Ariana (Pathos, Book 4) eBOOK

1: THE ANGEL


Ariana sat on the edge of her bed, gritting her teeth against the familiar ache of her condition. The pain washed through her swollen joints and misshapen bones in continual waves that pulsed with each beat of her heart. With a grimace, she lowered her heavy feet to the cold floor and let them settle there. She gathered her strength to stand. With one hand on the edge of the white canopy bed and the other on her cedar nightstand, she pushed her body to an upright position, biting back the whimper that escaped her clenched lips.

Stubbornly, she turned up her nose at the metal walker, snorting at the goofy tennis balls crammed onto the front legs. Passing it up, she threw her weight onto the dresser, then the door frame, then the door, willing her body to do as she said. Twisting the knob quietly and pulling it open on oiled hinges, she glanced down the long hallway toward the restroom. Ariana’s long, wavy hair dripped with sweat and plastered around her pallid face. She scowled at the crutches propped right outside her door, and left them in the corner.

She made her way down the hallway, leaning heavily on the wall, and paused occasionally, breathing in gasps with her eyes shut tight. Girls her age didn’t cry over minor inconveniences such as this, her parents would tell her. But most girls my age can walk and laugh and run painlessly, thought the girl in waves of bitterness. Girls my age go on dates and worry about makeup and getting their driver’s license and their first cars. If only… Ariana bit down on her lip and stopped the thought. She felt she would sink into a sour darkness if she continued thinking that way. She had not been raised to be bitter and angry.

She had been brought up to be strong and quiet, as part of a closeknit nuclear family with no immediate relatives.
Having no other kids in the family, and schooling at home due to her mobility and other medical issues, left her lonesome and awkward. Ariana twisted the doorknob to the bathroom like a lifeline of safety, spilling into the room and closing the door before she turned on the lights.
She sat on the edge of the bathtub, drawing a bath as hot as she could stand. Only the heat soothed her pain for a while, so she bathed often. Even in the middle of the night with the moon high overhead. She pulled her small battery powered radio from a nearby shelf, turning the tiny dial to ON. She fumbled with the volume in a panic, telling it to hush with a hissing voice, and then breathed a sigh of relief when it dropped to a wee-hours level. She liked the crackling imperfection of its distinctive transistor sound, feeling moved by that as much as the smooth oldies she tuned in.

Her parents always worried about her post-midnight “stealth bathing”, thinking she’d surely fall asleep and drown. They often forgot she had been a teenager for a while, rendering such possibilities quite unlikely. In a darker mood as the pain slowly eased in her legs, Ariana scoffed. Her pain knew better than to let her go that easily. She snorted, letting the idea of some permanent relief wash over her, no matter how morbid the method. Then she cut that line of thought, pushing it deep for lighter times long after they find a way to heal her body.

Ariana dipped her toes in the steaming water, drawing in a sharp breath at the temperature. Then she plunged one foot in, followed by the other, then slowly, painfully, lowered her body into the bath. The stinging water carried her mind away with the pain, seeking out more normal teenage avenues. Boys, what few she met online or in person, had drawn her interest of late. They often smiled at her face and turned away from her twisting, knobby joints. Perhaps, she thought, it’s just as well. I can’t go out like this, not truly. She sighed, as much in relaxation as chagrin.

Struggling out of the water once it cooled had proven the real challenge. Still warm from her bath, and then hot from the exertion of getting up from the bath, Ariana leaned over the sink. She stared sideways at the soapy water swirling down the drain. Tired again, her pain returning, she cupped her hands, splashed the water over her hot face and stared into the mirror. Her pale pink eyes glared back in disgust, reflecting the room’s somber earth tones and warm overhead light, a warmth that she did not feel in her heart. I’m so tired, just sick of it! She clenched the edge of the sink.

There’s no reason for this pain! If it doesn’t stop, how can I keep believing in what they taught me? She squeezed her eyes shut against such reasoning. Her dad’s teaching came back to her. It rains on the just and the unjust.

Ariana dug her fingers through her wet hair, taking out her frustration in the rough separation of the tangles and knots. Then she brushed her hair smooth, wondering how she could get so tousled in just a few hours of sleep and a careful washing. The strands that slipped between her fingers dried quickly and were fine as silk, each hair translucent more than white, casting a lavender-gray frame around her pixie face and eerie pale eyes.

“Tired faith is a lonely path, they say, but so is this.” Ariana set her brush on the sink. Her scalp now sore with her detangling, she sighed, offering a half-hearted prayer. “I don’t know how much longer I can believe. So if you’re listening, I need something more than tired faith right now.”

She turned off her old transistor radio and left the bathroom as quietly as she entered, turning off the light before she opened the door. When she left the bathroom, her scuffling gait woke her parents as she passed their door. She heard someone shuffling toward their door, and cursed for having disturbed them.

“Ariana—dear?” Mother appeared at the door in an instant, making hardly a sound save for the rustling flow of her long nightgown as the folds caught up to her and settled around her ankles. Mother’s sweet perfume flowed after her. “Why are you out of bed on your own? And without your crutches? We would have come to help had you called.”

