by E. Hibbs
“Your Highness, what is the matter?”
Lachlan’s voice suddenly snapped her into the present, and she choked out a strangled reply.
“I... I cannot pass through.”
He appeared at her side, a strange expression on his brow. “I do beg your pardon?”
Merrin looked him in the eye. “I cannot pass through,” she said again, trying to keep the panic out of her face. She quickly straightened herself up, flicked her fin, and asked him to fetch Dylana immediately.
“Certainly, Your Highness, wait for me here,” he replied, and dived down as easily as taking any other step. Merrin couldn’t tear her eyes from the spot where he had vanished. Swallowing, she tried once again, but her foot stayed firmly above the water.
No... no, this is not happening, she thought frantically. This cannot be happening! It is not possible! Not possible...
Before she could work herself into a true panic, Dylana appeared beside her, stepping out onto the Surface. She was followed by Lachlan, and – to Merrin’s surprise – Penro.
“Merrin!” Penro cried, forgetting all formality and grasping her arms. She could feel his hands distantly through the Bands, but she made no move to say a curt remark about addressing her so casually.
“Merrin, my girl, are you alright?” Dylana asked.
Merrin nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am fine.”
Dylana held her eyes, and Merrin could instantly tell that in those five words, the elderly Asræ had read a thousand connotations.
Merrin quickly cleared her throat. “Lachlan, thank you for your services.”
He understood her meaning, quickly nodded and left without as much as a ripple. Penro went to follow him, but Merrin motioned to him that he was welcome to stay. Part of her immediately regretted it when she noticed his eyes light up, but she kept her own hard to try to prove that the trust was out of his position alone. Dylana, however, wasn’t fooled, and that only brought back Merrin’s fury of the night before.
“Merrin, what happened?” she asked in her cool, calm voice. Merrin knew that she was already aware of it, but Dylana didn’t waver, and waited with such expectance and patience that she could have brought the mightiest warrior to his knees.
Merrin eventually replied through tight lips, “Human.”
“Ah,” Dylana hummed, raising her head ever so slightly. “Would he have been a red-haired one, by any chance?”
Merrin’s heart leapt in her chest. “How did you know that?”
Penro glanced between them anxiously. The sharpness in Merrin’s tone was like venom spitting into the air.
The tiniest smile flickered at the corner of Dylana’s mouth. “You would not be so agitated speaking of it if he were not, am I correct?”
Merrin’s fin snapped from side to side furiously, and Penro took a small step away from her. She ignored him and ground her teeth.
“Calm yourself down!” Dylana said suddenly.
“How can I be calm?” Merrin barked. “I cannot pass through the Surface! I am trapped here!”
Dylana waited calmly until she silenced. The whole of Delamere seemed to have stopped to listen. Only the quietest croaking of frogs sounded from the tussocks, and in the shadows a mother duck poked her head out to see what the matter was.
“That is not possible,” Penro said, but Merrin realised as soon as he opened his mouth that it was more of a question than a statement. He was as unsure as she was. “That cannot be possible. All Asræ are of the Lake – and you are Her voice, Merrin. You of all of us must be able to pass through!”
“But I cannot. I have tried.” Merrin allowed herself to give him a small smile before turning to Dylana. “Last night, I tried, but could not pass through; I thought little of it in trying to escape the human. But there is no reason why I should not be able to return this night!”
“Ah, but there is,” Dylana replied.
Merrin froze, and both she and Penro spoke at the same time.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What is it?”
Dylana shifted her gaze between them for a moment before settling on Merrin.
“You passed through the Surface without willing to; you were taken from the Lake forcefully,” she said. “You must leave it willingly in order to return.”
Merrin stared at her – not caring that her mouth was hanging open. “This cannot be!” she cried.
Dylana didn’t move. “It can, my girl, and it is.”
“But...” Penro stammered; “she must return! Mistress Dylana, she must! She is our Queen!”
“Penro, please do not attack me for merely stating my knowledge,” Dylana warned smoothly. Penro swallowed, but lowered his head in respect and backed away.
Merrin glanced down, staring at the water below. It shimmered underfoot: now a solid barricade between her and her beloved home.
“Can I... ever get back?” she asked. It sounded so strange. Nothing like this had ever happened before, to her knowledge.
I must go back. I must rule. I must be Queen. Please. Please, let me go home.
“It should be possible,” Dylana replied, and the relief almost brought Merrin to her knees.
“How?”
“But not tonight.” Dylana moved closer and placed her hands on Merrin’s shoulders. “You have lost some of your power. Being brought through unwillingly has done that to you. You must wait until Asræ magic is strongest before you can attempt to cross back into the Lake.”
Merrin looked into her eyes. “The Rise,” she said, and Dylana nodded.
Penro gasped. “It is seven nights from now!”
“It is the only way,” Dylana said.
“But... the sun! We cannot afford to lose her!”
“Then she must be careful.”
All the time, Merrin and Dylana kept their eyes on each other, barely even blinking. The purple hues sparkled in the starlight, glowing from deep within.
Dylana rested one hand on Merrin’s cheek. “You must survive. Take care of yourself in Delamere. I shall return every night to see to you. Can you do this?”
