Twas Christmas morning and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse.
Well, actually, a rat.
Rini had woken up extremely early, precisely seven in the morning. She'd eaten a piece of toast, had a glass of diluted nog and already taken a quick glance at the fireplace. Three gifts were set upon the brick: one for her, and the other two for brothers currently living in the house. Hers was the smallest, yet the most expensive.
Presently she sat in her room, on the first floor of their home, with a small booklet in her right hand, held splayed with her thumb in the pith of the pages. She moved her thumb away and licked her fingers to turn a page, the poor-quality paper allowing text to be seen on both sides from the bright lamp she used for reading. The pages laid flat and she replaced her thumb.
She scanned the page, moving down very slowly, yet her eyes darted back and forth across every line with varying speeds of quickly and quicker. She blinked moisture onto her eyes, licked her dry lips, pulled the covers farther up and tamped them at her sides, all without keeping her eyes away from the booklet. And then she froze.
Her eyes slowly panned, reading the same line over and over again. Then she smiled with silent exhilaration and whispered, "I found you."
* * *
Lyza woke from the sunlight hitting her ears. Their tips flared and the hair stood on end all the way down to her scalp. She opened her sand-crusted eyes and winced as the sunlight pierced her pupils. For a moment she thought it was spring, but the cold air reminded her that winter was still in full bloom.
She didn't want to slide out of her covers, but her bladder was swollen. She threw off the comforter and tried to hop out of bed, but collapsed a little as pain shot through her right knee. She'd forgotten about the gigantic bruise, since the ache had subsided and she was wearing her favorite nightgown-and-sweats. Since the constant reminding pain had subsided she had, for the past day or so, several instances where she overexerted the bruise.
With only the slightest limp she shuffled barefoot across the wood. As much as she loved staying the night at Emmy's house, in the winter the tile was horribly cold in the morning. She had learned very quickly to always bring two pairs of socks over to her friend's house.
She flicked the switches for both the light and the heater, and took only a few moments to do her business. She hummed Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as she washed her hands, making sure to scrub between her fingers and the backs. She of course waited until the water was warm before she did this, and she prolonged the final rinse, letting the steady stream wash over her knuckles like the falls of a hot-spring. It was enough to make her whole body warm.
The faucet squeaked as she shut the valve, and the drain gurgled the little lake like a thirsty fish. She listened to it as she stared at herself in the mirror. A few years ago, she wasn't able to see herself in this mirror; she had a little mirror that her parents had hung for her on the opposite wall. But it broke, and so her parents had to get a stool for her to use. Now she could stand on the bottom step and still gaze at her reflection.
One thing she allowed herself pride in was the color of her fur. Every time she went for a haircut, she was complimented on what beautiful color it was; but no two people agreed on the same name of that color. Some called it seashell-white, to some it was dove, to others it was ivory. One person called it moonlight—the name she liked the best.
Some noticed it, and others did not; but every morning she gave it special attention. Between her eyes upon her forehead, just a little off-center, was a bleach-white patch of fur barely the size of a nickel. Kval said it looked like a fleur de lis—which she had to look up—except that it was missing the right petal (or the left one, to those facing her).
In fact, Kval was the one who pointed it out in the first place. "You were marked," he said; "Even before you were born, the Great Long-Eared One in the sky deemed you worthy to return to the Ever-Ever Meadows, and that mark is like a free-pass stamp."
It was one of the first nice things he said to her after he slew Big Bad Brother. And at first it was confusing—she didn't really understand why he called it a birthmark. She knew exactly where it came from, and so did he. The pure whiteness, which Kval said matched her spirit, was a testament to what was once black, charred skin.
.
She wished she hadn't closed her eyes. Because she had, she didn't witness the exact moment when the ember-blazed tip of the doobie kissed her forehead like a fetid leech. She had closed her eyes just before it took away the thin skin on her scalp, leaving behind a weeping, half-cauterized wound that took five weeks to fully heal.
She wished she hadn't closed her eyes. She should have held the sight of it all, from the moment his hand taunted nearer, ever so slowly; his eyes and open mouth dribbling smoke, silently taunting: You think I won't do it? It was the very first thing he'd done when he started doing the drugs, when she'd threatened to tell mom and dad. She did tell, but not with her voice; she spoke with tears, blood, and charred flesh.
She wished she hadn't closed her eyes. After some time, she understood why he spoke of the scar as if it were a birthmark. As if it were her greatest asset. As if it absolved her of anything bad she could do ever-ever, even before she did it. He'd done a lot of things that he regretted. All of them she healed from, all of them she bore the sight of, none of them she held evidence of. Except the moment he branded the scar.
