The View From Castle Always

by Melissa McShane

  “It’s called an orange. Not very imaginative, I know.”

  “It’s incredible. Where do they come from?”

  “Much farther south than I’m sure your people ever go.” He looked out the window again. “People grow them where I come from.”

  So he hadn’t lived here forever. “Where is that?”

  “Hespera.”

  “I’ve seen drawings of the olive groves. They were beautiful.”

  “Pretty enough, I suppose.” He took out a belt knife and sliced cheese, then bread, and put the one on the other and took a large bite. He had a stillness about him that made Ailanthe feel uncomfortable about speaking, even though she was filled to bursting with questions. Was he really so emotionless as he seemed?

  She busied herself with an apple, then bit off more of the delicious bread. She thought it was useful but strange that the bottle contained water—why bottle something that was freely available at any stream?—but then there probably wasn’t a stream flowing through the Castle. She considered that thought, and wondered if it was a good idea to make such assumptions about a place that existed everywhere at once.

  A long drink of water made her realize she had another pressing need. “Is there, um, a place to…relieve myself?” she asked, trying not to feel embarrassed.

  “Oh. The bathroom,” Coren said, setting his food aside.

  “There’s a room for baths?” At home, Ailanthe bathed in the pool her people had dammed up from the river, or in a tub in front of the gyrsta during winter.

  “It took me a while to figure it all out.”

  He led her back toward the stairs and opened a door to reveal a mysterious red-tiled room holding shiny white basins of various sizes and with short pipes sticking out of the walls. “Chamber pot.” He pulled a chain hanging above a round basin filled with water; with a whoosh, the water emptied itself into a hole at the bottom of the basin and then filled again. Ailanthe dropped to her knees to examine it.

  “Why doesn’t the water go all over the floor?” she asked.

  “There’s a pipe that must lead outside. Washbasin.” He turned a handle attached to one of the pipes and water began pouring from it into a white basin somehow attached to the wall. “Try it.”

  Ailanthe gingerly rotated the handle, making the water flow more rapidly, then turned it the other way and saw the flow diminish to a trickle and then a single drop. “How does it do this?”

  “Plumbing. Though I’ll admit this is all a lot more sophisticated than anything we have back home. I don’t even know what country might have this kind of thing. Indrijan, maybe, but….” He shook his head. “Then there’s a bigger one of these you can sit in to bathe.” He pointed.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. Is this room the only one?” A bath would be nice, after four days of traveling.

  “There are dozens of them, usually near the bedrooms.” Coren turned and left the room. Ailanthe played with the handle for a few moments, then used what he’d called a chamber pot, sitting gingerly on its edge and standing well away from it when she pulled the chain. She pulled the chain a few more times just to see the water swirl around before it disappeared. Amazing.

  She glanced around the room at all the strange fixtures that seemed even more alien now that she knew what they did. There was nothing here at all like home, and the more she learned the more she didn’t know why she’d had to come here in the first place. Was the Castle keeping her here to taunt her, show her how much greater the wide world was than Ailanthe had ever dreamed?

  She clenched her teeth. Damn the Castle anyway. She was going to get out, she was going to go home, and she’d never think of the place again.

  Chapter Three

  When she returned to the room with the windows, Coren had finished his bread and cheese and piled the rest of his food on another of the padded boxes. It looked as though he’d stocked up for a few days, which, given how far up these rooms were, was probably sensible. Or he might just be a big eater. She sat down across from Coren, who silently stared at her until her discomfort led her to blurt out, “How long have you been here?”

  For answer, he turned his head and pointed at the wall. It was neither stone nor wood but some substance that crumbled easily, because gouged into it were the words 6 YRS 23 DAYS. Ailanthe blinked at it. “Are you…do other people live here?”

  Coren shook his head. “People pass through. No one stays.”

  Ailanthe struggled to conceal her horror. Over six years alone? No wonder he was so silent; he’d probably nearly forgotten how to talk. It was astonishing that the man wasn’t mad. Or maybe he is mad, and he’s good at hiding it. How certain are you that you could defend yourself against that knife of his? “Why won’t the door open for you?”

  “Do all Lindurians ask as many questions as you do?” He smiled, a non-threatening, entirely sane expression that transformed his face. It was so surprising she returned the smile, shrugging in self-deprecation. So he’s more than just a block of wood.

  “I want to leave,” she said, “and you must know everything about the Castle if you’ve been here this long. I’m sorry if I’m prying.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not used to talking to the questers who come through here. It’s easier for everyone if I stay out of the way.”

  “Then how did you know I was here?”

  “The Castle bell rings.” He made a motion with his hand. “It makes everything vibrate. You’ll know it when you hear it.”

  “I don’t intend to be here that long.”

  “There’s no other door. And the Castle can be stubborn.” He smiled again, but this was a private smile, one that said he was thinking of a joke he didn’t intend to share with her.

  “Then I’ll have to out-stubborn it.”

  “Good luck. I hope you find it.” He settled back to watching her, and Ailanthe fidgeted until she couldn’t stand it any longer, and said, “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  He scratched his chin. “I was trying to discover if you were an elf without asking outright.”

