Intaglio Dragons All The Way Down

chapter 30: Triptych



Jon stood on the deck of the ship, the shouted prayers disappearing into the roaring voice of an enraged ocean. He knew the psalm, but he couldn’t hear it. Still he clung to the meaning of its words.

“They cried to the Lord God in their distress; from their difficulties, He rescued them…”

A stone’s throw from him, two sailors were lashing the sails, indifferent to his words.

“He calmed the Storm to a gentle breeze, and the rage of the sea was stilled…”

A wave, the height of a house rose on the starboard side and he grabbed hold of the rails, his voice rising.

“They were joyful that the Seas were calmed, and that He brought them to their peaceful destination…”

The wave slammed downward with a weight that drove the air from his lungs. Jon coughed and gasped, choked by seawater. When he opened his eyes again, there was only one sailor holding the ropes.

“Let these Sailors give thanks,” Jon screamed, terror rising. “Thanks to the Lord God for his Kindness!”

The deck underneath him groaned, the mast snapping under the power of the wind. Jon’s voice faded to nothing, eyes wide like a child. The ship lolled on its side, dark hands of water reaching out for him.

“We’re lost…” he gasped.

Fear was an anchor in his chest, dragging him down.

: : : : : : : : : :

Hanna O’Mally walked along the sand, her bloodshot eyes squinting into the distance.

It was morning, the night’s tempest spent. Debris cluttered the shore, the once-proud ships now broken down to kindling by God’s wrath. Hanna lifted her hand, hastily crossing herself. She shouldn’t think such things, but the force of the storm had left little doubt in her mind.

She was alive by the grace of God alone.

There was a man’s boot and a cask bobbing just off shore. She’d been walking since she’d awoken on the sand, her body bruised and battered, but still, impossibly, alive. There were other survivors too; a barber-surgeon from Dorset who was assisting the wounded, and her Ladyship, Hanna’s employer, who’d shown herself surprisingly effective at doling out food and water. There was a Protestant preacher with a broken arm, a lean, unsmiling man, who sat, whey-faced, on the shore. He’d been staring out at the waves as she’d passed him, his shoulders hunched and sagging.

“Are you praying?” Hanna had asked him.

He’d shaken his head, not lifting his eyes. Hanna had turned, meaning to help others, but something about his grief-stricken face had stopped her. She turned back, shifting nervously. They didn’t share a faith, and she wasn’t sure what he’d say to the prayers of a so-called Papist.

“Would… would you like me to pray with you, sir?” she asked gently.

He’d lifted his gaze, the brokenness of his expression shocking her into silence.

“There’s no point,” he muttered, “My faith is gone… G-god has forsaken me.” His face crumpled in despair.

On the beach, Hanna crossed herself again, steps quickening.

There were several sailors amongst the survivors. They’d located one of the small dories, upended but still seaworthy, a little ways off shore. They trawled up and down the coast, searching for the lost. For every person they pulled from the waves, another five were floating face-down in the water. Ahead of Hanna, a small outcrop of trees spread out toward the shore, the limbs dropping down toward the ocean. She could hear water running somewhere and she narrowed her gaze, trying to locate its source.

That’s when she saw them.

Far in the distance, their bodies shadows of blue against the bright gold sand, were two figures. As she reached the trees, she could see that they were lying side by side on the beach.

“Hullo…?” she called. “D’you need some help there?”

: : : : : : : : : :

Kip lurched upright in bed, gasping. “Please, God, no!” he shouted, struggling against an unseen opponent. The sheets were tangled around his legs and he couldn’t move, the nightmare still hanging just out of reach.

“Kip,” Raya mumbled, her hand brushing his shoulder. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”

He froze at the sound of her voice. He didn’t feel like he was asleep, the panic a noose around his neck. He scrubbed a hand across his face, reorienting himself with his surroundings. Raya flicked on the lamp on the bedside table. The dark wood headboard was exactly as he remembered it, the ochre walls, the large mirror on one side… nothing had changed.

