Alistair looked up and caught her staring. His face fell.
Arabel lifted her hands, shaking her head. “I swear I didn’t know you were here.” Her voice echoed loudly through the silence.
“Right.”
“I’m not following you. I just have chores to do. Have you seen Maureen?”
Alistair pointed towards the other side of the glass enclosure.
“Awesome, thanks.” She backed away. “Enjoy your—” Her eyes darted down to the book in front of him. She couldn’t make out the title. Damn. “Reading.”
He rolled his eyes and watched as she moved off. What was he reading? Maybe she could double back, try to get a look over his shoulder. Or ask Maureen. But she’d said she’d leave him alone.
She paused to stare at the great glass sculpture, and Maureen appeared at her side, tiny, and with sparkling green shoes with six-inch heels.
“This way,” she said.
Arabel jumped. “Oh, hey Maureen.” She looked more closely at the shoes. They had tiny emeralds embroidered onto them. “Nice shoes.”
“Thank you.”
Maureen’s arms were clasped around a stack of books, holding them tightly to her chest. She led Arabel up a small flight of carpeted steps, past a room where a soft bluish ghost of a man sat examining some papers, and to a brightly lit room filled with long, mostly empty tables. At the side of the room were stacks of scrolls.
“Let me see your handwriting, please,” Maureen said, depositing her books and thrusting a piece of parchment and a quill at her. Arabel obliged, and Maureen must have been satisfied, because she pointed to a large stack of disintegrating parchments.
“Copy those, please.” She adjusted her glasses. “Fresh parchment and ink are over there.”
“OK, I—”
But Maureen had already slipped away.
Arabel shrugged, selected the top parchment, and began to copy. It was a record of a small village several hundred years ago in which every inhabitant had been possessed by someone else’s eidolon. At first it was interesting, but soon her hand started to hurt, her shirt became blotted with little ink splatters, and the silence became more and more oppressive, broken only by the scratching of her quill. Arabel resisted the temptation to improve the parchment by altering the wording slightly.
An hour had passed, maybe two, when Alistair appeared at the door.
“Well,” he said, leaning on the door frame. “I checked, and as far as I can tell you weren’t spying on me from an air vent, or hiding between bookshelves, or using a telescope. Maureen said you didn’t even ask her what I was reading.”
Arabel continued to copy lines, not even looking up. “Yeah, well, I said I’d leave you alone.”
“Or you hadn’t figured out how you were going to spy on me yet.”
“That definitely wasn’t a problem. Maybe I’ve got better things to do. And… maybe when I said I would stop harassing you I meant it. Sort of.”
He dropped his book on the table and sat across from her.
“Wards and their Uses,” Arabel said, reading off the book’s spine. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, not quite what I’m looking for, but close.”
She dipped her quill in the ink pot. “Now you’re just tormenting me.”
“What has she got you copying?”
Arabel shrugged. “Some old histories I guess.”
“When I got here, she was crying over some old parchments. They’d fallen apart. Totally unreadable. I think they’re aging faster than she can copy them over.”
This was the most Alistair had ever volunteered before. Apparently the less she said, the more he said.
“Man.” She didn’t look up.
Alistair opened his book, paged through it for a few minutes, then looked up.
“I feel kinda bad.”
“Makes sense.”
He laughed. “No, I mean, Ferne told me all that stuff about you.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Sure, but, look. How about I tell you one thing, then we’ll be even.”
Wow, this was an amazing interrogation technique. “You already told me you’re from Sorcerer’s Reach.”
“And you’re from Myrefall. That’s hardly news.”
She continued writing. He picked at the corner of a page, then stopped himself. “My sister. My twin. She was killed by a sorcerer.”
Arabel paused, midway through a sentence. She couldn’t help herself. She looked up.
Alistair swallowed. “She did that drawing of me you found.”
“Oh. Wow.” She wished she knew the right words to say. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded, his face haunted.
“Anyway, I know who did it now. As soon as I’m ready, as soon as I can figure out how to destroy siphons, I’m going to find him.” His voice was quiet. “So you can stop worrying about me. I have plans, but they don’t have anything to do with the guardians.”
“Want any help?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Sounded like you had strong feelings about revenge the other night.”
“For myself, yeah. I don’t mind other people getting some, though.”
“Well, no thanks. I’ve got it.”
She nodded, then propped her chin in her hand, trying to gauge whether she should ask him more about his sister. Or possibly pretend not to be interested so he would tell her anyway. Before she could decide, David appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, Arabel, Maureen said you were—” He paused when his eyes landed on Alistair, whose face was haggard, his expression grim. “Oh, hey Alistair. How’s it going?”
Alistair closed the book. “Fine, thanks. Just chatting.” He picked himself up, nodded to Arabel, and made his way past David in the doorway. “See you guys later.”
“Bye,” David said, his smile hesitant. When he was gone, David sat across from her. “What was that about?”
Arabel shrugged. “Nothing. We were just talking.”
“Oh. Cool. Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to practice before lunch. Sorry I wasn’t there this morning.”
