Falling in love with a gold-skin had in its initial stages been a burden. Pieter had felt powerless to speak of this, certain she would shun him laughingly. And then there had been an angry emotion, which Fripso told him was ‘jealousy of a rival,’ when Eidred had talked incessantly about Prince Adahmos in a tone that conveyed she was eager to meet and impress him.
Eidred, now seated beside him in the dressing-quarter, looked up from her sewing, a costume of disguise, and said, ‘Our ceremony will be so lovely, Pieter.’
‘The only thing lovely about our ceremony will be your attendance,’ Pieter said. He did not fancy the idea of marriage by gold-skin standards. It sounded as though it were to be a sombre affair, where many useless rituals took place, including a dawn chant and then a heckling of sorts that Eidred described apologetically as a ‘lunar spoiling’ when both bride and groom were expected to express their contempt for the moon.
‘You must become an actor,’ she cautioned him. ‘And for all that you do that is not you, Pieter, you must feel no guilt. Never forget it is all a game. A silly non-reality that will vanish when we leave.’
As the sun streamed in on Pieter, he felt a tiredness he’d never before felt. Prior to this he had been livelier than ever, elevated to extremes of happiness, which he accredited to the powers of love.
He imagined, as he often did, himself and Eidred returning to their proper timeframe, The Century of Ruin, after their hundred-year sleep. Perhaps they would wake earlier than the guards and flee to Elysium Glades. He could then introduce his bride to the Brumlynds. If they did manage to escape, their time in the forest would be short. He and the princess must remain in hiding thereafter.
Sensing Pieter’s concern over his lack of usual zeal, Eidred said, ‘I believe staying conscious in the daytime is having its effect on you.’
‘My beauty, I believe you are right.’
‘You are not your laughing self this day. You have become listless, yet if you fail to practice living by the sun, you will never cope when introduced to palace life.’
‘This is true.’
‘And so, although I feel wretched encouraging you to take leave of your nocturnal nature, I fear it must be done for your higher good. It hurts me to watch you suffer this, beloved.’
Pieter missed his clan greatly. When Eidred, many seasons ago, had righted a misunderstanding, telling Pieter she had not imprisoned them, he’d asked her to convey a message to his own mother and Fripso’s to advise they were in the Grudellan Palace of their own free will. The Backwards-Winding occurred soon after, and so Eidred missed her chance to locate Maleika and Karee. They were all now distanced by a century. To hide his disappointment, Pieter made the remark that Eidred’s eight-and-tenth birthday was closer than ever now. ‘I therefore have something to look forward to, besides being wedded to you,’ he said. ‘And the Brumlynds aren’t entirely isolated from me. I am sure I would be visiting them in the Dream Sphere.’
‘And yet, you rarely sleep in the day, now, Pieter. They must search then wonder what’s happened to you each time their spirit selves go there. Even if you returned to that routine, it would do little good. Remembering Dream Sphere visits is impossible without—.’
‘I do miss the remarkable benefits of Remembrance Essence.’
‘I have been unsuccessful in finding any.’ Eidred’s voice had dulled.
‘But I would never expect this of you, Beauty!’ The task had not been an easy one for Eidred. Grudellan women were permitted only small amounts of time to themselves. During the afternoon of each Sun’s Day, she would wander the forest in search of a devic clan who might allow her a flagon of Remembrance Essence.
Although Eidred was possessing of faerie sight, she’d happened across few of devic heritage. Pieter concluded that many of the sprites would have seen the princess first and warned the others to hide. Even if they hadn’t managed in time to conceal themselves, an unconsciously created shield of invisibility would have meant Eidred overlooked them.
Upon the rare occasion of encountering a sprite—once a bluebell faerie, another time, a pixie of the bracken—both had told her the same thing: that they were not permitted to help someone of power-mongering heritage.
‘I roamed Elysium Glades this morning, in fact,’ Eidred said. She re-threaded her sewing needle with twine that flashed lustrous gold in the streaming sunlight. She’d discovered a group of gnomes who, to her dismay, shrugged and shuffled away when approached with questions. ‘I suspect they knew what I meant and were being deliberately non-committal out of fear,’ she said. ‘And who could blame them? With the terrible reputation my family holds, a sprite could be quite excused for distrusting me. Guarding their magical elixir is a heroic thing to do. It quite impressed me.’
