Nymphaea

Chapter 22: Pheus

Ayve had left Saturday morning and Stephen had spent the weekend with Melissa, to ease his semi-bad conscience.

On Monday, since he was not supposed to work actively on the nymph-case anymore but was still asked to stay around in case questions arose, he went back to his original case that had been left on the back burner for a while. He sorted the whole material, listed all the known occurrences of the life-prolonging (excluding his own) and compiled an overview of the history of their organization, including the reason for its foundation and activities Ayve had named him (Stephen had spent so much time with Seya that it was easy to pretend to have received that information out of this source).

Since he would be gone in a few weeks, Stephen was not let in on any possible new developments. And yet he sensed that something important must be going on. Meetings in the boss’ bureau were held and the whole place buzzed with busy worker bees that hurried through the corridors and conducted urgent phone calls.

He supposed he might have been able to at least get a rough idea of what was going on if he had tried to find out, but Stephen was determined not to. No matter how fascinating the work here had been at times, it was over. It would merely be self-torture to know what was happening when at the same time he knew that he would not be able to follow the development much longer.

There were more important things taking place in his life at the moment. Although Ayve had not specified what he wanted to tell Stephen when they had joined his tribe (Goodness, that sounded strange: the urbane, rational, secretive Ayve ‘leader’ of a tribe! Stephen associated the word ‘tribe’ with… pretty much the opposite attributes: wildness, strong social bonds, strange rituals, dancing around fires… that thought made him literally giggle into his coffee cup as he sat behind his desk.), Stephen had the notion that there was something huge coming up. Statements like ‘this is not going to be a holiday trip’ or ‘I really need you in this’ did not forebode well. There had to be a reason why Ayve was such a closed up person. Maybe it was the extreme experience of the… well… massacre (it sounded pretty much as if that was what it had been) on his people that had turned Ayve into this sceptical, distrusting person. Stephen could hardly imagine what such an experience could do to a person. He couldn’t even imagine what the event itself had been like.

“The leader of my tribe has been put to an acid test, one might say. He has lost his father, his mother and the woman that was chosen to bear his child. He had to watch his people die helplessly. I’ll never forget that picture of him, bent over the dead body of his father who was everything to him, lamenting.” That was what Seya had told him about it. Stephen had read that interview several times.

Maybe this was somehow related to Ayve’s idea of not belonging to his people as well. Maybe the loss of great parts of his family had given him this feeling of disconnection. Maybe he blamed himself.

No matter what it was: if Stephen was to bind Ayve to him, he had to put his full attention to this. Anything else was presently meaningless. If he was able to gain Ayve’s full trust he would learn anything else through him anyway (if this was related to him as Stephen assumed it was).

*

When Stephen returned from a walk in his lunch break and the doors of the elevator opened on the storey that his office was situated at, Doherty, his colleague who had replaced him as head-investigator in the nymph-case, stood in front of him, accompanied by… well… how could he describe what he saw without dwelling in clichés? A tall, slender, athletic looking man with night-black hair that probably reached his shoulders when it was not bound back as it was at this moment, dressed in similarly black clothing. A rare sight, definitely no Secret Service agent, but in itself not that remarkable taking into account with whom Stephen regularly shared bed.

What was striking was the look of disdain that met Stephen’s face when he lifted his head after his short intake of the man, already moving out of the elevator. Those green eyes – unnaturally sharp green eyes – looked at Stephen in a relentless frostiness that would have scared Stephen in a more meaningful encounter. But he did not know who this man was so all it stirred in him was irritation.

Only when Stephen’s eyes accidentally passed over the hand the man had positioned flatly on the wall of the elevator – the other one rested on his hips in a pose that seemed to suggest that he owned the place – was his attention truly caught: that lonely ring there looked precisely like the one Ayve had started to wear lately.

Stephen had to refrain from putting the question forth that had jumped onto his tongue as it would have given away his ongoing contact with Ayve, but the cruel, knowing smirk on this man’s face gave him a pretty good answer already. The elevator doors shut.