I seem to have no choice in the matter, Merrin thought.
“I can,” she replied, then lifted her head – even though there was no one else present to see – and raised her voice. “I shall.”
The duck lowered her head and returned to slumber, as a cool breeze sent a rustle through the shivering reeds. Merrin listened to the sound for the first time in one hundred years, and heard their hidden words, encouraging her to remain strong.
CHAPTER IX
The Missing Atégo
R aphael had worked all day in the hay field with Uriel, swinging a heavy scythe to cut down the long grass that would later be gathered for hay. Once it was done, they would load it all onto the back of the donkey cart, and haul it up to the fodder house, ready for when the livestock would be herded back down from the summer pastures. Before that, however, the wheat and oats would be harvested from the Valley floor through the autumn. It would all lead up to All Hallows’, when turnips would be hollowed and carved to scare away evil spirits, and fires lit for the waning days and the loved ones lost during the past year.
Raphael pulled off the straw hat that he had been wearing to keep the blazing sun off his face, and mopped his brow with a scrap of old cloth. As the day had wore on, his tunic had become so saturated with sweat that he’d wriggled out of it and tied it around his waist. The heat still beat down upon his back, but with the weight of the material gone, he carried on with the work.
By late afternoon, when almost all of the hay was mown, Silas still hadn’t shown himself. Raphael had first thought that he might have returned to the house and was making himself useful elsewhere, but as the sun climbed to its peak and then began to dip down towards the Western Ridge, he decided otherwise. After all, Silas – being Silas – wouldn’t settle for anything other than the main chore at hand: the chore which Mekina had been forced to help with in his absence.
Raphael knew that he shou
ld be angry with Silas, but his very nature made that difficult, and a shroud of worry had descended on him with every sweep of the scythe. The wound of losing his father was still raw, and the grief bit at him like a cloud of midges; whenever he tried to swat it away, it just came back.
“Raph.”
He looked up at Mekina. She had wound her long hair around her head and secured it under her own hat to keep her face free.
“Aye?”
“I think that’s everything.”
Raphael glanced around the field, all of it now neatly cut down to a foot above the ground. He nodded.
“Aye, I do as well.” He lowered his scythe and took a small swig of water from the leather canteen lashed to his belt. Then he untied it and tossed it to his sister. She gave him a thankful nod and lifted it to her lips.
“Come, then, let’s start gathering all this,” he said.
Mekina removed her hat and her wavy red locks fell down. “Would ye mind if I left you to it? The chickens need to be fed, and I sent Selena into the forest to gather strawberries.”
“Nay, of course,” Raphael replied. Mekina threw his canteen back and then gathered the scythes before heading back towards the house. Uriel watched her go. The hat he was wearing was too big for him and made him seem much smaller.
Raphael managed a smile and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “The sooner it’s all done then the sooner we rest.”
Uriel looked up at him and nodded, grinning back. The gap in his teeth from when he had lost both of his milk incisors showed up, and he poked his tongue through it playfully.
Raphael laughed, and he allowed himself to forget about the work for a few moments. He turned Uriel to face him, grasped his arms, and then spun in a circle, swinging him up and around. Uriel squealed with delight as his feet left the ground, lifting clear of the sheared grass, and his hat flew off, letting the cool breeze ripple through his hair. The twin sound of their laughter rose up with the song of blackbirds and chiffchaffs, and carried over the foothills.
*
By the time Uriel and Raphael had collected all of the hay, left it ready to load onto the cart and returned to the house, the sun had disappeared and they had been forced to use the village lantern to guide themselves back. Moths were clustered around the flickering flame inside it, in a futile attempt to get closer, and Raphael amused Uriel by blowing on them gently, sending them fluttering around in a flurry of dull wings.
The welcome smell of warmed pork greeted them as they entered, and Raphael immediately recognised the tang of the Patrian spices in the air, seasoning the meat. Beside him, Uriel’s mouth watered.
“Good eve, Ma,” Raphael said, bending down to give Araena a kiss on the cheek before hanging up his tunic by the fire. It had almost dried out, but some patches were still wet, and he quickly pulled a fresh one over his head.
“Are all the bales ready?” Mekina asked from the other side of the room.
Raphael nodded, tying his belt around his waist. “Aye, indeed they are.”
Araena began sharing out the pork into wooden bowls. She filled five of them, and then paused as her eyes fell on the two vacant ones at the back. She hesitated, then placed some meat into one for Silas, but kept it separate from the others. She moved the other – Julian’s – aside, and threw the remaining pork into the pot.
She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and began handing out the bowls. “Did Silas arrive at all?” she asked quietly.
Selena looked up from where she was playing with a tattered rag doll on her bed. Raphael took his meat and walked away to sit down against the wall. Before setting out to the field, he had pulled Silas’ blanket back onto his cot, and swept it over to smooth out any creases, in the way that he had amusingly watched his brother do so many times. Now, he glanced over to the corner, where the empty space lay, and took a bite of the pork. Despite his best efforts, it was so blatantly obvious that it hadn’t been Silas who had tidied up the bed that he might as well have left it bedraggled.
