Of What is Red

Chapter 7: To Like It Red

Rowan and I cuddled that night. He had invited me to sit with him on top of the skoolie, where he set up a makeshift bed inside the built-in guard rails.

“I'll drive further up the hill," he stated from atop the bus, having just deployed the last of his desired blankets and pillows. “Lumora is beautiful from up there."

Given the situation and the way he treated it, I knew it wasn't a come-on. He wanted to make me feel better, so fueled by his guilt for having upset me at such an inappropriate moment.

I nodded, accepting his help up to the roof. Once I was soundly situated in blankets, he climbed down the hatch and began the drive. I found a simple pleasure in sitting at such a height, in the open air as the skoolie carried me lackadaisically up the hill. I smiled in sad appreciation, breathing deeply.

He found us a spot that revealed the Lumora encampment as a layered series of tents, huts, and fire pits built into a layered series of hills, the glowing flowers acting as nature's warm nightlights.

“It is beautiful," I told him as he climbed the hatch to join me.

“I told you," he said, offering a weak smile before turning his attention to the city. He sat beside me, propping up his pillows without looking. He had cut his amazing hug short to set this up for us, so he motioned for me to resume being held. “If you'd like," he added.

I got the impression he would do this for anyone, as intimate as it was.

I leaned into him, and he held me. He never told me to leave, and I never decided to leave, so we woke up like this early the following day.

“Good morning," he said at around the same time I registered my consciousness.

“Good morning," I croaked, throat sore from all the crying I did. From starting the previous day with being pressured to drink poison and die on Earth, to ending it with a Gripper attacking my feelings, I'd had a long Tuesday.

I darkly laughed to myself.

I sat up from Rowan's chest, groggily taking in the new view, so altered by the gold of the early sun. It was hard to tell that the flowers were glowing.

Curious as to the astrology of this new world, I looked for the sun and found it significantly higher in the sky than I thought it would be. If placement meant the same thing as it did on Earth, it should've been nearly noon.

The sun was orange and the clouds were pink. It would look like sunrise or sunset all day.

“It's still beautiful," I said as I returned my attention to the encampment, awed.

“I'm glad you appreciate it," Rowan replied. “Now, you don't have to answer right away, but I have an important question."

“Yes?"

“I plan to have a meal, say goodbye, then leave. Would you like to stay here, or would you like to come with me to the Crimson Kingdom?"

“I'd like to go with you to the Crimson Kingdom," I answered without skipping a beat.

He grinned. “Perfect." In that instant I knew he enjoyed my company.

Our departure went exactly as planned. We had breakfast at the banquet fire, stopped by every tent and hut to say goodbye, then left.

“How many days will it take us?" I asked as Lumora drifted into the distance behind us. The sands and the sky-void of the Land of Night returned.

“Days?" He barked a quick surprised laugh. “It's six hours. My, were you lost."

My soul went cold and shriveled. I let my face go blank, stifling any genuine expression this news could elicit.

This would be a much shorter trip than I anticipated, and I realized I had hoped to have more time to dissect his character. I didn't yet have any reason to feel less guilty for tricking him into inviting the Ivory Kingdom's invasion.

“Oh!" Rowan exclaimed, glancing at the radio before returning his attention outside. “This plays music! I'm not sure what makes it work, but it only works in the Land of Night. Strange, isn't it?"

“It is," I said slowly, genuinely. “How did you come across this…bus?" I remembered he did refer to this as a bus, so he knew what I was talking about.

“I found it in the sands," he answered, smiling proudly. “Learned to operate it myself."

I wondered if the skoolie was from this world at all. I wondered what sort of music the radio would play.

I analyzed the buttons, then found the one to turn it on.

It sounded like a sad acoustic pop-punk song, familiar even though I couldn't place what it was. The drum set and electric guitars entered, and my eyes widened when the lyrics kicked in.

I did know this song.

It was me.

I wasn't a professional singer. I was never in a band. I never recorded a song. But this was a song I made up, and this was my voice - the best I was ever able to make it, if not better. Unbridled.

Rowan glanced at me and caught an expression which likely could've been perceived as wide-eyed awe.