*

Stephen sat in front of the TV, a glass of wine in front of him on the table, lost in thought. He had found out about this strange man, knew who he was. And now he ached to learn what connected him to Ayve. He should have asked Ayve why he had thought that incident in Bolivia was such a big deal. They had met twice since and it just hadn’t occurred to him. Or rather: he had not regarded it as important.

But then again: he had thought it was not important because he knew it would be revealed to him in time. Why should he be less patient now just because he had seen that man? –Yes, because that was in his nature as a human: being curious. But Stephen decided on fighting that impulse once more. Ayve had said he would confide in him. He had signalised that he was going to tell Stephen some things on their trip. And Stephen knew that Ayve did not like being pushed. Although he could not be sure, Stephen surmised that his self-restraint in the matter of asking questions might have been one of the reasons why Ayve had opened up a little (or much, he wasn’t sure how to interpret his change in behaviour). He would not risk losing Ayve’s trust again.

The latest developments were remarkable enough. The night the two of them had spent in July had been more passionate than any before. It had left Stephen trembling, nurtured the determination in him that he would do anything to convince Ayve to stay with him (as long as it was not to Lissy’s disadvantage at least). That this meant something. That it felt damn good and not just for him. Whatever Ayve would say: he could not make Stephen believe that he had felt nothing in his arms, inside him. And yet Stephen had not dreamed about ever seeing Ayve in the state he had encountered him in afterwards.

That expression in his face, this sadness or pain or whatever it had been in the hospital had been the first clear sign. Ayve had acted strange before but he had never shown this kind of emotion. He’d usually just left.

Would it have gone on like this, would Ayve have regained his countenance and hidden his feelings from Stephen if Stephen hadn’t found him in August, hadn’t confronted him at a point in time when he obviously was more emotional and had therefore been provoked to react with this burst? Had it even really been a burst of emotion or was it something similar to their encounter in Sheffield when he had challenged Stephen to jump and had claimed afterwards that he had purposefully acted like that, exploited his anger?

Now that he thought about it, those two events looked quite alike. They were. Both had occurred after Stephen had asked Ayve to stay with him although Ayve had refused to do so already. In Sheffield he had just gotten up and left the bar, apparently never to see Stephen again. And in the hospital Ayve had said that he had nothing to give and that Stephen should turn to Seya in case he needed help, not him. And both times Stephen had run after Ayve – literally in Sheffield and in a figurative sense also in August. Each time Ayve had put him into an extreme situation to provoke emotion in Stephen. To repel him. To frighten him. To drive him away. Only that Stephen had not reacted the same way. In Sheffield he had been confused and had not known what to think about Ayve. On that beach in August he had known that he wanted him.

Was that why Ayve had given in to him? Because he had seen that Stephen was no longer immature, insecure? Because he had seen that Stephen was strong-willed and knew what he wanted and did not back off even in the face of Ayve’s strange behaviour? -That made sense.

The morning after their little bath in the stormy Firth of Forth, Ayve had talked about his people for the first time. Emotionally again.

And then that evening two weeks later Ayve had been as if made of glass. There seemed nothing hidden. Stephen had only had to ask. No reservation, just honesty. And pain. And the need to trust Stephen. Or at least that was the way Stephen had perceived it. He still felt the urge to just hold Ayve only thinking about it.

No, Stephen wouldn’t press the matter. He would wait and Ayve would tell him when he felt the need to.

*

Stephen saw the man once more, one and a half weeks later. And again the guy looked daggers at him. As if he knew him. As if he had a reason to despise him. Those wild green eyes hurt.

But Doherty told Stephen that the man was not more pleasant in anybody else’s company either. He was one of those beings that had been caught in Bolivia, member of their leading family, and had copied the nymphs’ example of approaching the British government. That was all Doherty would disclose. But he chipped in that the guy was… not exactly the nicest person in the world. Not completely impolite but rather curt, snippy, when it came to certain questions and blessed with a good portion of arrogance in general.