Pieter felt differently. ‘Sprites always strive to be truthful,’ he said. ‘Their evasiveness would not have been deliberate. Perhaps in this part of time, Remembrance Essence hasn’t yet been discovered.’
‘It is possible, I suppose, but I am resigned to sprites’ suspicion. I pay the price for being associated with the wicked. Oh, Pieter, I wish I’d been born one of the fey...I mean, one of the devas, with the same skin colour as you.’
The tone of Eidred’s complexion, once grotesque to Pieter, had become something he considered to be beauty personified. It added uniqueness, he believed, to her myriad qualities. He comforted her with, ‘They’re radiant, those colours of yours,’ and smiled secretly at Eidred’s care in using language that didn’t offend. ‘Fey’ had always been a derogatory term, just as ‘body king’ had. The two had agreed that morning to eliminate both words from their vocabulary, and Pieter was surprised to learn that the term ‘gold-skin’ was not as he’d assumed it to represent. ‘It pleases me that you’re a gold-skin,’ he added finally.
Eidred reminded him that he’d again pronounced the term wrongly.
‘It’s because you have gold skin,’ Pieter said, after apologising for his forgetfulness. ‘That’s why we all thought you called yourselves that.’
‘Indeed that is not it, but I commend you for seeing something else in the name. Our skin, without consuming the dragon gold, is blue, Pieter. Blue-grey, the colour of our blood.’
‘This is common knowledge amongst sprites. To think I am marrying a blue blood!’
‘To think my future husband is non-possessing of golden tokens,’ Eidred threw back with a smile.
‘A blue blood! So tragic sounding, and yet my mood surrounding this is the opposite.’
‘And it’s Gold’s Kin,’ Eidred said laughing. ‘Remember that. Not gold skin, as you so unceremoniously put it. We are the family, or kin, of currency. Our currency of gold makes us powerful, and to gain greater supremacy we coerce those with lesser resources to either work for us or give something up for us so that we may accumulate more.’
‘Unlike the currency used by sprites,’ Pieter said gloomily.
‘The currency of kindness was a much better system of exchange,’ Eidred agreed. ‘But because you receive your Kindness Merits for assisting someone only in the Dream Sphere, it is difficult for you and most unfair. You know not whether you’ve even received them.’
‘My dreams have become little more than a puzzled haze,’ Pieter admitted.
‘Think of all the magic that might well be available to you, Pieter, if only you knew!’
Pieter shrugged. ‘I am not at all concerned. Magic from accrued merits is nothing more than beauty-creation. What help would beauty-creation be to me? Being in love with you holds more than enough beauty.’ He took Eidred’s small hand in his. ‘Escape is deceptive. My magic doesn’t work on deception. Invisibility as a protective device might be allowed…’
‘But you no longer require invisibility. The palace’s frequencies have given your atoms solidity, and now you are more like us.’
‘It’s odd having to hide now like Fripso does when the Grudellans storm into this room.’
‘Indeed. But at least you can wander around the
chamber undetected. The spy-lights no longer recognise your devic energies.’
They’d discovered Pieter’s visibility to those of the court when a Grudellan had spotted the top of the elf’s capped head behind Eidred’s gowns. Pieter had been ushering Fripso to the edge of the wardrobe. All three of the chamber dwellers were stunned to learn pterodactyls could now discern him. ‘My milliner,’ Eidred had said with studied nonchalance. ‘He’s donned one of his creations for me to see.’ The Grudellans had responded to this with disinterest.
‘There are many laws, however,’ continued Pieter, ‘as to when magic can be used. It is sacred and therefore mostly elusive. I am merely a novice in this art.’
‘But if I’m able to get you a flagon, Pieter, you could recall exactly how much magic you have at your disposal. I wonder where the devic clans source this.’
‘In the Century of Ruin we collected it from rocky springs known as the Wondalobs, but I could never ask you to make that arduous journey. Please, beloved, forget about Remembrance Essence. I am perfectly happy with the way things are.’