“Oh, yeah, what time is it?”
“We’ve got about an hour till lunch.”
“Great.” She gathered her finished parchments and stacked them at one end of the desk. “Hey,” she added, following him up the steps. “I saw all those books written by the old archguards. They all have your last name. That a coincidence?”
“Nope. Twelve of the first fifteen archguards were Mellors.”
“Whoa.” Yet again it occurred to her just how much David had to live up to.
30
Arabel decided to take this trying thing seriously. Every day, when Naomi arrived at the practice field, Arabel was already there running laps. She followed every direction quickly and to the letter and never talked back. She began going to the library, standing on the segments of the flower like Oswald had told her, and even reading some of the shorter texts.
Each new eidolon that Naomi brought for them to fight, Arabel went at it again and again and again, watching the others in their attempts, trying to figure out what they were doing that she wasn’t. She was still making the slowest progress. In fact, it wasn’t clear she was making any progress at all, despite her efforts, and this was obviously a source of amusement for Naomi.
Arabel’s fury and frustration grew and grew. But her determination outpaced it and she channeled every angry mean thing she wanted to say to Naomi into working harder.
One evening she lay exhausted on the floor, complaining to Avery who was, as always, reading in bed.
“I really respect how hard you’re working at this,” Avery commented.
Arabel groaned. “Hard work without any results just means I’m being an idiot.”
“Or maybe it’s harder for you for some reason. You’ll get there.”
Avery had successfully held off an eidolon for seven whole minutes earlier that day. She still wasn’t able to sense them on her own, but, if told one
was there, she could hold it off. Yes, it had just been an embarrassment eidolon, and very weak, but it was still a huge victory. She was the first of any of them to have done it, and Naomi had made a big deal about it.
“How are you doing it?” Arabel asked for the millionth time.
“I’m doing exactly the same things you’re doing, as far as I can tell,” Avery said. “Maybe you—” She cut herself off.
“Maybe I have more holes in my soul? Maybe I’m just more broken than you?” Arabel finished for her. She massaged her thigh, then collapsed back down. “Probably.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Avery’s optimism grated on her. Oswald’s voice popped into her head, asking her what that meant. She groaned again; she felt like she was going insane with all this self-examination. She was fine. She didn’t need optimism. Maybe there was a happy, positive-thinking eidolon out there encouraging all the other murderous ones.
31
The first snow had blanketed the ground when Naomi announced that Alistair would be leaving them.
“Why?” Ferne asked.
“He will be attempting to seek out his eidolons,” Naomi said.
“But it’s winter.”
“And he’s barely alive and he’s only slightly better than Arabel at warding off the demons. Eidolons,” Charlotte added.
“Yes, but we can’t wait any longer. He has more eidolons than most, and they are draining him. He’s getting weaker, not stronger. David bought him some time by bringing back one, but it’s time for him to go out and reintegrate them himself. If he can.”
Arabel was crossing the snow-covered courtyard when Alistair caught up with her. He had a large pack slung over one shoulder, and his eyes were bright. He punched her lightly on the arm as she turned and saw him.
“Hey, Arabel.”
“You’re leaving already?”
“Looks like it.”
There was a new light in his face. It might have been hope, and it changed the cast of his features considerably. His skin was still sallow, there were still dark circles under his eyes, and his hair still hung thick and matted, but there was a new determination there.
“Well, goodbye Arabel. It’s been… interesting.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m fun. We’ve had fun.”
He laughed.
She continued in a more serious tone, “You coming back?”
He shook his head. “Unlikely.”
She saw the anger in his expression, not at her, but there, and powerful.
“You sure?”
“I’ve got things I need to figure out.”
“Your sister.”
“Yeah.”
Arabel chewed the inside of her cheek. “Look, it’s none of my business—”
“But when has that ever stopped you?”
“Exactly.” She smiled, but she was too focused on what she was going to say next to laugh. “But… are you sure you want to do this? Now? Why not come back for a while after you get your eidolons?”
A pained crease appeared between his eyebrows. She raised her hands.
“Hear me out. I mean, a few months ago I was stealing food and running off into the woods just to get out of here. So I can’t talk. But…” God, why couldn’t she have better social skills? “There’s more to this place than I thought. Like, I never wanted to be a guardian. Who knows, I probably still don’t. Or, I’m not sure.” Him. Focus on him. “At least here you have something to live for, right?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Providing entertainment for you?”
“Yes.” She grinned. “Exactly.”
“Are you really trying to convince me to stay?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess.”
“Wow.” He laughed. “Coming from you…”
“I know, I know. But… think about it. I’m glad I did. I mean, so far. I mean, at the very least you can recuperate more. Do a little more research or whatever. You can get revenge any time, right?”
He paused, his gaze even. Then he nodded. “All right.”
“All right, what?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Her mouth opened. “Oh, really? Huh, didn’t realize I was that persuasive.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I just said I’d think about it.” He glanced at the sky. “I’d better go. Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”
“Implying you’re coming back!”
“Or that I’m suggesting you stay out of trouble indefinitely. Which isn’t bad advice.”
