “So I looked like I wasn’t thrilled to be married… and that’s why you chose me?” she asked. “That’s even worse!”
Sarah was taking it all in stride and seemed eagerly amused, but Dylan made a groaning sound and tried again. “You looked like you didn’t care what other people thought… or what they were asking you to do. I guess… I guess when I heard about it, and Chris told me I had to choose someone, I was attracted to your picture because you looked like you knew how I felt. Like you felt the same way.”
She nodded and took a step back. “That’s a much better answer,” she said softly, and turned back toward the ocean. “Thank you for choosing me. No one’s done that before.” Her voice was barely discernible as she pulled her tank-top over her head in one fluid motion and he saw the moonlight strike the flesh of her back, eerily blue. Two small dimples glowered above the rim of her pants, above her lower back, and she looked over her shoulder as if wondering if he was going to follow.
He let out a huff and rubbed his face. “Alright, I’m coming,” he said.
She didn’t answer, she just dropped the tank-top on the sand beside her and undid the button on the top of her pants. He heard a zip as she carefully drew the zipper down and looked again shyly over her shoulder as she lowered them over her waist and they dropped to her ankles. His heart thumped again, louder, as he admired the ample curves of her long thighs that seemed to frame her buttocks.
She had on a black thong and let out a timid sigh as she shuffled out of them as well, and he saw moonlight glint just barely on the underside of her sex as she bent over and laid her clothes neatly next to a piece of driftwood. From the side of her profile, he glimpsed the parabola of her breasts, small and pert, the nipple sharply turned upward. Even though it was dark, he saw her blush in spite of herself.
“Don’t stare,” she admonished, but her voice was almost too quiet to hear. She stayed stooped over, hugging her chest as if to hide her obvious nakedness.
He looked at his feet and began to undress as well. The night air was cooler than he expected, and he shivered as he placed his clothes on another piece of driftwood opposite her. He had never really been naked in front of a girl before, save for Lilah when they’d had to take baths together as children. His movements seemed awkward, too measured, as he walked down the sand toward her, and she stood up timidly, still giving her side profile to him.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
He shook his head. “It’s funny… I’ve done this so many times, I mean… come here, to change, that I never even really thought about it. The idea of being naked in front of another person...”
Sarah merely nodded, and he realized it was more awkward for her – you took control of the situation when we first met, he thought, I guess one good turn deserves another. He reached down blindly and took her hand in his and saw her look up at him. He reached out and gently slid the green headband off her forehead and set it down on her pile of clothes with his other hand, and met her eyes. That’s the real reason I chose you, he realized, those eyes that see so sharply into other people.
“C’mon, let me show you the way the island really looks… through a bear’s eyes,” he said grinning.
Wordlessly she let him lead her over the sand, both of their feet slapping the damp sand. He seemed fixated on something. She took the moment to examine his features. Certainly, there was more of a boy to him than man. Chris, on the other hand, seemed to inhabit everything that an adult was supposed to be. She wondered what exactly those qualities were. Certainly, Chris seemed harder, edgier, while hiding that edge with a grin and fierce sense of humor.
Have I lulled myself into believing that the only way we – Dylan and myself – can ever call ourselves ‘truly’ adults is to embody so much hidden pain in our past that it forces us to wear a mask around others?
The thought made her suddenly sad and she almost forgot that she was naked and being led by the hand over a dark swathe of beach. Dylan looked over his shoulder just once to see if she was still following of her own accord. She somehow managed to flash a tight-lipped smile which did little to betray the deluge of emotions that seemed to pile on her at that moment.
No, she tried to assert, a vocative in her own mind. Tonight, just let me feel the bear and forget about how or why or how long I’m to stay on this island. Dylan had done much, more than she thought was possible, to make her feel welcome and to put her own fears at risk. Even so far as to be able to share something as intimate as a bear-form together. And yet, he hadn’t really done anything at all.
“Here,” he said at last, panting, and let go of her hand. “From here, it’s on all fours…”