  Ailanthe sat up indignantly. “Because Lindurians live in the trees and enchant living wood, is that it? As well say all Hesperans are…are olive farmers with no time for elevated cultural pursuits.”

  Coren smiled, and his distant air faded a little more. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “That will teach me to blindly trust the things I read in books.”

  “If I were an elf, you wouldn’t be able to look at me so directly,” Ailanthe said, less angrily. “You would feel as if something else was more interesting, and have trouble focusing your thoughts to even remember there was an elf there. And no, they don’t interbreed with humans.”

  His lips quirked. “Another dream dashed,” he murmured, and Ailanthe burst out laughing at the humor in his eyes. “I suppose they don’t have metallic hair?”

  “No, that’s true, but it’s not pretty metals like silver and gold, more like iron, or old bronze. Where did you learn all this?”

  “The Library. I read a lot. Not much else to do, most days.”

  “I saw it downstairs across from the…did you call it the Honor Hall? I’d never seen so many books in my life.”

  Coren’s smile went wicked. “That’s just a book room,” he said, and stood. “Let me show you the Library.”

  She followed him down one flight of stairs and down a twenty-foot-wide hallway lined with doors, some shining metal, others wood painted with flowers and fanciful creatures. “All locked,” Coren said, which made Ailanthe wonder if the exit she needed lay behind one of them. They came out into a high-ceilinged, echoing hallway, this one of pale gray stone shot through with darker streaks. A smooth path was worn into the floor as if hundreds of people over hundreds of years had passed this way, and Ailanthe thought about who might have lived in the Castle centuries ago, and what had happened to them.

  Coren turned a corner, then stepped back to allow Ailanthe to go first. “Just ahead,”
he said, “through that doorway.” Ailanthe glanced at him; his voice was tense, and she wondered if he was trying to play a trick on her, but his smile looked more like that of someone anticipating a pleasant surprise, so she went forward through the doorway, which was formed of two pillars supporting a stone slab for a lintel, and immediately had to grab hold of one of those pillars to avoid falling over in amazement.

  The room beyond was bigger than the Honor Hall, and the shelves that lined it from floor to ceiling were entirely full of books, books lined up on shelves and books piled atop other books until Ailanthe didn’t know where to look first. She didn’t see a single straight line anywhere, except for the smooth-sanded boards the books sat on; the shelves curved like half-moons that doubled back on themselves and the walls of the room were rounded as if following some natural contour not visible elsewhere in the Castle.

  She regained her composure and walked forward across a deep, leaf-green carpet so thick her steps were as soundless as the cat’s. Short flights of stairs turned what was probably two stories worth of space into four levels, the stairs carpeted in the same lush green as the floor. High above, a skylight took up most of the ceiling, bright sun streaming through it in a cloudless blue sky. It was impossible to see what land those windows looked out over.

  But what left her breathless were the trees. Whoever had built the Library had carved the large exposed beams to look like tree trunks and branches, and in places had made actual trees grow through the floor, their leaves brushing the skylight’s circumference but never blocking the light. Without thinking, she went to lay her palm against one smooth trunk, then jerked her hand away when it stung her.

  She pushed away her heartache and continued wandering the room, astonishment soon driving away sorrow. One giant tree took up most of the center of the floor, surrounded by shelves that encircled its trunk and a bench that practically begged her to sit on it. The books on those shelves were unusual. The other books in the Library were bound in leather dyed in jewel tones with their titles stamped in gold upon the spine. These books were more simply bound in white painted boards, their spines unmarked.

  Ailanthe went to take one from the shelf and Coren’s hand restrained her. “Not a good idea,” he said. “The Castle keeps track of its questers, writes their stories in these books. Most of them don’t end well.”

  “Oh,” Ailanthe said. She turned in a slow circle, overwhelmed by the presence of so many volumes waiting to be read. “It’s incredible.”

  “I think so,” Coren said. He sounded smug, pleased with himself that he could astonish her, but it was a friendly kind of smugness and Ailanthe let it pass, relieved that his stiffness seemed to have evaporated. “I’ve only read a fraction of what’s here. Makes it easier, knowing I’m not likely to run out of books no matter how long I stay here.”

  “Coren, why is it you won’t say what’s keeping you here?” She hadn’t missed the fact that he’d evaded the question twice now. Part of her was embarrassed at invading the man’s privacy, but if there was anything in his experience that might get her out of here, she wanted to know about it.

  Coren took a seat in a high-backed chair, well-padded and with wide arms. “It won’t let me out because I never took anything from the Honor Hall,” he said, all traces of good humor gone.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I just came in here to get out of the rain,” Coren said, interlacing his fingers and staring at them. “I didn’t want a destiny. I figured if I didn’t touch anything, I could pass through and move on. I figured wrong.”

  Ailanthe sat on the bench opposite him. “So all you have to do is take something from the Honor Hall, and it will let you go?”

  “I’m not going to let some heap of stone and glass that may or may not be alive force me to do something I don’t want to do,” Coren said. “I’ve read those books—” he jabbed a finger at the white-bound books—“and I know what happens to almost everyone who comes here for a destiny. I don’t want to be cast out in some land a thousand miles from my home, trapped into some adventure that might well leave me dead, never to return again. I want my life to be my own. So I’ll be damned if I take any of the rubbish the Castle hauls out.”

