by Viviene Noel
Mahena whistled—or tried to, and failed miserably.
Emmerentia laughed. ‘Didn’t realise I should train you in the horribly difficult art of whistling.’
‘I am full of surprises.’
That she was. Good or bad, Emmerentia hadn’t yet decided.
They reached the market as the sun brushed the sky, filling it with shades of pale orange. The air was dry and quiet as they set up their stall.
Mahena had come several times with the twin already, yet today the stream of people was larger, more enthusiastic almost.
‘Is there something special today?’
Emmerentia finished lining the products up on the table. ‘Not to my knowledge.’
Mahena sat down next to her as they both pulled the small boxes they used as chairs. A minute into studying the crowd and Mahena was already fidgeting.
‘Will you ever let me walk through it?’ she whispered, angling her head as she spotted a lady in a red gown laced with golden threads. Her skin was tanned, her long dark hair plaited back. ‘I feel like it could help?’
‘I am not risking losing you in there, or getting mugged.’
‘I am not that helpless.’
‘Your punches are getting better, true. They’d empty your pockets whilst chatting you up.’
‘They’d be thoroughly disappointed.’ Mahena reversed the pocket of her pants. ‘Empty trove.’
‘Maybe one day if his highness graces us with his presence,’ Emmerentia hedged. Fàaran had stopped coming to the market when Mahena’d started.
‘He’s too important to get hindered by gossiping women.’
Emmerentia turned, eye-brow flicked. ‘He loves gossip. He’d have High-Tea with the head laundress to know the juicy details.’
‘Head laundress?’ Mahena looked at Emmerentia questioningly.
The twin pointed to a cluster of women rampaging through a cart of vegetables. ‘The older one at the head of the group,’ she was leaning in the ear of another older servant, eyes squinting and smiling and full of outrage,‘he’d bullshit her dry.’
‘Your brother?’ Mahena scoffed. ‘Have you got another one I don’t know about?’
Emmerentia winked. ‘Don’t let the brooding aspect of him fool you.’
‘How do you know she’s head of anything, by the way?’
‘Can you see the embroidered flower on their uniforms? Hers has two, the other ones only one. Can’t tell for sure what station she is, but it marks her out.’
Mahena’s mouth twitched—then a small procession blocked the view. She jerked her chin in its direction. ‘Where are these from? Haven’t seen anything this fine so far.’ A woman dressed in what looked like bear fur prowled ahead, another younger, poorer-dressed girl at her arm—handmaid—and two men attempting at blending in but clearly were bodyguards in tow. She was dark-skinned with ebony hair.
‘I want to say Sahra from the skin colour and her coat because it really isn’t that cold, but her escort’s clothing doesn’t match the typical colours of the desert people.’ Emmerentia shrugged. ‘I also don’t know everything.’
Mahena snickered. ‘I have to make a note you admitted to that.’
‘You must mistake me for my brother.’
Another quiet laugh—lovely, soothing, so different from when she went hysterical and sounded like a seal. Emmerentia followed the girl’s gaze as it drifted from stall to stall to exhibitor to passerby. ‘Anything coming back?’
Mahena shook her head, but didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, she angled her head—then whipped it to her. She pointed to a small cart stationed in a corner that even Emmerentia hadn’t noticed. ‘Have you…’ she sniffed the air, then squinted hard, ‘forgotten to mention someone is selling pastries around?’ Her face lit up as her hand shot for Emmerentia’s purse. ‘You can keep your eyes on me, but fuck it, I am getting cake.’
Emmerentia blinked, her mouth quirking up to a side as she let her go. She shouldn’t, and probably would get scolded at, but she wasn’t a prisoner after all.
Mahena sauntered back with a bag full of—
‘Catch!’ and threw a pastry ball at her. Before she could lift her eyes to the girl, she was back behind their booth, mouth filled with dough and chocolate. ‘Your face fuggfests you don’t know fwhat a doughnut is. Fell me that’f wong.’
Emmerentia blinked. ‘Come again, without showing me the whole chewing process.’
Mahena stuck her tongue out in response.
´Lovely.’
Mahena swallowed down. ‘We have established that by now,’ she added with a curtsy.
The remainder of the day passed without noticeable encounters.
7
One month later.
Kingdom of Mealdan, Town of Covalis.
Mahena wiped the blood off the corner of her mouth and looked at Emmerentia beneath lowered lashes. ‘That’s going to sting.’
The twin wiggled her brows and cracked her knuckles. ‘I was almost going to say you’re learning faster than expected, but...mistaken, I guess.’
Mahena lifted her chin, meeting the dancing eyes of the twin. Her veins heated at the mockery; a wicked grin spread on her lips. She spat the blood on the floor, then steeled her panting and heavy breathing. ‘That’s on you for holding back.’
Emmerentia angled her head provocatively. ‘Oh, really?’
Mahena stared right into the eyes of her opponent. ‘Show me what you truly got.’
Emmerentia snorted, ‘Your funeral.’ She lunged, and they started the drill again.
And again. And again. And again.
Blood coursed through Mahena’s veins, pulsing in her heart with the intensity of a thousand burning stars. She was getting used to the adrenaline; the torn, exhausted muscles; the bloodied knuckles; the thrill of a quick block and the anticipation of the next blow.