‘Wondalobs?’ Eidred’s eyes brightened. ‘There is talk within the empire of this newly discovered resource! I had no idea Wondalobs water was also Remembrance Essence.’
‘Remembrance Essence is Wondalobs water infused with a silver-pink crystal.’
‘But I possess a silver-pink crystal! Remember the shard from a bewitcher’s wand that I told you about? The one that was hidden under my pillow at my naming ceremony? Already sorcerers are collecting Wondalobs water to examine its power-giving properties. I understand they keep it locked away in their workshop, but surely I can find a way to secure some. I can now concoct your very own Remembrance Essence!’
‘No, Eidred,’ Pieter said gravely. ‘Please promise me you won’t ever attempt this. You must never put yourself in danger, Beauty. With or without Dream Sphere memories, you and I shall live a life that’s happy.’
Despite Eidred’s promise to forget the idea, Pieter feared he saw a glimmer of mischief cross her features, as though she were already constructing a plan.
Eidred gazed down at their hands entwined and marvelled at the contrasting shades. ‘Fey and Gold’s Kin united,’ she said teasingly, and it provoked Pieter to answer in mock indignation.
‘Do you not mean deva and body king?’
‘Sun and moon then,’ she said.
‘Moon and sun,’ Pieter chided, feigning pedantic ire at not being mentioned first.
Defying this, Eidred added, ‘Gold and silver. Day and night.’
‘Dull and bright,’ Pieter growled.
‘Mortal and Sprite!’
And then Pieter, chivalrous now in their juvenile game, gave in and mentioned Eidred ahead of himself. ‘Princess and willing servant.’ He placed a kiss on Eidred’s hand.
‘Self-proclaimed elf-adorer,’ a giggling Eidred announced, ‘and the Prince of her Heart.’
‘Or,’ said Pieter, ‘as the colours of our flesh might suggest...’
‘Black and white.’ Eidred caressed Pieter’s hand, a deep, dark brown against her own sallow paleness. ‘You are of dark skin,’ she said, ‘and I am of light. What an unusual pair we make!’
<><> <><><> <><>
The rain had vanished, a birthday wish made true for Izzie. A wind had sprung up soon after she’d begun trudging along the beach with Glorion.
Glorion was carrying two supermarket bags, each full of tinned asparagus and tinned asparagus only, a reason he had remained on a lower level of admiration than he’d originally been placed.
‘So where is this house by the sea you’ve been telling me about?’ Izzie asked, shivering.
‘It’s not so much a house. It’s...more of a shed.’
‘A shed?’
‘But less bigger.’
He rummaged through his supermarket bags, muttering about something he’d neglected to buy.
‘Toothpaste?’ Izzie suggested. ‘Bread? Coffee? My birthday present?’
‘I wanted to get another tin.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of asparagus,’ he said with a sigh.
Maybe it was an addiction. Izzie’s mum was probably addicted to the corner shop’s Jersey caramels; Andrine at school was clearly addicted to choc teddy bear biscuits; Eadie from the Friday Fortnight group was addicted—by her own admission—to condescending men.
It had to be an addiction. Or maybe his preferred vegetable contained a nutrient most boys his age didn’t know about, something that gave him his awesome muscles. Maybe asparagus was soon to be hailed as a new superfood, one that would rival the spinach gulped down by that ancient cartoon dude, Popeye.
Izzie had taken on a brisk walk to match long-legged Glorion’s amble, following from half-a-step behind as he wound around the cliffs abundant in yellow-tinged scrub. This was the same part of the beach she’d meandered through earlier with her friends. Recalling her despondency at finding the beach devoid of boys, she laughed inwardly. Such a waste of energy, but how could she have guessed she would stumble across her favourite two hours later?
The sea was dark, snarling like a lion and crested with foam that glinted silver beneath the waxing moon.
‘Izzie, you’re cold,’ Glorion observed, and he said it in a tone of gentle concern.
