#realta

JUNE 1, 2018 —  WAKANDA — RÉA

Bucky and I walk side-by-side out of the palace, the moonlight illuminating our way to the battlefield. A comfortable silence settles between us until Bucky breaks it.

“So why were you on your way to the battlefield?” he asks.

“I need to heal the land.”

“Heal the land?” I feel his eyes on me as he asks.

I nod. “Bloodshed and death leave energetic ‘stains’, for lack of a better word. They mark the land. And even though I brought back those who were killed, their blood still touched the land, as did the blood of those injured. And then, with the deaths of Thanos and his army…there are a lot of stains there now. And the energy needs to be balanced, or there can be problems. Maybe not immediately, but certainly in the future.”

“How do you…?” he trails off.

“How do I what?”

“How do you know how to do this?” he asks.

“Oh. Ummm…well…” I hesitate, before answering. “I didn’t say this in there; I actually haven’t ever told Tony or Pepper this, either. It’s just…it feels too…I don’t know,” I shrug. “So, I have precognition, but that’s not the entirety of it. This ‘just knowing things’ is claircognisance.”

“Claircognisance?”

“You’ve heard of clairvoyance before, right?” I ask, turning my head to look at him.

He nods. “Yeah. Sometimes there were fortune tellers at Coney Island,” he replies with a slightly sad half-smile.

“Well, that’s one of the clair senses…or, as I call them, clairs. There are nine: clairvoyance, clairaudience, claircognisance, clairintelligence, clairempathy, clairsentience, clairtangency, clairalience, and clairgustance. In that same order: see, hear, know, think, empathy, physical feeling, touch, smell, and taste.

“Clairvoyance can manifest as vivid dreams, mental images, visions, and seeing auras; clairaudience is hearing—like being alone in a car and hearing ‘turn right’; claircognisance is knowing—most people would call it ‘instinct’. Clairintelligence is what most people would classify as having an epiphany; clairempathy is an awareness of emotional energy—feeling someone’s anxiety; clairsentience is physical feeling, like feeling an injury or feeling the physical effect of an emotion, like a knot in your stomach because of anxiety; clairtangency is perceiving facts about people or objects by touching them; clairalience comes through the perception of smell, like gasoline when there’s not a pump nearby or smoke without a fire; and clairgustance is tasting things without having anything in your mouth.

“There are actually four clairs that are part of precognition: clairsentience, clairvoyance, claircognisance, and clairaudience. I’m attuned with all nine clairs, but most of my precognition tends to come through clairvoyance and claircognisance. I’m not infallible by any means; there are things I don’t know or don’t see, and things I only see or know bits and pieces of. I mean, I’m still just a Nephilim; I’m not the Divine—I’m not omniscient—but I believe I see what I’m supposed to. And I didn’t go into this earlier because I just felt like it wasn’t the time, or the place, or the audience.” I pause. “I mean, Doctor Strange asked if I was dangerous…and Steve implied that he thinks I am. And that was just from what I did share.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, I’m sorry about the word vomit.”

“Don’t be sorry. It was interesting.”

When we reach the edge of the battlefield, I take a seat on the ground, wanting to stargaze first; Bucky does the same. I’m looking at the sky, but can feel Bucky’s eyes on me.

“I’m sorry for what Strange and Steve said to you,” he says quietly.

I sigh. “When I think about it, I suppose I am dangerous.”

Tears fill my eyes as I continue. “I took lives; I killed living beings,” I say as the tears spill over and run down my cheeks. “I’ve never even picked a flower or squashed a bug before.” I draw in a shuddery breath. “And what makes it even worse is that I felt it. As they were turning to dust, I felt it. Not only their physical pain but all of their emotions: their anger, their confusion, their fear…everything.”

I’m sobbing now, unable to say more; I pull my knees to my chest and rest my head on them as I cry.

Bucky moves closer to me. He doesn’t touch me, but he sits right beside me while I cry.

“I understand that you feel that way. But you’re not dangerous…you’re good, Réa,” he says. “I know I’ve just met you, but I can see your goodness, and your kindness, and your compassion.”

He pauses, drawing in a shaky breath.

“I also know you’re good because I’ve seen evil; I’ve seen monsters…I’ve been a monster.” His voice breaks on those words.

Drying my eyes, I sit up and turn to him, the moonlight illuminating his face.

“You’re not a monster. You never were,” I say. “I’ve read about the things the Winter Soldier did, and I’ve read about the things you did: you, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, member of the one-oh-seventh and the Howling Commandos—and you’re not a monster,” I repeat with conviction.

“Tony told me what you said to him. About me. That you think I’m good.”

He pauses and hangs his head; when he speaks again, his voice is gruff.

“The things I did as the Winter Soldier would say otherwise.”

“No. No, they don’t. Because those actions weren’t yours,” I say adamantly. “I’m sure you’ll argue that you were the Winter Soldier…and I guess that’s true in that your body was. But you weren’t; not the real you. Not your heart, or your soul.” I pause. “I’m sure you don’t believe what I’m saying; I don’t expect my words to suddenly change your mind about yourself. I know that’s not how this kind of thing works. But I will say this: even though you had no control over the actions of the Winter Soldier, you feel remorse for those actions. A monster—to use your earlier word—wouldn’t care at all. Only a good man would. You are a good man, Bucky. I promise you that. I hope that one day, you believe it.”