The power of honing and owning her body.
The warmth of an awakening.
Emmerentia called for a break that Mahena welcomed with a pained smile, her breathing ragged. She held five fingers in the air to name the resting time, her face red from the exercise. They walked straight to the pitcher of water on the table outside the cottage, restraining themselves from gulping their weight in liquid.
A month into spring, the fresh breeze coming from the sea meant the central town of Covalis was still relatively chilled. The training sessions, on the other hand, turned the slight warmth to a burning summer.
Mahena had opted to stay with the twins. With her other option being ‘walk into the woods and die’, it had been an easy decision. She had awoken in this world with the survival skills of a twenty-first century city girl, and whether she deemed the situation to be reality or a wild dream dragging on for a while, she had needed to adapt. Emmerentia had offered to teach her hand-to-hand combat, archery, swordsmanship, and how to work the land. Unsurprisingly, fighting was the one she loved the most, even when it bruised and hurt and almost snapped her bones.
They got back into position. Emmerentia twirled her finger in the air to name the next drill.
Mahena moaned, ‘Really, that one now?’ They were nearing the end of practice, and that drill was simply god-awfully intense.
‘Don’t be a baby.’ The twin winked.
They started the sequence.
Once. Twice. Thrice. And again.
Until Mahena’s foot slipped. Her pulse quickened at the failed movement, at the exposure of her chest, and the combination she knew was coming next. She froze, petrified at the blow coming for her.
She feinted left, whirled around instead and brought her elbow down on Emmerentia’s back.
Emmerentia gasped and slammed face first in the grass.
Mahena felt her own eyes widen in terror at the unmoving woman on the ground. ‘I...I’m sorry,’ she stuttered in surprise,
‘I...don’t know where that came from.’
She clenched and unclenched her fists, her gaze locked on her hands as her heart raced wildly in her chest, echoing in her ears. The way her body had felt; the way she had simply reacted, rather than thought. It could have not been her. Not entirely.
In the month she had been here, her nights had been peppered with dreams far more insane than any she’d had on Earth. The states in which she’d awoken ranged from tears to sweat, from laughs to sheer panic. Since she shared Emmerentia’s room, she’d had no choice but to explain the dreams and nightmares in more detail than a simple ‘It was weird’. The little voice inside her murmured and hissed here and there, feeling like somewhat of a reassuring guide with a twist of untamed coldness and cruelty. Mahena was a kind person, yet the familiarity of the whispers made her wonder whether that was a part of her she had forgotten, and it was trying to pierce back to the surface.
Emmerentia had flipped around by the time Mahena realised she was still standing in utter incomprehension. ‘Inches more to the left and you would have severely damaged my spine,’ she said with a hushed breath whilst getting up. ‘You said you never learnt any form of combat before we started teaching you. This isn’t a move I taught you, nor should you be able to disarm me.’ The twin took a step forward as she spoke, casually getting closer to Mahena. ‘Anything to declare whilst we are at it?’
Mahena squinted. There was something wrong about the way the twin was acting. The inner voice whispered in her ear once more.
Emmerentia added, now too close. ‘I don’t like these kinds of surprises.’
The thing inside of her yanked sharply at her core.
Emmerentia moved.
Mahena should’ve gone down.
Yet the twin was on her back once more, Mahena’s hand holding her throat.
A heartbeat. That’s all it took.
Mahena blinked repeatedly, both women’s breaths frozen in shock. She scuttled away, her eyes widened in horror, and got slowly back to her feet.
Fàaran’s voice broke the sudden silence. ‘Don’t think of moving.’
Mahena whipped her head—to find Fàaran with his bow drawn, an arrow right at her.
The little voice bellowed.
‘Who sent you?’ he asked, tensing the draw further.
Mahena had unconsciously taken a defensive position, her entire body stiffened by the tone of his voice and the weapon pointed at her heart.
‘No one.’ Her head angled to the side and she frowned. ‘What? I don’t know what’s going on.’ She had never taken martial art classes back home. She’d always believed she’d learn quickly, but never thought she could beat a trained fighter in such a short amount of time. They had not spoken about their past, yet it was clear they were no farmers.
A suppressed smile tugged at Mahena’s lips. Gods, had it felt good!
She held her hands up. ‘Have we not been through this already?’ The question came out so smooth and assured that for a second, she almost shook her head, not recognising her own tone and attitude. ‘Oh, come on! We’ve established I don’t remember a thing.’ She attempted to smile as she crossed her arms. ‘Maybe I was an awesome fighter.’
Fàaran’s eyes darkened. The bowstring creaked. Ok, not laughing then. He did not trust her, she knew that. As much as Emmerentia warmed to her, he held back. He helped with the training, the history lessons and all the rest, but would not yield his trust.
Emmerentia’s voice echoed coldly, ‘Put the bow down. She is telling the truth.’ She pointed to Mahena. ‘You stay here.’ She jerked her chin in her twin’s direction. ‘We need to talk.’