‘Sure am.’ She nodded wholeheartedly, hoping in some small way that this might be a cue for him to put his arm around her, or fling his jacket about her shoulders at least. His words sounded so gorgeously intimate, like something a boyfriend would say. And she wanted so much for him to be just that.
The notion of visiting Glorion’s home was exciting enough as it was. And she’d been invited to dinner! Even if it turned out to be just a quick bite to eat in a school buddy’s kitchen—with nothing for future retelling that could be remotely described as flirting—none of this mattered. Just being able to say she’d walked alongside Glorion Osterhoudt and talked with him was a jewel in the crown of all privileges.
No offer of a jacket. Glorion’s arms stayed glued to his sides. ‘I don’t often go to the shops.’ He stared directly ahead. ‘That’s why I’m angry with myself for not getting everything I needed.’
‘Why asparagus?’
Glorion didn’t answer.
Perhaps she should have feigned being an asparagus fan, to avoid him clamming up.
At last Glorion said, ‘It contains glutathione.’
‘And what does that do?’ ventured Izzie.
Glorion took on a faraway look, as though canned fodder and the nutrients it contained had vanished from his thoughts. ‘It helps...Actually, it doesn’t matter. Okay Izzie, I’m going to ask you to stop here.’
‘Stop here? But why?’ Surely Glorion wasn’t getting tired of her company. Not already! Was Glorion going to reply or was he planning to leave her, and on top of this, leave her in suspense?
Glorion did not linger any longer, nor did he answer. Instead, he launched into a slow sprint. Izzie watched the rise and fall of Glorion’s sturdy shoulders. Unbelievingly, she focused on the back of his pale jacket. It bumped upwards with each stride. He wound around the sandy path, then disappeared from sight.
But why? Could he be dodging any further stumble-bum attempts of hers at getting to know him better?
Her abandonment might only have been temporary. Glorion’s dash might have been nothing more than a short run to oxygenate his lungs—or to burn off glutathione-induced energy—but he’d given no indication of coming back.
I’ll give him five minutes, she decided.
Five minutes passed. No sign of Glorion.
Okay, another five, she told herself, but her wait in the discomfort of the cold stretched closer to fifteen.
This had to be the shortest friendship in existence! Of all the things she’d experienced with Glorion in her imagination, none came near to winding up wondering whether he was a self-sufficient loner who lured in those he bedazzled before abruptly deserting them.
Thoroughly miffe
d at this, Izzie crept through the scratchy wilderness skirting the beach. What had happened to him? Was he sheltering in the obscurity of his ‘shed’? Maybe he’d just gone home. Not once had he mentioned his family. At most, he’d given impressions of living alone. A fifteen-year-old boy was hardly capable of supporting himself through school. Perhaps he was an orphan with an inheritance. But if that were the case, school gossip would have had it covered by now.
A harsh breeze tickled Izzie’s rain-damp forehead, and the waves made dramatic sounds, a continuous stretch of gasps and sighs that seemed to echo the anguished cries of a monstrous, soul-weary water god surfacing from the ocean’s coral silence to bemoan the loss of love. She’d never known anyone to run off because she’d asked a couple of questions. She couldn’t help it if she had an enquiring mind, one of the reasons her English teacher said she’d make a good journalist. No-one could be expected to twist their personality into impossibly tiny knots in the hope of pleasing someone else.
Disappearing guys! If the propensity for this was hereditary she’d hate her mother forever.
Her eyes smarted from the wind’s chill. She had the good fortune to cry then. The tears were strangely soothing. She whispered, ‘But why?’ and continued to wonder this with growing ferocity on her march back to town.
The higher part of the beach was horribly quiet and the night was exceptionally dark, thanks to thunder clouds crowding out the moon.
Reaching the esplanade again would be comforting. She was anxious to leave behind the isolation of an unpeopled shore. An uneasy feeling had seeped into her veins. The empty surroundings held a bleakness that encroached on any illusion of safeness.
A thump rang out on the path behind her.
Izzie’s heart dived. She didn’t have time to turn.
A pair of large hands clamped over her shoulders. Izzie winced at the pressure of the hands, her voice stalling in her throat.
Nervousness gave way to panic. And then terror.
The Golding Page 34