  He spoke with such vehemence Ailanthe was startled, but she said, “I understand.”

  “Do you? You wanted a destiny. What are you running from?”

  “I’m not running from anything,” said Ailanthe, stung. “And that’s personal.”

  “More personal than me telling you I’m trapped here because I’m a stubborn bastard?”

  Ailanthe looked away. “I can’t climb trees,” she said. “The trees don’t want me. You know what it’s like, being Lindurian and being tethered to the ground? Is that something your books tell you?” Her voice went suddenly shrill; her mother’s tearful face rose up in memory, and she felt so homesick and resentful she could barely speak. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. “Anyway, Lindurians are supposed to seek out the Castle when they need to be restored to…why does the Castle make us speak this language, anyway?”

  “I think it’s the language of its creator. Someone who wanted everyone inside it to be able to have uncomfortable conversations like this one.”

  She caught his eye; he was smiling again, and she managed to smile in return. “Well, this language doesn’t have words for the concept, but it’s like restoring our balance, being in tune with the trees, which is entirely the wrong image and I’m sure you’re thinking about elves again.”

  “I wasn’t. But I am now.”

  For someone who’d been isolated for six years, Coren had an excellent sense of the ridiculous. Ailanthe smiled despite herself. “And that’s why I’m here. It wasn’t that I wanted the adventure so much as that I wanted to find my true path.”

  “And you’re sure the Castle knows what that is.”

  “Why wouldn’t it? Isn’t that what it’s here for?”

  Coren shrugged, the smile falling from his lips. “I don’t know anymore. I used to talk to the questers until it became too depressing. All those bright faces, headed off toward their doom. I had to ask myself, if the Castle knows so much, why does it think sending people out to die is the best thing for them?”

  “I thought the Castle could see into our hearts and choose the best path for us. Is it its fault if we don’t make the best use of it? I mean, if I stay away from cliff edges I won’t fall to my death—at some point we have to choose.”

  He shrugged again. “You may be right.” His good humor was entirely gone now. “Anyway, now you know where the Library is. You should find a place to sleep—lots of bedrooms available. I’m going to get some exercise.” He stood and crossed the room. Ailanthe said, “Wait!”

  He stopped at the doorway, but didn’t look back at her. “What?”

  “Will I…I mean, do you mind if I…visit with you sometimes?”

  “If you like. But I might not be very good company.” She heard his footsteps fade away across the floor, and then he was gone.

  Ailanthe sat staring at the chair he’d vacated. He’d been good company for a while, and then they’d started talking about the Castle, and he’d retreated into that silent shell again. She suddenly didn’t feel like very good company herself. The idea of searching the first floor again for a door that probably didn’t exist exhausted her. Maybe she could chop the door down. There was an axe in the armory…an axe she probably couldn’t lift. Coren wasn’t likely to want to participate in that mad scheme, and he’d probably tried it at some point already. Maybe he was right, and she should find a place to sleep, assuming she couldn’t get out before nightfall.

  She felt awkward about taking a room near Coren, as if she were so desperate for human companionship she’d curl up on his doorstep like a whining puppy, but she didn’t want to be so far away that she felt like the only living person in the Castle.

  She left the Library, promising herself she’d return soon, and went back down the stairs. She’d start ex
ploring the second floor, and if she miraculously found a way out, she might even tell Coren about it.

  Chapter Four

  Six hours later Ailanthe pressed her face against the glass and looked down into the courtyard. It wasn’t any more cheerful from this height than it had been at ground level, and the growing darkness made it even more depressing, though she saw a tangle of twigs that might be a bird’s nest in the top of one of the spindly trees.

  She turned her back on it and slid down to sit on the floor, pressing her palms flat against the reassuring solidity of the polished oak floor. The dead wood made no pulse of rejection against her hand; her mother would tell her to be horrified at how many trees had been sacrificed for this Castle’s sake, but Ailanthe was more pragmatic. Trees died, and what a waste if their bodies went to rot.

  She’d searched the second floor thoroughly that afternoon and now she was exhausted. Half the rooms she’d investigated had been so unfamiliar she couldn’t even guess what they were for. She’d found several more of the bathrooms, some of them plain, others designed to look like a forest glade, or tide pools on a sandy beach. Dozens of bedrooms furnished so richly she was afraid to sleep in them. More book rooms, more museum rooms dedicated to cultures Ailanthe had never heard of. Rooms piled high with what she thought were castoffs; rooms with long tables set with dishes so fine she’d be afraid to eat off them. She rubbed her temples, and as if in response, her stomach growled.

  She pushed herself up and headed for the kitchen. It was a strange room, white and shiny-hard and windowless, with drawers that slid as if greased and doors that opened on deep cabinets filled with spice jars whose scents mingled in the air like filmy ribbons. She hadn’t recognized any of the tools, some of them white and some shining silver metal, most of them with moving parts that made her nervous. There was no fireplace, but she didn’t mind eating cold food.