The Eidolons of Myrefall

by Sarah McCarthy

  “Right.” His smile faded and he looked tense suddenly. “Me too.”

  20

  “Don’t think I won’t make you run laps just because you’re meditating,” Naomi said.

  They were seated on a row of cushions on the practice field. Arabel glanced up at the cloudy sky overhead, dark with impending rain. Naomi paced back and forth in front of them as she talked.

  “And don’t think you get to stop if it starts raining. Meditation isn’t about making everything around you perfect; it’s about you focusing on yourself, regardless of what is happening. So, rain, thunderstorms, snow, clouds of mosquitos, or packs of carnivorous squirrels. All of those things will just be perfect distractions that I expect you to ignore.” Carnivorous squirrels? Is that a joke? Is Naomi drunk?

  Charlotte raised a hand. She and Ferne wore matching deep purple robes with gold chains in their hair. Bright orange eyeliner ringed their eyes. They seemed to be going for a mystical vibe today.

  “Yes?” Naomi barked.

  “What are we supposed to be doing, though?”

  “Watching. Noticing.”

  Ferne raised a hand.

  “What?” Naomi snapped.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you sit there, close your eyes, and notice how your body feels and what goes through your mind. Your mind will start to wander. You’ll realize you’re thinking about other things. So, you think to yourself ‘Oh, I’m thinking about dinner,’ and then you go back to paying attention.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “We aren’t supposed to be, like, looking for a magical tunnel or spirit realm or—”

  “No. This is much less interesting than you’d think.”

  “And how long are we going to do this for?”

  “Three hours.”

  Charlotte and Ferne gasped in unison. Arabel shared their horror. This was going to be a very long, stiff, boring three hours. How was it possible for demon fighting to be this boring? She suspected Naomi was doing it on purpose to annoy her. Sitting next to her, Avery already had her eyes closed, her face a mask of peaceful contentedness and focus. On her other side, Alistair stared out at the mountains in the distance.

  “Begin.”

  Arabel straightened her back and closed her eyes. She was breathing. Her left foot hurt. She hadn’t realized she’d been squashing it with her leg. She readjusted.

  “Don’t readjust. Notice if you’re uncomfortable without trying to fix it.”

  It sounded like Naomi was standing right in front of her. She seemed to have switched from ignoring Arabel to criticizing every move she made. Arabel had preferred being ignored. She breathed in deeply, trying to clear her mind.

  “Just let your breath be normal,” Naomi’s voice said from a foot away. “You don’t have to think nothing; you just have to watch everything. Don’t try to do anything. But don’t try to do nothing, either. You’re just noticing.”

  Arabel tried to take the advice. What else was happening? Her posture was sinking, her shoulders curling inward. She noted that but did nothing. Then she congratulated herself. She was doing a great job at this meditation thing. If she were going to be a guardian, she would be the best guardian ever. She’d patrol the world catching way more—oh crap. OK. Focus.

  Her breath was low and shallow, and her back was starting to hurt already. How long had it been? An hour? Probably more like three minutes. This was going to be awful. Why was everything about this so hard? Why was she—OK, nope. Focus.

  Her chest was tight, like she was holding onto something there. She sat, eyes closed, breathing, watching the tight spot internally. It hurt. It felt like panic. That was stupid, why would she be panicking? She’d lost it again. She tried to look back at the tight spot but couldn’t find it. She returned to watching again. Her neck started to hurt. She watched it without doing anything for a while, but the pain built and built until finally she had to readjust, straightening her posture. That brought some relief, but now her lower back hurt again.

  She heard someone else move, a slow, gentle rustling. A droplet of rain landed on her forehead. She listened to the rain start in earnest, heard the rising noise of the droplets splashing into the ground, smelled the new fresh, muddy smell that they pulled out of the earth. The rain soaked her clothes and her fingers started to go numb. More people were shifting around now, readjusting uncomfortably. Were they really going to sit out here in the cold and the rain for three hours not moving?

  Arabel couldn’t tell how much time was passing. She would have traded almost anything at that moment for a watch, just to know how much time was left. For a long time she lost all focus, just feeling miserable and imagining what it would be like to sit in front of a fire and drink something hot. What should she have when this was over? Hot tea? Hot coffee?

  OK. No. She was here because she wanted to be able to fight the eidolons. Apparently, for whatever reason, this was important to that. This was horrible, but if Naomi said they had to learn to do this she was going to learn to do this.

  Every time a thought about food, or warmth, or dry clothes, or her bed came up, she noticed it and then let it go. This happened continually, and more and more urgently as time went on. She lost focus more and more, but she just kept noticing it and pulling herself back. However much practice it took, Arabel was going to do this.

  The locked place in her chest came to her attention again, and she watched it. Thoughts came and went. She noticed them and then went back to looking at it curiously. It felt tense and blocked, like there was an obstruction. There was something there that felt like it was avoiding her. Like it didn’t want her looking at it. It kept slipping away, and she kept gently finding it again, watching it carefully.