*

Stephen dove out of a dream that he couldn’t remember. When he tried to stretch, he noticed a heavy, warm body pressing him down. He smiled drowsily as he touched the other man whose face rested on his chest. Ayve was fully dressed, his hair a silky chaos of black strands floating on his back. He must have crawled into the bed some time in the night, probably close to the morning as Stephen would have noticed him earlier otherwise. The man was fast asleep.

After enjoying the intimacy for a while, not wanting to wake Ayve up, Stephen finally slowly extracted one limb after the other. It was Sunday and his turn to make breakfast. He opened a window to let fresh air in and left the room.

Since Ayve showed no signs of life, Stephen and Lissy breakfasted alone. At around eleven Stephen took a cup of milk coffee and went back to the bedroom. He set it onto the floor (still no bedside table) and knelt down beside the bed to watch Ayve sleep. The open window had cooled down the room quite a bit so that Ayve was buried deep under the duvet. Only his face was visible, well, the part of it that was not hidden beyond the veil of black hair.

Stephen pushed the strands back and worked his way from Ayve’s cheek to his ear, with light innocent kisses. No nasty intentions, Lissy was in her room and could decide that she’d like some company anytime. Still he felt his tongue develop a will of its own and leave his mouth to tenderly lick Ayve’s ear. That small, yet sensual touch stimulated him already.

“Ayve, wake up,” he breathed into his ear.

No reaction.

A part of Stephen wanted to join Ayve under the coverlet, just snuggle up to him. And that part asked him, what the other voice in him that said ‘it’s midday, don’t’ had to offer him after all. Right it was. He had no obligations so why shouldn’t he enjoy the comforts a few more moments in bed?

He shifted Ayve so there was enough space for him, lifted the blanket and dove into the warmth beneath it. Before he knew what was happening, he was already back in the tight embrace he had left two hours ago. “Cheater,” Stephen complained about this trap. A damp deep-throated snigger against his chest was all he received in turn. Before he knew it, he had dozed off.

When Stephen awoke two hours later, the bed beside him was vacated.

He stumbled - the daze of a sweaty mid-day sleep in his body, massaging his face - to the bathroom to help himself into a state of consciousness with the help of a bit cold water. Living room and kitchen were unoccupied. He poked his head around the door to Lissy’s room. She was solving a puzzle, music silently running in the background.

“Darling, have you seen Ayve?” She looked at him curiously. Right she hadn’t even known he had been here. But she didn’t comment on that, merely shook her head. Stephen smiled at her and shut the door behind him.

Frowning slightly he went back to the bedroom to look for any signs of Ayve’s whereabouts there. His gaze moved immediately to a large envelope that rested on his desk. He knew why sleeping at daytime was a bad idea… He hadn’t seen that one in his drowsiness. Had stumbled straight past it.

Stephen grabbed the inconspicuous brown envelope and shuffled back to the living room and further on into the kitchen where he helped himself to a cup of very strong coffee before he slumped down in one of the comfortable cane chairs and carefully ripped the brown paper open. Somehow he did not really mind this short visit and silent departure. Stephen was used to both and that Ayve would care to come here just to spend a few hours lying in Stephen’s embrace when he could have easily rented a room if he had needed a place to stay provided him with a very warm feeling. They’d soon enough have weeks to converse.

The first thing Stephen extracted out of the envelope was a small pile of paper. He put it aside next to the coffee on the table. When he reached deeper into the envelope, he got hold of a small tourist’s brochure. The last things were flight tickets.

He put everything aside and seized the first pile again, having spotted Ayve’s – despite him being left-handed – beautiful hand on the first sheet (his observation had usually told him that left-handed people’s writing wasn’t particularly elaborate). Stephen took a careful sip of the still hot coffee and started reading.

Stephen,

I just came by to give you a bit more information about what to expect from the trip, what to prepare for. I have to admit, it’s strange for me to have to prepare at all. I usually just step onto the plane (or whatever other means of transportation) and go. But of course you are bound to different circumstances. Even writing this is strange for me.

So, what to pack: I would ask you 1) to pack very simple clothing made of natural materials such as wool. Please don’t choose lurid clothing, you’ll catch enough attention without it.