And yet it felt like something had.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Raya said. “Praying, I think.”

He turned in surprise.

“Praying?”

She shrugged.

“That’s what it sounded like to me.”

Kip struggled to recapture the dream, but it was already gone. Across from the bed, Ava’s three panels hung on the wall. He’d had them since early Spring, but they were still untouched, her brushstrokes exactly as she’d left them. The truth was, Kip hadn’t been able to bring himself to add to them. They meant something. The riddle behind the story of the painting felt closer than ever tonight.

“Kip...?” Raya prompted, touching his shoulder again.

When he didn’t answer, she rolled toward him, leaning so that her naked breast curved against his arm.

“You okay?” she asked. “You seem pretty upset.”

“Yeah… I’m fine. The dream was just… different,” he uttered, his body starting to relax. “I’m okay now.”

He settled down, turning toward her. In the dim light, her body was hazy. He ran a hand up her neck into her hair, pulling her into a kiss. She was warm and soft and his body jumped in reaction. The two of them had been together for the last year and a half – had been friends for years before that – but things had solidified in the last months. His free hand rose to cup her breast and she made a throaty growl, the kiss deepening. With a quick shift of her hips, she climbed atop him, rocking gently. Kip’s hands slid to her narrow waist, holding her steady where she straddled him.

“Wait a minute,” he muttered, dropping his eyes to her lithe form and then back up to her face. “I need to do something, first.”

She sighed in exasperation, climbing off. Clambering out of the bed, Kip walked over to the far side of the bedroom and lifted each of the three panels, turning them around to face the wall.

Hidden.

When he turned back around, Raya's eyes glittered brightly despite the dim room. Kip knew that his refusal to put his own graffiti atop Ava’s paintings had bothered her as much as his insistence on hanging the panels in their bedroom. Her eyes were wide and worried, not quite ready to ask, but curious. Kip gave a boyish grin.

“I showed the panels to Rick the last time he came by the studio,” Kip said sheepishly. (He knew how Raya felt about his continued interest in the career of Ava Brooks.) Raya pulled the covers up over her breasts, annoyed.

“Oh really...” she said tartly, one thin eyebrow arching like a question mark.

Kip chuckled.

“He wants to buy them.”

Raya’s irritated expression flipped into surprise.

“Honestly?”

He nodded, walking back to the bed, and sitting down beside her.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “At the time I said no, wouldn’t even give Rick her name…” Kip trailed his hand along the cotton sheet that obscured her skin, imagining the long legs underneath. His fingers traced words, leaving random love letters in invisible script atop her flesh. “Kept telling myself I didn’t need the competition, seeing as Rick’s the one doing my promotions for Asia.”

Raya rolled her eyes.

“You sound like me.”

Kip leaned forward, brushing her lips in a light kiss.

“The art field’s competitive,” he said with a shrug. “Everyone knows that, Ry. I do know how to look out for myself.”

His fingers trailed higher, reaching her hip and then her waist, continuing to leave ephemeral graffiti across her body. Raya shivered, goose-bumps rising where his hand had passed.

“And now...?” she asked, her eyes moving over to the reversed panels. Kip knew that Ava Brooks bothered her. He slid closer, his fingers reaching her ribs and from there to her arms.

“I’ve decided that I am going to sell them to Rick.” Kip said with a shrug. “They bother me. I can’t explain it, Raya… I just need to make…” he closed his eyes, the dream like a word hovering just out of reach, “a clean break.”

He opened his eyes to find Raya watching him. Her expression was soft and tender.

“You sure about that?”

Kip grinned.

“I can handle a bit of competition. And Ava deserves some recognition. She’s pretty damn good”

Next to him, Raya moved closer, the sheet falling past her nipples.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, “she really is.”

Kip’s fingers reached her bare chest, his fingertips slowly tracing individual letters across her heart. Raya’s eyes dropped down, watching the tag appear as if inked on her flesh. He laid his hand on her skin, holding it there until her eyes met his.

“I love you too,” she whispered.