“True. Except I never get into trouble.”
He laughed, shaking his head. Readjusting the strap of his pack, he turned.
“Take care, Arabel.”
“You, too.” She watched him until his head sank out of sight down the stairs.
32
Several more weeks passed. First Avery, then Ferne, and then Charlotte were able to hold off eidolons indefinitely. Arabel had yet to make any real progress, despite the extra time she was spending in the library.
One evening, as Arabel sat eating alone, Ferne and Charlotte came to dinner without make-up for the first time ever. They were also dressed only in practical leather. With no cleavage.
“Where are you going all dressed up?” she asked, but they ignored her, instead marching straight up to where Oswald sat eating. He turned, smiling politely as they approached.
“Sir,” Charlotte began.
“We are ready to attempt the Rite,” Ferne finished.
He looked down at his dinner and then back at them. “Er, I see. There is one more lesson you should attend before you go, but after that I don’t see why not. And which of you will be going first?” He adjusted his spectacles, as if preparing himself for what he knew was coming.
“We’ll be going together,” Charlotte said, her tone brooking no argument.
“The Rite must be attempted alone,” Oswald said firmly.
“Not for us,” Charlotte said; Ferne nodded.
“No one is allowed to receive help on their Rite. If you wish to be guardians, you will go alone.”
“You don’t understand,” Ferne cut in, her voice rising. “We aren’t separate people. Not like regular people are. We—we’ve always been this way. We’re… more connected.”
“You are very connected. That is true,” Oswald said. “And that is fine. You can do absolutely everything else together.” He looked sympathetic. “But not this.”
Charlotte and Ferne looked at each other.
Oswald cleared his throat. “You could of course go out together, find your eidolons, incorporate them. You can do that together.” The girls relaxed. “But you cannot do that and be guardians.”
“Why?” Ferne asked, her voice plaintive.
“Because the most important part of being a guardian,” he glanced at Charlotte, “is knowing who you are. Apart from anyone else. Even those closest to us.”
Ferne nodded almost imperceptibly, but Charlotte’s fists were clenched. Ferne noticed and clenched hers as well.
“Then we won’t be guardians,” Charlotte said. Ferne’s head jerked around and she stared at her sister. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, nodding once at Oswald.
Oswald looked sad. “I understand. Of course, I know how much you—” he glanced at Ferne, “you both want to be guardians. The Rite does not take long. A few weeks usually. You are both talented, I’m sure you could do it quickly. And… perhaps you would be together in spirit?” He lifted his eyebrows at Ferne.
Ferne swallowed and looked at Charlotte. “Maybe… if—you—” she nearly choked on the word, “went, and I stayed in my room the whole time. And didn’t do anything but… be there with you.”
Charlotte was staring at her, open-mouthed.
Blanching, Ferne turned back to Oswald. “No, we’re leaving.” She paused. “We’re… going back home… we’ll find something else…” Her eyes welled up. Charlotte took her hand; both of them were shaking.
<
br /> “No,” Charlotte said. “All right. We’ll do this together. But… one at a time.” She looked at her sister, who nodded hesitantly.
Oswald inclined his head.
Charlotte had gone completely white. Ferne clenched her sister’s hand so tightly their fingers were turning purple. “I promise, Charlotte. I promise I won’t… we’ll be—” Charlotte nodded, cutting her off. She wrapped her arms around her sister, hugging her fiercely, then released her and walked away alone, wiping the tears from her cheeks even as they continued to spill down her face.
33
A week after Alistair left, they met on the snow-covered practice grounds for their first lesson in slipping, the final lesson before Charlotte would be allowed on her Rite.
“Slipping,” Naomi barked, pacing back and forth, wading through the deep snow, “involves entering the Deep for a split second and popping back out a few feet away. It is extremely useful for dodging, but if you go too far your soul will disintegrate.” Her eyes flashed at Arabel. “So don’t.”
“It’s easy once you know how to feel for the boundary,” she continued. “It’s like… feeling for a seam, or the sleeve of a tunic. Once you find it you just slip through.”
How were you supposed to feel an invisible seam? Charlotte and Ferne were palpating the air with their hands, wiggling their fingers, and Naomi shook her head.
She let them flail about uselessly for a few seconds more, then threw up her hands. “Waving your hands won’t help,” she snapped. “Here, let’s try this. I’m going to show you how to find it.” She took Arabel’s hand roughly. “Ready?
Not in any way. But Naomi didn’t wait for an answer.
There was silence, darkness, and a rushing sound that filled Arabel’s ears. She tried to feel what Naomi was talking about, but she missed it. They were standing two feet from where they had started, no tracks in the snow between where they’d been and where they were. She frowned.
“Can you do that again?”
Naomi jerked her hand, and this time Arabel felt it. A seam that opened, allowing her to squeeze through after Naomi, like following a thread-puller through the eye of a needle. This time she saw something, too. There were lights in the distance, and a feeling of rage before they were back, standing in the snow again. Naomi watched her closely. “Did you get it that time?”
The Eidolons of Myrefall Page 18