  An image popped into her mind, clear as day and fully formed. It was the door that she had opened, the vault door. She saw her hand on the knob, saw herself twisting the knob. Saw the door begin to open. She saw the shelves, the rows of what she now knew were the confines. The prisons of the eidolons. But this time she was looking at them up close, examining their labels, looking for one in particular. Then her attention shifted, and she saw the ancient stone gateway. This time, though, a shimmering veil filled the opening, like the surface of a lake with sun sparkling off it. She approached, feeling only a deep, calm emptiness. There in the shining surface she saw her reflection, rippling. But it wasn’t her own eyes she saw staring back at her. It was her father’s. There was a vast emptiness about her. She looked tiny in comparison, dwarfed by the size of the space. And she seemed to grow smaller as she looked at herself, the emptiness growing ever larger, stretching out further and further. But she felt nothing watching this, only a calm, cold detachment.

  “Naomi!” The voice cut through her thoughts, shattering the vision. She opened her eyes and was just as soaked and miserable as she’d been earlier, sitting on a sodden cushion in the middle of what was now a mud puddle. “Naomi! I’m so sorry to interrupt.” A young guardian ran up to the group. “Oswald needs to speak with you.”

  “Right. I’m on my way.” She pulled a watch out of her pocket. “Avery, you’re in charge.” She tossed her the watch. “You have two hours left.”

  A collective groan rose up, but Naomi was already off and running. Arabel shivered and turned to see what the others thought, but Avery had already closed her eyes and gone back to whatever peaceful place there was deep in her soul. Charlotte was slumped forward, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her muddy dress. Ferne lay flat on her back in the mud, her head resting on her cushion, like she was so close to death she might as well accept it.

  Two hours. They weren’t even halfway through. Arabel’s arms were numb now, and she wondered if she might actually die of cold out here. She rubbed her hands together, which didn’t make her feel any warmer and actually just hurt, closed her eyes, and tried to carry on.

  21

  David and Arabel continued to practic
e each morning like always, but there was suddenly more eye contact, and then less. They were either too close, or they were avoiding one another.

  One morning, they were working in silence, going through solo drills side by side, stealing glances at one another. Finally, Arabel dropped her sword in the dust.

  “You’re being weird,” she said.

  David sheathed his sword carefully. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He looked at her. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

  “So, what?”

  “Let’s not have this conversation. I’m an acolyte. I’m your teacher.”

  “Naomi’s my teacher.”

  “Yeah, but… you know what I mean.”

  “So?”

  “So, it’s wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been spending so much time with you. It’s just… you’re a good sparring partner. And I like you.”

  A little bubble of joy floated up in Arabel’s chest and she grinned. He was standing only a few feet from her. She looked up at him, into those serious grey eyes, and before she could think about it she’d stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Her arms were around his neck, and his arms were around her back, the flat of his palm gently holding her upper back, pulling her to him. Her head tilted up and he bent his head to meet her and for a moment she forgot about everything else but the taste of his lips.

  An instant later he’d pulled away. Her face was hot, her arms and lips tingling. She wanted to close the distance between them again, but he looked so guilty.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

  “Pretty sure that was mostly me.”

  “No, this is my responsibility.” He looked at her. “Look, Arabel, I like you. I really like you. But we can’t right now. When you’re an acolyte, when I’m not some authority figure.”

  He looked like he felt terrible. Arabel didn’t. Arabel felt awesome. But she didn’t want him to feel bad. “All right. Guess I’d better go out on the Rite soon, then.”

  He laughed, the tension draining out of him. “Not too soon. You’re nowhere near ready.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Can we still practice?”

  “Of course.” He paused. “Just… nothing more.”

  “All right.”

  Dinner that night was awkward. David sat with them as usual and was clearly trying to be extra nice to her. Ferne and Charlotte kept staring at him.

  “Why are you being so weird?” Ferne asked.

  “I’m not being weird,” he said.

  “You’re talking to Arabel a lot.”

  “So? I always talk to Arabel.”

  “No.” Charlotte eyed him, calculating. “It’s like you’re trying to be extra-normal. Like you’re—”

  “Trying to pretend nothing happened,” Ferne finished.

  “Did something happen?” Charlotte asked. Avery put her fork down suddenly.

  “Of course not,” Arabel said.

  “Then why are you being so weird?” Charlotte asked. She eyed Arabel. “You’re being weird, too. But you’re always weird around him.”

  “Maybe it’s more than usual,” Ferne added.

  David looked at Arabel, his eyes asking how much of the truth she wanted to share.

  Arabel clunked her mug back onto the table. “Nothing happened, OK? Leave it alone.”

  Charlotte grinned at Ferne, but they dropped the subject after that.

  22

  All the full guardians were at some meeting, so the aspirants were given the afternoon off. Ferne and Charlotte cloistered themselves in their room, and Avery was buried in a thick book, so Arabel went wandering, thinking she’d go try again in the library later. It was a warm day, and she wandered through the courtyard and down the stairs to the statue garden near the front gates.