Ariana felt guilty, but somehow defiant. She drew a breath to retort on her near-adult age. Then Mother’s look of combined worry, pity and concern cut off the words before they came. Mother’s afflicted only-child had come to recognize it as anxiety-laden love. Mother’s expression so altered the placid, lineless pale face that she seemed a mere specter of the smiling, joyful-eyed woman Ariana remembered dancing with, hand in hand, before the symptoms appeared.

“Jacob, help her!”

Father dug his knuckles into his sleepy eyes and dug through his thick crop of black hair. Then he leveled Ariana with a quiet, concerned scowl. Her lip quivered. After a second, he broke his sad expression and smiled genuinely, still bleary eyed from sleepiness or tearfulness. He reached down a large, calloused hand and ruffled Ariana’s hair.

Then he lifted her chin with two thick fingers and, grinning into Ariana’s pink eyes, said, “It’s all right, Love. Annie here’s just wantin’ to explore her own limits. She’ll move mountains one day.” He kissed Ariana’s forehead. “No harm done.”

Ariana’s knees gave out at the most inopportune times. This time, she wanted to show them how she’d move mountains one day by bravely continuing on down the hallway without leaning on the wall. Father scooped her up before she hit the floor, well before Ariana’s mother had time to cry out. His smooth, steady stride whisked her away down the hallway with her hands clamped together behind his neck and her cheek laid against his tan throat. He whispered loving words in an odd accent that hovered somewhere between Australian and Scottish, having had one of each nationality as his parents. Ariana sighed, content in Father’s comforting embrace.

Her mother led the way and swung the door open wide before tidying Ariana’s small bed. Mother. Celeste. Love, Father called this beautiful woman. And Angel, too. Yes, Ariana thought as she drifted toward sleep, she looks like an angel—tall and pale and perfect. The young girl’s eyes drifted closed as Father placed her carefully on the straightened sheets, like a china doll that would shatter if jostled. But why? I’m fourteen years old. I’m practically grown!

The last thing she remembered before she fell into a deep sleep was her mother’s cool hand on her forehead. How comforting that touch was to Ariana! The touch drained away all her pain, if only for a while, and she could rest, knowing her mother the angel sat with her.

* * *

Back in their bedroom, Celeste sat with her face buried in her hands. She bit her lip and lifted the lid off a carved marble jewelry box. She cupped the end of a long necklace in her hand, clutching it to her breast. Her shoulders shook as she muffled the sobs that wracked her slight frame against Jacob’s shoulder. He draped his arm around her shoulders. His face heavier than before, his gray eyes held a burden only his wife understood.

“Were we wrong to take her, Jacob? Can we protect her as she is now?” Celeste heaved a breath, shaking all over.

“She would be dead by now if we stayed. They would’ve snuffed out her life years ago, and then we would have failed!” Jacob squeezed her shoulders. “She has had the chance to live—away from your people!”

“But what a life, my husband! My people would have helped us understand! They could have cured her!” Celeste cried, leaning into Jacob’s arms.

“Are you so sure this is sickness, my Angel? Hasn’t even one of your kind suffered this way?” Jacob pulled her away from his neck and looked into her eyes.

She shook her head. “I learned so little about her before we left, and understood even less of my training there!”
Celeste stared at the small white spear on the end of the necklace. “If only you would speak for me.” She gave the tiny spear one last squeeze and replaced it in her jewelry box.

“I have ordered the supplies for the last piece. I should be able to start tomorrow.” She cast a wistful glance at Jacob.

“A ring, a guide for her path. I see a bird wreathed in flames. She calls out to me, but I can’t hear her name. This power, it haunts me even far away from that mountain!”

“Then it's time we tell her. She must understand why she suffers. If her position is so high, we should teach her now.” Jacob’s kind eyes pleaded with her.

“No!” Her hands dropped from her tear-soaked face in a panic. “I can’t put her through that! Tell her what she is and that she’ll never know peace? I want to keep my little girl safe! I want her to live free of the destiny they’ll force upon her! As long as we can!”

Celeste broke down into sobs once more.

“Then we will wait. We will hold her as long as we can, but soon she’ll take flight on us, Love. With a spirit like hers, she will soar!”

THE PATHOS SERIES:

Tamara Henson's ever-expanding Pathos universe spans space and dimensions beyond the waking world to bring fresh life to mythologies, folklore, and legends, spinning epic original locations and memorable, multi-dimensional characters in rich detail with her playful dialogue and direct writing style.

Join Rowan Jun in his path toward redemption from slave to warrior. Walk the path of Briescha, a born diplomat so dedicated to her sister that she would shatter the cosmos to keep her safe.

Follow Solana into the wilderness as she escapes those who seek to harm her, and follows the voice of the mysterious Taiyo of the Flames.

Let Ariana guide you through her new life in the Mansion in the Mountain, where the mystery of her family is finally revealed, and her true trial begins. 

Tread the path toward life and redemption, where suffering and pain hold the promise of a brighter, more joyful future.

The Pathos Series!

Seek out all these books in the Pathos Series:

The Pathos of Rowan Jun (Pathos, Volume 1)

Silver Empress (Pathos, Volume 2)

Solana: A Pathos Sidetrack (Companion Novella)

Ariana: A Pathos Sidetrack (Companion Novella)