Mahena watched the twins disappear on horseback, Emmerentia’s cursing echoing on the trees. She shrugged the feeling of abandonment as it poked. Her breath turned heavy and she sank against the trunk of the old oak, conflicted between the sensation in her body and that fear of being thrown out gnawing at her.
B
Fàaran vaulted onto Fàrak and dug his heels into his sides, rushing the stallion to follow. Emmerentia flew her mare like the winds, as though the cold bite would ease the growing sentiment of wrong brewing inside of her.
They rode to the other side of the lands this time, past the river and the berry fields, until they reached the top of the hill. Emmerentia halted her mare as they hit the meadow atop the plateau. He noticed the small white flowers peeking through the earth. Emmerentia jumped from her mare carelessly and dropped down at the edge of the cliff.
Fàaran dismounted, giving Fàrak free range. He studied his sister’s posture before joining her. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked, sitting down beside her. He tugged at the twin bond to verify she was uninjured—beside her pride—knowing better than to ask.
Emmerentia dangled her feet in the air. ‘I don’t know how memory loss works,’ she brushed her hair back, ‘but she must have been a fighter.’
‘Because you are too good to be put on your ass?’ Fàaran retorted, a smirk he tried to hide dancing on his lips. ‘Maybe we are that good teachers.’
The wind blew stronger, shoving his hair back. He refused to look down, instead focused his stare on his sister.
She snorted, side-glancing at his discomfort. ‘You never could.’
‘I never tried, there is a difference.’ He paused, then added, ‘She is lying, you know that. She is keeping more than one thing from us.’
‘With your attitude, does it surprise you?’ she shrugged. ‘She clearly does not remember anything from these lands.’
‘These lands?’ He slowly shook his head. ‘No magic, no Castellains, no portals.’
As soon as he mentioned the deceased house, gifted with world-walking abilities who had ruled Elgona in the past, Emmerentia shook off a shiver. She grabbed her head, and he didn’t ask about it.
‘I meant to say the lands,’ she corrected. ‘I doubt she lied. I saw the surprise on her face. If she’d wanted to kill me, she would have. Same goes for us.’
Fàaran squinted. ‘Are you...’ he knew a shadow flickered across his eyes, ‘Getting any clarification on that feeling? Why do you insist on keeping her here?’
‘I keep having strange dreams, and they started when we found her. Never concrete, never distinct. All I remember is a scent, and that scent lingers in my room when I awake. It’s like...a thread, that tenses and loosens. I can’t see it, I can’t feel it, but...I am drawn. And every time I think about it and try to explain it, I hit oblivion.’
Ah, shit. But… ‘Oblivion?’
Emmerentia shook her head. ‘It’s too frustrating, I’d rather not try to explain. The thing is, there is a pull. At this moment. Every time we put distance between each other.’
There was a pause, a moment of silence where the sun disappeared behind the clouds and the wind howled.
Fàaran cast his gaze past the hill and down, down below the other side, towards plains beyond the reach of their eyes. After a few minutes, he asked, ‘Do you think magic is coming back?’ He half regretted the question as soon as it escaped his lips. A brief episode from their past flashed before his eyes; the first time a magic wielder had been introduced at their household. The little girl had clasped her hands and a flower had bloomed at Emmerentia’s foot. She’d looked at it for a second, spat on it and ran off.
His twin bristled. ‘As long as it stays out of my life.’
Fàaran opened his mouth, then closed it. If she wanted to ignore the potential of magic’s return, it was her choice. They weren’t gifted, but she’d had strange reactions on multiple occasions—she’d hid them from him for a reason. Somehow, he found himself pushing, ‘We must consider the possibility.’
‘Why do you even think it might be?’
‘I don’t know. A nudge of the universe?’
Emmerentia snorted. ‘A what? What exactly are you smoking when you leave for the night?’ She sho
ok her head, then added, ‘Those dreams, those nightmares I have. She has some too. She doesn’t actively explain them, and tries to hide the intensity when I ask, yet…’ She let out a long sigh. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Her memory loss could be—’
‘Don’t, please.’
Fàaran stifled a groan. He willed his shoulders to relax, forcing himself to give her space to deal with this unexplainable hate of hers.
Emmerentia tugged at him. I know.
‘What do you want to do, then?’ he asked. There wasn’t much he could do without her approval. It was her choice.
‘I want to check something before we go back. Before I decide.’
B
Emmerentia abruptly snapped the leads of her mare, a simmering anger building up in her throat. She jerked her chin towards the exact location they had found Mahena on that first day. The echoing of following hooves was indication enough of her twin behind her.
‘Search around the brushes and I’ll look around the pond,’ she said curtly when they reached the spot where they’d found her.
‘For what, exactly?’
‘Anything.’
Emmerentia nudged her mare around the water source, carefully examining the various patches of blooming flowers, repeating to herself to slow down, to bloody calm down. She couldn’t have been that much of an idiot, could not have been that naive.
Not now, not after everything.
She had let her guard down, and it was going to bite her in the ass. But that rutting thread within her wretched heart tugging, and tugging, and tugging—it had to mean something. And that anger, that rage she felt surging up sometimes for unexplained reasons when she was around the woman, it was linked to whatever that feeling of protectiveness pulling at her was.