She wished she hadn't closed her eyes. Every time she looked at herself in a mirror or on a clear surface; every time she looked at that scar she was reminded. She was not as dumb to the past as she made herself to be, but it was easier for everyone else that way. She was a little afraid to talk to Kval about it openly. She had tried once, when everything was still freshly changing, but he was reluctant and even reclusive about it.
She wanted to tell him that every time she looked at the scar she could hate him. Every time she looked at it she could scorn him. She could do any number of malicious things and be fully justified. She could. But every time she looked at it, she could only bring herself to forgive him—for everything. Except... one moment felt empty. One moment, where she showed fear. One moment that, because she didn't see, she felt like he wouldn't accept her forgiveness. And that same mark would be his denial into Ever-Ever Meadows.
She really, really wished she hadn't closed her eyes.
* * *
Ket's paw slapped upon the wooden headboard—slapped again—slapped again. Finally it met its mark, and the screech of the alarm clock was strangled and silenced. He rolled over, turning away from the light like a skittish vampire, and waited for his body to boot up.
After several moments he sat up. He was a little sore, especially his back. Evidently, but as he expected, 'quality time' meant more cleaning the house, thoroughly. But the house needed it—mom needed it. He, on the other hand, needed Tylenol. His throat whimpered as he swallowed, sore and scratchy tonsils grated with rust on their rivets. He could feel edema in his eyes and head—another medical tidbit he learned from a special person. He waited a while for it to settle out—he was in no hurry.
In his pajamas, which were new flannel pants and a really-really big shirt that went down almost to his ankles, the tiger waddled down the stairs to the smell of fresh morning coffee. His mom was standing at the counter, cleaning off little porcelain bears.
"Merry Christmas, kiddo."
"Merry Christmas, mom," he said, waddling over to give her a hug.
"You look like you have no legs," she teased, lifting up his shirt to make sure that he did indeed have feet.
He wiggled his socked toes. They smiled at one another and she dropped the shirt; he returned to being torso-man.
"So, guess what?" She said, returning to the figurines.
"You found grandma's bears."
"Well yeah, but there's even cooler news."
"What's cooler than grandma's bears? You've been looking for those for like...ever."
"Well smarty-pants," she said, obviously playing off the irony that he was torso-man and had no need for pants, "I have an interview on Monday with the bank."
"Oh really?" He shuffled along with her to get a mug.
"Yup." She dumped sugar into the mug, and filled it with coffee. "If I'm lucky, I'll become a teller, and I can drop that job at the restaurant. No more covering for those lazy teenagers."
"Hey," he grumbled, following her to the fridge, "I'm about to be a lazy teenager."
"No you ain't," she said, pouring milk into the coffee, "You're going to be my little Ket-Kat Bar forever and don't you dare try to make things otherwise." She blew upon the surface of the brew and then handed it to her son. "There ya go."
He silently accepted it and took a two-handed sip, thanking her with his eyes.
"Anyway, that also means I'll be here more often," she went to the table, collecting the sprawled Christmas cards into a single stack, "Would you like that?"
"Whaddaya mean?" He shimmied over, and sat in a chair; torso-man's greatest weakness was a chair, for it exposed his nonexistent legs.
"Well, I mean you're a big boy now. You can hold your own alone. I just want to make sure it's okay with you that your mommy will be home a little more." She reached out to pinch his cheek, but he foresaw the gesture and engaged evasive maneuvers. "It means there will be no more parties."
He rolled his eyes.
She sighed. "So, are you going to see her today?"
Ket sipped. He was still wary of his mom. Mothers have instincts, of this he knew, and if Kval—someone he just barely knew—was aware of his special friendship, so might his own mom, who knew him since he was born. "I dunno," he replied, "Seems kind of weird. Isn't Christmas a family-day?"
"Well, sure, but..." his mom took one of the cards and handed it to him.
The letter was in an envelope that had two candy-canes crossed at the straight end, and a holly leaf at the junction. Above the holly leaf was his name.
"She gave that to me and told me to give it to you." His mom smiled, "As far as I'm concerned, a thoughtful friend like that can come over any day of the year."
He set it back on the table. "Do I have to open it now?"
She laughed, "No. I won't embarrass you; you can open it up in your lonesome." She stood up and pushed her chair in, and went back to the porcelain bears. However, she did not pick up the bears; she opened up the cabinet above the counter top. "But, you do need to open this in front of me."
From the cabinet, she retrieved a small, long box wrapped in snowflake-decorated paper.