His smile widened. “It's good, isn't it? I couldn't tell you what those instruments are, but…" He shook his head with a happy sigh. “I wish I could have this playing anywhere."

He didn't know I was the singer, but I felt vulnerable anyway. This was a song I had made up after my mom died, promising her that I wouldn't let my grief or my duties turn me into an awful person, even though it would've felt nice to keep lashing out at everyone. I had promised to set a good example for Tulip.

I cringed at some of the forced rhymes, or cliched lyrics. I was fourteen years old when I wrote them.

This was very trippy.

“I think I might be dead," I said out loud, not anticipating how incredulous I would sound. I had heard that people would have one long, crazy dream in the last moment before death, and a lot of what was happening seemed to involve me as an unnecessary focal point.

“Oh, that was fast," Rowan muttered, then more directly stated, “It's the Night. We'll see if you still feel that way once we reach the kingdom gates, but until then, please proceed with caution - you may not actually be dead."

“I suppose that's fair," I murmured, sitting in the diner-like booth that had been installed behind his seat.

My song kept playing. It felt eerie, hearing myself on the radio. Definitely very dreamlike.

The next song played, sounding wildly different from my own, but still with mediocre lyrics. By now my best guess was that this radio played the songs regular Joes had invented on Earth, but fully produced in the style the writers had vaguely heard in their heads. I guessed the radio played mine first because I was standing right there and so it had tuned into me faster.

This world was strange.

“How do you know where to go?" I asked, kneeling in my seat so I could see him easier. “Is there a path I'm not seeing?"

Rowan tapped a large compass he had mounted on the dashboard. “All I need to know is which direction, and how much ground I've traveled." He then pointed at the odometer.

Awed at a new thought, I asked, “How did you do your searches before you found this bus?"

He shook his head and laughed with a helpless shrug.

“Luck?" I guessed.

“Luck," he confirmed, still laughing like he couldn't believe it himself. He sighed, “Oh, those were wild times."

I had an idea. “Can you teach me to drive?"

His eyebrows rose. “I can," he stated uncertainly. “But why would you want to? There aren't more of these within the Crimson gates, if that's what you're thinking."

“We have six hours to kill," I replied simply.

After a pause, he tilted his head in a half-nod, accepting this.

So he taught me. And, of course, I “learned" very quickly.

“Visual learner indeed," he muttered approvingly.

I couldn't help smiling to myself. I enjoyed his praise.

He stood silently at my side for a moment. “Well," he said. “You seem to be enjoying this."

“I am."

“Good, good. If that's the case…" He grimaced, apprehensive.

“What is it?" I asked.

“I didn't sleep last night. I'd like to do so now."

“Oh."

“The gates should just be a couple hours straight."

I had intended to offer him a break. I had hoped he would sleep. Here he freely put his fate in my hands. I didn't think this would be so easy.

“Of course," I said. “Go sleep."

He rested a comfortable hand on my shoulder, then quickly withdrew. “Sorry," he mumbled, turning away.

“For?"

He waved his hand dismissively as he crossed to the back of the bus. “If you need anything, or if things feel less real, or scary, or sad, yell for me. Please." Through the wide rearview mirror, I watched him flop comically into the bed in the nook.

I kept the bus straight for a long moment, waiting for signs the king was sleeping. At the same time, I debated if it was a good idea to follow through with my plan.

I believed this Crimson King was genuine, but many people thought the same about my father. Dad wasn't heartless, but his emotions and interpersonal ties were calculated. He was good at public relations, but this didn't mean anything to the people who worked beneath him. He would still fire anyone who had the misfortune of upsetting him one day, or manipulate them or exploit them to benefit himself at their own expense.

There were plenty of objective reasons Rowan could have shown kindness to me and everyone else we saw. It could've been because he truly did want me to be his bride, and the second we were wed he would drop the act and treat me however he wanted, all while maintaining his public facade as the king who cared.

I chewed the inside of my mouth. Roughly seven months, or enough extenuating circumstances, would show Rowan's true colors.

I turned left and kept going. Either we'd both die stranded out here, or Rowan would live to execute me for deliberate disobedience to the crown, or my plan would work.