I reach out to put my hand on his shoulder, but stop myself. Deciding that a subject change is a good idea, I lie on my back and point to the sky.

“Do you know any of the ones up there?”

“No…my knowledge of constellations pretty much consists of the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper,” Bucky replies with a faint chuckle as he also lies down.

“Okay, well, like I said earlier, I’m excited to see the other halves of some of the ones I saw last night. Like that one, Scorpius,” I point out the stars. “And there’s the rest of Lupus, and Centaurus,” I point out those stars as well.

“Can you show me some that you didn’t see?”

“Yeah.” I scan the sky, trying to decide which one to point out. “Okay, so you see Scorpius?”

“Yeah.”

“If you move down from it, you’ll get to Ara.” I draw the shape with my finger.

“What is Ara?” Bucky asks. “I know that Scorpius is a scorpion and Centaurus is a centaur, and I know that Lupus means wolf…although the constellation doesn’t look like a wolf to me.”

“Ara is the altar. And underneath it is Pavo, the peacock,” I again draw the shape.

“I don’t understand how people looked at these and saw animals and objects. I mean, some of them, sure. The Little Dipper and the Big Dipper look like their names.” He points to the sky. “But how do they look at a triangle and say it’s a duck or something?”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me. “The triangle you’re pointing at is actually called Triangulum Australe…the southern triangle.”

Bucky laughs—an actual laugh—and throws his hands up. “I give up. I’ll just have to remember these,” he says.

We lie there a little longer in comfortable silence, looking at the sky. Eventually, I sit up.

“It’s getting late. I should heal the land, then get some sleep.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind me being here?” Bucky asks.

“No. No, I don’t mind at all. But…” I trail off and fidget, feeling slightly nervous. “I’ve, um, I’ve never had an audience before. Well, I suppose any nearby wildlife may have seen,” I chuckle, “but no people. I don’t know what to tell you to expect because I’m not entirely sure myself.” I stand, and look at him. “Just stay right here, please.”

With that said, I turn and walk to the middle of the battlefield; once there, I kneel and place my hands on the ground, before plunging them into the earth. I can feel the negative energy of the battle already settling into the land, leaving stains of blood and death. I send my power into the earth as I call up the mental image of gentle waves lapping at the spots, slowly washing them away by transforming them into particles of light. I don’t know how long it takes; I just keep holding that image until the last trace is gone. Removing my hands from the earth, I open my eyes and slowly stand. I return to where Bucky is seated, once again joining him on the ground.

“You glow,” he says after a moment.

“I what?!” I ask, stunned.

“You glow,” he repeats. “Bright, but not harsh. Like a star,” he gestures to the sky.

I stare at him, floored, for several beats before I recover.

“I, um…I had no idea. I told you I’ve never had an audience of people…so maybe it always happens, or maybe it’s because this was a large area. I’ve only ever healed small areas—like where birds land on the ground after crashing into a window at the compound.” I pause. “I’ve wanted to heal more. With the things I’ve read about and seen on the news, it’s obvious that the world needs healing. It’s just that, aside from when I first arrived on Earth and today, I’ve actually never even left the compound property. Because, y’know, I was trying to keep a low profile. Guess I won’t be doing that after today,” I say with a wry, mirthless laugh. “I have a feeling things are going to be quite the opposite of low-profile from now on.”

“I’m sure you can handle it, doll,” Bucky says.

I feel my cheeks heat at the endearment, and when I look at him, I see a faint hint of pink on his as well.

“Thank you, Bucky. That’s nice of you to say.”

I’m quiet for a long moment. “Do you want to walk back with me?”

“Sure.”

We stand and make our way back to our floor. Even though it’s only several feet from his, Bucky insists on walking me to my door.

“Thank you for keeping me company, Bucky,” I say.

“Thank you for letting me,” he replies.

Our gazes meet and hold for several moments.

‘Gosh, he’s handsome. I understand the whole ‘getting lost in his eyes’ thing that authors write about now,’ I think as I gaze into his steel-blue eyes, and that magnetic pull I felt earlier returns.

The moment between us ends when I try—and fail—to stifle a yawn.

“I guess I should turn in.” I open my door and step into my room, but turn back to Bucky with my hand on the doorknob. “Your, um, your word choice when you described how I glow was…interesting.” I lightly clear my throat. “No one else knows this, but with what you said, it feels like I should tell you.” I pause. “My mother and father had actually chosen my first and middle names.”

A small, sad smile touches my lips. “My mother was Irish; she and my father decided to name me in Gaelic. My name is Réalta Geal…which means ‘bright star’.”

Before he can respond, I continue.

“Good night, Bucky. Sleep sweet,” I say, closing the door.

“Good night, Réa. And thank you,” I hear him softly reply several moments later.

His response is followed by the sounds of his footsteps crossing the corridor, then the opening and closing of his door.