  Her mind was on her mother, wondering if she’d ever examined these same statues, when she heard someone coming down the steps. Instinctively, she ducked behind a statue of a large woman and peeked out once whoever it was had passed. To her surprise, she saw the skinny, dark form of Alistair bent over the front gate, pulling it open and slipping out. Sneaking out again. Her curiosity piqued, she followed and poked her head out.

  What if he’d heard her follow him the first time and was now heading out to take care of whatever it was again? He couldn’t really have been meaning to kill himself via eidolon, could he? And someone had broken into Oswald’s office. At the very least, if he was planning on making a second attempt, someone should stop him.

  Abandoning the statue garden, happy that the universe had given her something more interesting to do with her afternoon, Arabel gave Alistair a long lead before she followed him out the gate and down the road. He was heading towards the village.

  She kept to the side of the road, as much in shadow as she could be without having to crash through brush or stumble over bushes. Luckily Alistair seemed deep in thought. His hands were thrust into his pockets, his shoulders slumped forwards, his eyes on the ground. He walked quickly, almost as if he were expecting to be hit over the head at any moment. That was not a guilt-free look, Arabel thought. But then again, Alistair always looked terrible.

  There were a few people about town this time; they glanced at Alistair but, seeing his expression, quickly looked away again. Arabel ignored them, ducked down a side street as Alistair glanced around before turning down an alleyway. Had he seen her? She didn’t think so. Making a quick decision, she followed the side street, then turned left on the next small track. It was too small to even be called a road, more of a path between buildings. She hurried down it, picking her way through the muddy little gullies filled with trash. An old dog started following her, wagging its tail feebly until she glared at it and, disappointed, it flopped back down into the dirt.

  Her hunch paid off, and Alistair crossed the street only a block ahead of her. She waited at the corner, watching him as he went down a darkened alley overhung with grimy, poorly maintained thatch from the cottages on either side. He stopped at a door, tried to peer in the window next to it, then knocked.

  A minute later it jerked open and Alistair ducked inside. Arabel jogged down the street and past the door, around the far edge of the small hovel. A narrow gap between it and the next house was just wide enough for her to squeeze through, but there were no windows here. She could hear the murmur of voices from the other side of the wall and pressed her ear to various cracks. She thought she heard the word ‘turnip’ and something apologetic, and a minute later the front door creaked open again. With a sigh of frustration, Arabel pushed her way back out toward the street, just in time to see Alistair heading back the way he had come. She chewed the inside of her cheek in frustration, then made up her mind.

  The door answered to her knock almost immediately. A short man with a bowl cut and a dirty robe answered it.

  “Did you—” He stopped short when he saw her. “Can I help you?”

  Arabel’s mind jumped from lie to lie. “Hello,” she said, trying to buy herself some time to think. “I’m Arabel.”

  “Arnold.” The man took her proffered hand and shook it, confused.

  “Er… I’m new to… up at the castle…” Manners. Why were they so much more important than they’d always seemed? “And… I thought I’d introduce myself.”

  Arnold blinked, then looked around. “To… everyone?”

  “Yes.” She smiled widely in a way that she hoped looked friendly. “So. Who are you?”

  He gave a wry smile. “Tell the sorcerers to get someone better, miss. They should fire you.” He slammed the door in her face. The sorcerers? She looked up to see how easy it would be to climb onto the roof. She could wait there until he left and then search his place. She had the whole afternoon off, after all. She looked left to see if there was an easy way to climb up, and saw Alistair leaning against the wall watching her. She froze.

  “What are you doing?” he asked coolly.
/>
  “Same as you,” she said. He raised an eyebrow.

  “Which is?”

  “You first.” It was worth a shot.

  “Why were you following me?” He pushed off the wall and came towards her.

  “I wasn’t.” She had no plan now; she was just denying everything.

  “You can’t possibly work for them.” He eyed her evenly. “Can you?”

  “Of course not. I’m on your side.”

  He frowned, staring intently at her, then his mouth split in a wide grin and he laughed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Right.” He looked at her more seriously, but an amused grin still played across his lips. “Please stop following me, though. Seriously.”

  “Sure thing.” He lifted an eyebrow skeptically. She continued. “Tell me what you were doing here. And… teach me how to pick locks, and I’ll stop following you.”

  He groaned. “I’ll teach you how to pick locks, sure. Not that you seem to need it. But my business is my business.”

  “It’s my business if you’re the one who broke into Oswald’s office. Everyone thinks I did it.”

  “Says the person who wants me to teach her to pick locks.”

  Arabel raised her voice. “Everyone thinks I did it, and you expect me to believe the only reason you went out in the woods was—”

  He lifted a hand, a pained expression on his face. “OK, quieter please. Look. This has nothing to do with… with you or the guardians. I just… needed some information.”

  “What information?”

  Alistair shook his head. They looked at each other in silence, Arabel weighing her options. Even if he told her something, it might not be the truth. Better to figure it out another way anyway. “All right, fine. Lockpicks.”

  Alistair sighed. “Great.” He turned to go.