* * *
Lyza's feet made quiet, muffled steps as she made her way to the den. Their house did not have a fireplace, and she had asked how Santa could get in without the hearth when she was very young. When she went to Kval about it, they decided to ask their parents, and they learned that mom let Santa in through the front door. Scoffing the idea, the kids had stayed up that night and, just as mom had said, she let Santa in through the front door.
That was a long time ago, and Lyza didn't stay up any more after that. It was proof enough. Her fingers tingled as she saw the elegant box sitting where Santa always put her gift. Right next to it was her brother's gift: a fifty-dollar card to the electronics store. She smiled at the little card. She wished her parents were more like Santa—not the gift-giving part, although that would be nice, but the part where Kval's name wasn't on the 'Naughty' list. Why didn't her parents get it? If Santa thought Kval was good, why did they still get mad at him?
She shook the thoughts out of her mind. It was Christmas day, and she'd already spent the morning in that frame of mind. So tempting was the little box, so eager she was to have the flute in her palms. But opening the gift all by herself was improper, selfish and greedy. But still... she could just look at the wrapping, right?
She crept closer to it, her eyes blinking as the lights on the Christmas tree washed it in blue and green and red on all but the farthest corner. As the lights changed color, there was a moment where the room was shrouded in complete darkness, but with a practiced and memorized stride the rabbit navigated the coffee table and little trinkets like a ghost passes through walls.
The lights flared green, and the present sang at her. She reached out to touch it.
"Boo!"
Lyza yelped, but even then a gentle hand clasped over her mouth. When the second of fright passed, she took the opportunity to bite down on one of the fingers of the hand.
"Ow, hey!" The voice whispered in pain, "Is that any way to start Christmas morning?"
"You started it!" She snapped back—then realized how loudly she said it and covered her mouth.
"I couldn't help myself," Kval shrugged, his teeth glowing red as the lights came back on. "You were in a trance. I tried calling your name, drums, explosions—everything."
"Yeah right," she squinted an eye, trying to keep her angry-face, but it failed. "So what are you doing up so early?"
"Well, see, there are these rats in my room. They're making all kinds of noise, and they kept me up all night." He sighed, and then—clearly acting—a look of an idea came on his blue-hued face. "Hey, I know. You got a new flute right?"
Lyza smiled nervously; she knew exactly where this was going. "Yeah, maybe. Why?"
"Well, maybe you could use the flute to lure the rats away. How 'bout it?"
Lyza blushed a little. "I dunno...it's a new flute. I'd need to practice..."
"I'll help."
There was little arguing she could do. Lyza loved to play the flute, but was nervous of anyone hearing her—even her own brother. But there were some times when he wheedled her into playing, if only just a little. With a sigh, she went over to the box and quietly unwrapped it. As she did the picture of the flute taunted her, and even as it was still a little wrapped she left part of the box covered with paper and started opening the box itself.
The tape yielded after just a moment of frustrated mutterings, and maybe a little drool, and at last the top flap opened. She carefully pulled the flute out, supporting the cardboard that kept it from jostling around in the box. Cedar wafted through the air, and carefully Lyza pried off the cardboard support and pulled the strip that plugged the holes.
The flute itself was bigger than she expected, but as she hefted it in both hands and sat upon the ground, she managed to find a comfortable adjustment. Her pinkie had to stretch a little to reach the sixth hole, but after a bit of mock-playing, she positioned her lips upon the plate and gently blew. The note was feeble and quiet, suppressed with nervousness and fright of people hearing.
Kval put a hand against his ear, and stretched forward as if he couldn't hear the note at all.
Lyza took a deep breath and blew normally, letting the low note resonate into the air. As her breath let out, she exposed more holes to go up the scale, pausing only once as she started reaching the higher notes. When she finished the set, the notes seemed to flutter about the room for a few more moments, before finally settling down.
Kval made no attempt to move or disturb the silence that followed. He just sat and watched his sister, encouraging her with a nod.
She took several deep breaths, exercising her lungs, and then kissed the plate, blowing gently. She had never played a flute like this, and the notes were powerful. She was used to much higher notes, and playing transverse; she had a recorder, but it was nothing compared to the music literally at her fingertips.
As the minutes passed on, she played an impromptu melody that was slow and what she thought sounded like a Native American tune. Now and again she had to fiddle her fingers as she hit an odd note, but her brother made no indication of her mistakes as he closed his eyes and his ears drifted in the sway of the music.