2) Please refrain from taking any modern technology (anything depending on electricity/batteries) with you. Not only do I dislike the idea of these things influencing our culture, they would also nourish distrust in some either because of their strangeness or because they are prove and reminder for the fact that humanity prospers whereas it has caused the downfall of our culture. You will not be openly attacked verbally or physically no matter what – that is far from our mentality - but you will undoubtedly draw a few unfriendly gazes upon you and I would rather not encourage this notion any more than necessary.

3) Banality: it will be cold. Usually ranging between 0 and ten degrees (Celsius). While me and my kind are used to sleeping in cool conditions, warmed as far as is possible for us by heated stones and animal hides, you would probably do yourself a favour by taking warm blankets with you. Again: please no artificial materials - which rules the common sleeping bags out.

4) Naturally, every item of personal hygiene that would pollute the environment (such as shampoo; tooth paste should be okay) stays in your bathroom, please. I would also advise you not to take anything strongly artificially scented with you (such as a strongly perfumed deodorant). You will understand that this is unknown to people living under such limited conditions and might be cause for displeasure. Be assured that despite our living conditions ‘my’ people have maintained a pronounced liking for personal hygiene; they pay more attention to it than some ‘modern’ humans, in a strictly ritualized manner – you don’t have to worry for that matter.

5) As the saying is: what goes up must come down. Pack only what you need and feel able to carry over a longer distance. And don’t take anything with you that will produce litter. But thinking about the more basic needs I suppose you will prefer to bring a bit of toilet paper. And perhaps a pocket knife. My ancestors were great craftsmen in many areas, one of them the handling of metal but those days are long gone since we have been deprived of the ore supplies. Therefore our ‘cutlery’ might not meet your requirements.

I suggest meeting at the airport three hours before the flight. We’ll be flying to Shanghai, change planes there and go on to Kunming, the capital of Yunnan. From there we need to take a rather uncomfortable bus to Zhongdian (see map). In the end we need to travel past Deqin into the mountains.


Ayve had given him the name of the Chinese province they’d be visiting already a few weeks ago so Stephen had the required information to apply for a visa. Now he skimmed through the other sheets to find the map. It was a not very detailed computer print, showing the aforementioned province. The route Ayve had described led right into the Tibetan mountains. Stephen was quite bemazed to see streets winding through them


As you can see, that area is made available for travellers these days. Which in our case basically means that we have to climb quite a bit to get to my clan as they try to keep the risk of being exposed to human eyes as small as possible of course. If you switch on your PC and search in the internet I’m sure you’ll find enough pictures that will give you an idea what you are up to. We talk about wooded area, so this is not about mountain climbing à la Reinhold Messner. I know that you are not trained for that. Yet I think you might want to take some rope with you. The slopes are steep, otherwise they wouldn’t hold off intruders…

Now to something else I’d like to… well, bring to your awareness.

We have agreed that I would open up to you. Tell you about my past, confide my emotions to you (or regain them through our being together, whatever) and that we – at least in the long run – are striving to come to a point where I am not keeping any major secrets from you. I suppose this is the moment when I have to stop hiding.

Back in Shanghai you asked me whether I was manipulating your mind in any way and I said no. That wasn’t exactly true. I am manipulating every human’s mind. I manipulate the way my physics are perceived.

Actually, I have wondered since you first learned about me having been killed in a violent manner why you never asked how. Why you never noticed the absence of any sign of this on my body.


Stephen’s heart pounded hard and fast. He bent over the letter in a sense of foreboding and yet longing to learn what Ayve had to reveal. The adrenaline rushed through his veins.


When Seya described the moment when I bent over the broken body of my father, soaked in blood, he referred to me being soaked in my blood. We will get to discussing the ‘incidents’ that led to this scene in time. At the moment, what you need to know is that the picture of me that your mind provided you with, the sound of me that it claimed to have heard and the touch of my skin that your brain claims you have felt was faked. I provided you with the image of myself the way I looked and sounded and felt before I was killed.

I intend to drop the mask the next time we see each other. Which will be on our trip. I hope you can cope with this information and my ‘altered’ appearance.

I’d like to say more but I’m lacking words (yet again). Until November?