“Nay,” he said. “Nay, he did not.”
Araena went very quiet and he glanced up at her.
“Where is he?” Uriel asked innocently, but as he said it, Raphael winced. Those three simple words would be a hammer-strike to their already-frail mother.
Sure enough, tears began to spill uncontrollably down her face. Mekina leapt to her feet, setting her bowl down on the floor, and hurried to Araena’s side. Uriel fell silent, alarmed.
Araena buried her face in her daughter’s shoulder and sobbed. Muffled, Raphael heard her moan what both he and Mekina had known played on her mind all day. First she had lost Julian: her husband; the father of her children; the love of her life. Now Silas was gone. Silas, who kept everything in order and watched over everybody, with eyes that were both alert and distant in the same instance. One by one, her family seemed to be slipping away from her.
So announcing to the room what he knew he would have to do was like a blade through Raphael’s heart.
“I shall find him,” he said. “Tomorrow. I shall go south to Cedarham and search for him, and then go on further to Ullswick if needs be. But the Elitland is not a large place, Ma, I will find him somewhere, soon. And then we shall come back together.”
CHAPTER X
Shadow Mask
P earl Spring stayed with Silas for hours. She had brought him a slice of mutton – so heavily pickled with spices that he coughed through the first mouthful and had to fight the urge to spit it out. But she had cut it up into bite-sized pieces and given him cupfuls of water without hardly any pause. It had been to avail, however; she had felt his forehead later and made a happy-sounding exclamation that seemed to mean he was improving. Indeed, Silas realised that he did feel better in himself, although the effort of fighting off the fever left him alarmingly tired.
“Yer should sleep,” Pearl Spring told him as he tried to smother down a yawn.
“It’s not dark enough to sleep yet,” he said, but then bit his tongue as he remembered that he couldn’t see whether it was night or not.
“That shan’t matter, not when yer ill,” she replied, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice. Silas heard it and shot her a sharp scowl. He didn’t know how effective it was with his eyes covered, but he must have had enough practising with Selena and Uriel, because he could almost hear her smile drop.
“Well,” she carried on, the frivolity disappeared; “it only be twilight outside. The sun ain’t not gone down that long ago, y’see. So I s’pose yer could say it is the night time now.”
Silas said nothing. His face was still dark. There was an awkward silence, and he listened to Pearl Spring move about the tent to stretch her legs. A tawny owl hooted outside, sounding very close. He supposed that the camp must be at the border of the forest that laced the mountainside, cutting off the foothills of the Ridge from the pastures.
“So,” she said suddenly, her voice sounding loud after the long quiet, “I hope yer don’ mind me askin’, but I can’t help but be curious, y’see.”
Silas glanced up in her general direction, and – hidden by the blanket – his gloved fingers twitched. He knew what was coming.
“How did yer happen to lose yer sight? Was yer born blind? Or was it some kind o’ horrible accident?”
Silas hesitated. He was tempted to say that he had been born blind, but realised that even though his hearing was keen, he wasn’t practised enough in managing his way without his sight to be convincing. And it would mean lying, and he never lied if he could help it.
“An accident,” he replied in the end, and as he said it, he decided that was more or less the truth.
“Ah, dear me, I’m sorry,” Pearl Spring said – and she sounded it, which for some reason took him by surprise. “Was it long ago?”
“A short while.”
There was a silence in which he imagined her nodding. He lowered his head until his chin rested on his breastbone. A life of sightlessness.
It was as much a burden as being crippled. If the demon had made him deaf or mute, then at least when he returned to his family, he would still be able to work.
After everything – his journey to the Lake and his attempt to reason with the demon – more harm had been done than good. He had gone seeking a cure, and had returned with more trouble on his family. In his mind, all of their faces burned brightly.
His eyes prickled with unshed tears. Any that escaped soaked up into the cloth. He was blind. He would never see his family again. He would never see the shattering of freckles across Mekina’s face; never be able to find his way as soundlessly to Uriel to calm his nightmares. He would never see Raphael’s smile, greeting him with every morning.
“Yer alrigh’?”
Pearl Spring’s voice startled him and he cleared his throat quickly before giving a small nod.
“What ‘ave yer got in yer head?” she asked.
Silas frowned. “I do beg your pardon?”
She tapped his temple gently, and the sudden touch made him flinch away hotly.
“What be the matter?” Her words were soft and strangely comforting. “Yer face held all the sorrow of the whole world just then.”
“It is nothing,” said Silas quietly.
She came to sit down next to him. The tinkling noise sounded again. Silas was amazed at just how much he was hearing, now that his sight couldn’t distract him. Things he had thought to be quiet before were now unbelievably loud, and there were some new sounds: so obvious that he wondered how he’d ever missed them. He heard the distant muttering of conversations in other tents; bleats of sheep and goats; the snorting of the horses and the pawing of their hooves against the earth. The wind whistled through the trees nearby, and the blowing leaves reminded him with a shiver of the lapping Lake waves.
A hard sound of something heavy being placed down close by brought his attention back inside, and then a tap as two pieces of flint were struck together. Silas turned his head.