Chapter 39: Preparations
In the House of the Winds in Clonee, Dublin 15, Fleur was deeply upset on the day of the winter solstice. She was watching the Professor’s preparations to leave and meet Anemo and Remi, but she was not allowed to go with him. Her parents had been absolutely strict and unyielding on the matter.
"It's freezing, and the road is covered in ice!" her father had said, firmly.
"The Professor has enough on his plate; you're the last thing he needs right now! Stay safely at home, and you can see Anemo tomorrow morning!" her mother had added.
But, of course, her parents had no idea that going after Anemo didn't mean a quick drive to the airport, but a tense journey to Roscommon instead.
So Fleur could do nothing but watch helplessly as the animals bustled around excitedly, getting ready to take over the back seat of the jeep.
"Did you pack warm clothes for Anemo and Remi, Professor?" the little tufted-haired girl asked.
"Packed!" Professor Simoon replied, stuffing a heavy backpack.
"And boots?"
"Packed!"
"Torch?"
"Got it!"
"A flask of hot tea or hot chocolate?"
"I've got spirits, and I've got a flask... of coffee," the Professor muttered, trying to sound calmer than he actually felt.
Fleur leaned down toward the animals, looking at them with a grown-up seriousness:
"Be good, you guys! Listen to the Professor! He doesn’t understand what you say, but you understand him... Make sure you don't get lost!"
Mistral, despite all the commotion and the overwhelming emotions of the departure, tried his best to maintain his cool *chat noir* attitude, as if he were completely in control of the situation. It wasn't easy at all, especially since Aeolus had already curled up so snugly in the thick fur on the back of his neck that it was causing little tickles all the way down his spine. The library mouse took his role very seriously; he stayed perfectly still, looking like a little puff of dust rescued from the manuscript shelves.
Beside them, Sirocco was shivering with anticipation, his tail raised like a question mark, ready to bolt through the open door. Professor Simoon checked his watch, firmly zipped up the backpack full of heavy clothes, and took one last glance out of the window, where the freezing Dublin drizzle was slowly turning into black ice. The drive to Roscommon, through the longest night of the year, was about to begin.
***
Thousands of miles away, under the open sky of Cairo, the preparations moved at a completely different pace. Here, they were not counting boots or prepping flasks of coffee; instead, they were reviewing the images to be printed on their retinas and the steps to follow inside the labyrinth of the Mirrors of Time.
In Shehrazad’s black-and-white mosaic courtyard, the atmosphere had grown thick, almost tangible. The winter solstice could be felt in the air, which had lost its usual heat, giving way to a chill that was unusual for Egypt. The twins, Samir and Demir, each had a tear in the corner of their eyes, reflecting a honey-like sun.
"Jaddati, couldn't we go with them too? Remi made so many sacrifices for us; she brought Demir back to me."
Shehrazad had finished placing the last strands of rope soaked in cedar resin around the lip of the well. She turned toward her twins, who were now standing on either side of Remi and Anemo. Her bronzed face was lit only by the pale reflection of the first stars.
"Samir, I know you've grown close to Remi, but not long ago you promised you wouldn't leave me alone again. Have you forgotten? Time is on our side! I am certain that the bridges built between us will last forever. Bringing our dear Remi back into her woman's body is just the final step toward normality. They will come back to us... you'll see."
Shehrazad then walked over, picked up a parcel from the black marble table, and began to unwrap it.
"I almost forgot," she continued. "I have this front carrier backpack for you. It's safer this way. Remi will be held tightly against your chest, and... I also have these."
From the deep pocket of her linen dress, the woman pulled out two photographs.
"I know you have the network of the Wells of Time saved on your phone, but it doesn't hurt to have everything backed up on paper... Goodness, I'm so nervous!"
Anemo had already slung his own khaki backpack onto his back, packing away their essential things. He took the green front carrier from her hands and embraced her, exactly as he would have embraced his own mother.
"You have a giant heart, Shehrazad! We are only parting for a little while. Perhaps we'll see each other next time in Ireland. I promise it's an island that can spark the interest of any history lover."
Shehrazad wiped away a tear with the wide sleeve of her dress and, adopting a serious look, added:
"Is the image of the volcanic glass pools in Oweynagat fixed on your retinas? Everything will be fine!"
Anemo adjusted the green front carrier backpack, secure against his chest, tightening the straps with great care while the khaki backpack rested firmly on his spine.
"Will you be alright, Remi?"
"I'm fine, and I'm not afraid, Anemo!"
In her blue eyes, there was no fear of the water—only the fierce determination of an author who refused to be broken by circumstances.
While in Dublin Professor Simoon's jeep sped away onto the slippery road toward the west of Ireland, in Cairo, Shehrazad raised her hands over the well. The water inside began to tremble, ready to swallow the distances and the centuries.
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