Ayve.


Stephen dropped the sheets onto his lap, chuckling perplexed. He grabbed the cup to have something to hold on to, to assure him that he was still wide awake. His hands were trembling slightly. Goodness, this man really knew how to shake him. And he loved to make use of this ability. Comes here in the middle of the night, sits down to write this letter in which he – along with a bunch of banalities – talks casually about the most intimate experiences like the murder of his father and himself as if it didn’t really have any importance and… Stephen shook his head.

This man was an enigma. At one moment Ayve was insightful and caring, in the next he seemed to have no idea about feelings at all. What was this? Wouldn’t it have been ten times better to sit down together and talk Stephen through this rather than to throw the naked facts onto a sheet of paper, enjoy the comforts of a warm bed and leave before he was risking to be confronted with the contents of his literary outpour?

All these bits and pieces that Ayve threw at him drove Stephen mad! So he had hidden something from him. What exactly? A scar? What was there to hide about a scar? Paul ran around with one in his face all the time.


He sighed and took a sip of the warm drink to calm down.

*

“I suppose you don’t even mind anymore that I henceforth officially regard you as manic.” Low, harsh sounds were all that a human would have heard. The two men in the room talked in a language that was strange to this lower race’s ears.

Chuckling. He buried his hands in his full hair, face hidden somewhere beneath the mass of fingers and black strands. “Doesn’t really make a difference, does it? It’s not as if it weren’t the truth…” He shoved the long strands away from his neck, over his head so they fell forward over his lap.

The man in front of him was pacing the room in a momentary loss for words. He wasn’t made for this. If he had been, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

“You cannot be serious! Ayve!” His voice was nearly pleading, for a second, or it would have been if he had been able to produce such a sound, control his temper this much. He stood now in front of Ayve who sat on an armchair. He placed his hands on the armrests so he towered over Ayve. He indeed suppressed his anger remarkably well when he spoke again.

“I have tolerated your little crush. I do…,” he bit his tongue, “understand your needs up to a certain degree and have beard the fact that you did not seek an alternative. Granted humans are easy to control. And I suppose there are more repellent specimen than this one although I really don’t see how anyone – especially not you of all people! – could be attracted to him.”

Ayve chuckled again. Not exactly cheerfully but still in display of amusement.

“But Ayve - please! - what do you aim at by going through with this farce? An affair is one thing but how do you think he will react when it comes to his knowledge that you’ve dragged that blondie right into the mountains to have a happy family meeting?” Ayve snorted shortly with laughter. Sure. “Or do you plan the next trip already? Hello, daddy #2, this is my new love?”

Ayve rubbed his forehead, still smiling in amusement. “Why should I care about what he thinks?” he replied. “Pheus, he is weak. Why to hell should I give a damn what he thinks about me?”

“Because he is the one to decide. You have not yet fulfilled your part of the bargain. He can still back off!” the raspy voice spit out.

Ayve shook his head, amusement still present. “He couldn’t afford that. We are the future. He’s just scum. You know it, I know it and despite of his big mouth he knows that, too. This bargain was a lure and you know it. It was a way for him to keep his dignity. He will not dare to let me off the hook again just because I am bedding a human. Half of our kin is wading deep in that mud, as he’d call it – he’ll have to get accustomed to that idea.”

Pheus went back to pacing the room in exasperation.

“Just because half of my kin are fools, that doesn’t mean that it’s okay for you to strike that path of perversion. Ayve! To hell, look what they’ve done to you, to us! How can you?”

He paced further on.

“I should have gone down the whole path. I should have finished him.”

Ayve had stopped messing with his hair, his face was visible again.

“Pheus, stop that. That is out of question and you know it. You won’t dare to touch him again!”

His voice was calm, but determined. He got up and stopped Pheus in his tracks.

“Of course I’ll never forget what’s happened, you know that all too well. But you’ve given me the key argument yourself: humans are controllable. Back then I was shocked, mortified. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to do that to me. He is no danger to me. What do I have to lose?”

The other man raised an eyebrow.

“Apart from your dignity?”

–“Have I ever had that?”

***


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