Her notes became louder as she played, more pronounced and piercing. It was only when her mom and dad walked in the room that she remembered her parents even existed, much less were sleeping. The flute squawked as her lips flew away, and a bit of spit dribbled down her chin.
She watched her parents with fear; this was their first day off since she could remember—maybe since last Christmas for all she knew—and she'd gone and woken them up! She glared at Kval, but he didn't seem as phased as she was. She looked back at her mom, more able to talk to her than her father.
"S-sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Her mom brought a finger to her lips, and both parents quietly stepped into the room, taking their usual seats: mother laying upon the long couch, and father sitting in the overstuffed chair beside it.
Lyza felt all eyes on her, but none of them were angry. They were expectant, patient, and eager. She looked to her brother, and saw him smile.
"Go on. Play," he said.
She bit her lip nervously, but she was cornered. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to play for her family, which sat in absolute, appreciative silence for the first time in a very, very long time.
* * *
"Merry Christmas Emmy!"
"Merry Christmas, Ms. Rachaun."
Emeral wiggled out of her jacket and pulled from it a shiny wrapped present, thin and flat and square.
"A present for me? How thoughtful!" Mrs. Rachaun teasingly reached for it.
Emeral stuck her tongue out, pulling it away, "This's for Ket."
"Oh. But where's my present?" She pouted.
"I made pancakes, remember?"
Ket's mom smiled, "Yup. And they were yummy. The one you want's upstairs as usual. Are you sure it's okay you stay for dinner?"
The white tigress nodded. "Mmhmm. The hospital called and mom had to go in. People still need help, even on Christmas."
"Ain't that the truth." She smiled, "Well, we don't have a leg because we're just a small bunch, but will some ham-sandwiches do?"
"Fine by me," she said, taking off her shoes and leaving them at the bottom of the stairs, "And thanks for letting me come over even though it's Christmas."
Emeral tiptoed up the stairs. Ket knew she was coming over—she had called earlier and propositioned the meet. It was somewhat convenient that Ket's house was along-ish the way to the hospital where her mom worked. She felt a little guilty about leaving her dad alone, but he seemed well occupied with the new Blu-Ray player.
But it was Emeral who was surprised when she reached the top of the stairs. Ket sat upon the couch, a bright light from a newfound lamp shining upon him, all a-focus on his hands. On the floor were newspapers, spread out like he was getting ready to carve a pumpkin. But it was not a pumpkin that he held: in his left hand was a bar of soap, and in his right was the glinting blade of a knife as it shaved bits of skin away from the bar.
He looked up as she approached.
"What the heck is that?" She questioned sternly, pointing at the knife.
"It's a whittling knife," he replied.
"Does your mom know you have a knife?"
He shrugged, "Yeah. She's the one that got it for me. You were here when she went to the hardware store, remember?"
Emeral stepped forward, but Ket hissed—he actually hissed at her. She froze. "W-what?"
"Blood circle," he said, picking up a large plastic sheath and covering the blade with a klup. "You're not supposed to get close to someone with a knife. I might slip and cut you." He looked up toward her and smiled. "You can come closer now, it's sheathed."
She went to the couch and sat down, setting her present to her left and looked at Ket on her right. She eyed the knife in his hand. "Can I see it?" She asked.
He bit his lip. "Okay, but be very careful." He held it out.
She took it in her hand and tried to take it away, but he held onto it. She started tugging, "Let go of it," she muttered.
"You have to say 'thank you'."
"Thank you?" As she said it, like magic he let go. "What are you, the polite police?"
He shook his head, and leaned down to pick up a booklet off the floor. "It's just the rules. You say thank you so that I know you have it and then I can let go. If you don't say it, I can't let go."
Emeral read the title of the booklet: Whittling Guide and Safety. She glanced down at the knife in her hand. It was very oddly shaped; it looked akin to a palm-sized sweet potato. The blade itself was fairly small, only an inch or so long. She didn't leave the cap off long before she became too nervous.
"What the heck made you want to whittle?" She asked, capping the knife with great caution and handing it back to him.
"Thank you," he said, even as she let go; he set it and the soap down on the newspaper. "I dunno, I just wanted to pick up a hobby," he explained.
"Well if you cut yourself..." her voice lowered, "I'm gonna be so mad at you..."
"I'll be careful," he assured her, "I'm starting off on soap anyway. Mom got like ten bars for me to practice on."
"Soap is for bathing, not cutting," she replied, and took the present she had laid aside in her hand, holding it out to him. He took hold of it and tugged a bit, but she didn't let go. "You hafta say 'thank you'," she teased, and then couldn't help but burst at the look on his face.
He waited patiently, but begrudgingly, as she settled down and urged him to open the gift.
"By the way..." she said, a little slyly, "Did you get my card?"
"Yeah. You're lucky mom wasn't around when I opened it." Ket had the peculiar way of opening presents not by tearing into them, but by undoing the seals of tape, which made Emeral jittery as she waited for him to see his gift. "Did you really use lipstick?"
"Of course; what'd you think I just drew the kiss on it?"
The main seam of the present was pried apart, and within was the familiar gray hue of a videogame cartridge. He pulled the rest of the wrapping away to reveal the title of Mega Man 2. He glanced up at her, smiling dumbly at a new videogame. It had been a while since he'd gotten a new one.
"There's this store," she explained excitedly, "all they sell is videogames, and I saw a display of all of these. I had no idea which one to pick...so I asked them which one was like Metroid—since I know that's your favorite—and that's what they said I should get." She looked at him expectantly. "It was also kind of cheap so I was able to get it with my own money."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh." She realized, just then, the implication of the word 'cheap;' "I mean—not that I only wanna get you cheap stuff but, like, I just...thought it would be neat if I could say I got that with my own bucks instead of...you know."
"It's perfect," he said, setting it aside, "I can't wait to play it. Did you get your DS?"
Emeral huffed. "No. Mom said because of my phone Santa wouldn't get me a DS. He got me a bunch of CDs though, but they were ones I really wanted so...I'm still pretty happy. We can listen to them, as promised."
"Well...I..." He paused, and then bit his lip. "Be right back."
Emeral smiled as he got off the couch and went into his room. She took the time to stare down at the fearsome blade resting at her feet. Soap shavings were abound and the bar that he had been tending to didn't even take on any shape as far as she could tell. It looked like he just cut into it for sport. She reached out with her toe and raked them underneath the fringe of the couch.
He emerged from his room, his hands cupped into a ball concealing something. His weight caused the couch to grumble as he sat back down. "I didn't really know how to wrap it, so I guess..." He uncurled his hand, and within it was a pendant of amber with a beetle fossilized inside.
At first, Emeral didn't really know how to respond. She extended her hand hesitantly and allowed the creepy thing to drop onto her palm. After a moment of looking at it, and coming to a complete loss, she asked, "Um...what is it?"
"It's a scarab in amber—not a real one, it's fake; it won't come alive and bite you at night." He extended his hand to retrieve it, and she gave it almost too willingly; "The scarab," he explained, "was important to the Egyptians. The god Khepra, who was a scarab, became the deity that brought things into being. To the Egyptians, the scarab represented birth, journey, order, and protection from evil." He rubbed the amber pendant meditatively. "Mom said you were kind of interested in the stuff in my room, so I thought you might like it—well, maybe."
She held out her hand and he reluctantly passed the pendant along. "So this was yours?—Did you grandpa give it to you? I don't want to take anything your grandpa—"
"Nah, I got that at the store a long time ago. I thought it was real at the time, then grandpa told me it wasn't. I was kinda sad but I kept it." He smiled, a little defeated; "I know it's not the best thing in the world but...I'm really not a good gift-giver, sorry."
"I love it," she said, and immediately worked it around her neck. "Plus it goes with my fur."
"If you hold it up to the light, it looks really neat," he commented.
She did as he suggested, utilizing the conveniently-placed lamp behind her. Her lips curled up in a squint as she examined the perfectly-placed scarab, frozen in the brown-orange light. But something beyond the beetle caught her eye; she lowered the pendant just a little, and saw something hanging from the lamp's long, skinny neck. She blinked, and then a smile crossed her lips.
"Is that...what I think it is?" She questioned, glancing back at Ket.
He blushed. "I dunno," he replied innocently.
"If we weren't already together this would be one tacky pickup maneuver." She batted his nose and moved over to the side of the couch where the light hung over just a little. "And isn't your mom a little suspicious of it?"
"She...actually gave it to me. She said it came with the wreath she bought to put on the front door and didn't need it for anything..."
"You think she knows?" Emeral asked worriedly, but still motioning him to come join her beneath the mistletoe that was just a few inches above her head.
"I dunno...I was worried about that too." His hand rested over hers as he snuggled up beside her; "Maybe we should be...a little extra careful?"
"Yeah. I'll be sure not to tease you around her."
"No that's..." He squeezed her fingers gently, "That's okay. I'm sorry about getting so upset about it the other day I was just—"
She shushed him. "I understand. Now c'mon...we've been under this thing for like a whole minute already. Are you going to keep a girl waiting?"
