Blindsighted Wanderer

by E. Hibbs

  CHAPTER XIV

  An Unlikely Saviour

  N ight had completely fallen when Merrin left the cave and made her way across the Surface. She watched a pair of swans soar together in the distance, wingtips kissing the waving water. The moonlight caught their white feathers and danced along the Lake. A fleeting wonder passed through her mind, whether they were the distant descendants of the couple which had been present on that fateful night.

  The stars moved overhead; and – still exhausted from her long walk the night before – Merrin sat. As time passed, she lowered herself down and let her cheek rest against the wet top of the water. The wind sang songs into the sky, and she moved her fingers slowly against the Surface, twirling invisible patterns. She didn’t press too hard, not wanting to feel the resistance, and distracted herself by watching the lines of light that followed her touch.

  She watched the moon reach the midnight point and then begin to drop. Dawn was drawing ever closer, and still, Dylana hadn’t returned. Merrin began to fear that her outburst had offended the elderly Asræ too much for her to leave the depths. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself back in her watery Kingdom, gently holding her hands to her face.

  “Merrin?”

  The voice instantly pulled her from her musings and she sat up, droplets falling from her hair. She glanced around to see a head breaking the Surface a few feet away, but was startled to find that it wasn’t Dylana’s.

  “Penro?” she gasped, moving onto her knees.

  He shot an anxious glance at the sky, prompting Merrin to raise her eyes, too. She was shocked to find that it was a little brighter in the east, heralding the approaching dawn. She chewed her lip and turned back to face Penro. Light shimmered from beneath the two of them as their sparkling eyes met.

  “I shall not come through, I must not keep you,” Penro said, swimming closer. “You must get to shelter very soon, Merrin.”

  “I know,” she replied quickly. “Where is Dylana?”

  “She is busy weaving magic to ensure you will be able to return following the Rise,” he explained. Then his gaze softened, and he pushed his hands through to rest on the water, although he kept them close. “Are you alright? What are you doing this far from Coronation Mount? I spent much time looking for you there.”

  Merrin nodded uneasily. “Yes, of course I am fine. I am sorry to have caused you trouble.”

  He didn’t press about her movement south, instead reaching back under the Surface again and pulling up a fresh trout. He offered it out to her. “I am sorry it is not much.”

  “It is enough,” Merrin said as she took it from him. “Thank you.”

  Penro hadn’t looked away since rising. At any other time, below the Lake, back in her home; Merrin would have been uncomfortable at such attentions from him. But there was no need or place for it at the moment, and she allowed herself to look back, although her lips remained set.

  “Things are so strange in Lacudomus without you there,” Penro said softly, then paused for a moment, as though trying to decide whether continuing was a good idea. He took a chance to risk it, and added, “I am missing you so.”

  Despite the lax circumstances, Merrin flickered her fin. “I shall return.”

  There, she thought. Shoot it down, as always.

  “I have no doubt,” Penro replied, without change to his tone. Merrin forced herself not to show her annoyance. “As long as you are alright.”

  “I am fine. Honestly,” she insisted, then moved to her knees and gently tapped the back of his hand reassuringly. “Worry not for me.”

  Penro swallowed, and lowered his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. Merrin instinctively tensed, sensing what he might say.

  “Merrin,” he whispered, grasping her hand before she could pull away and cut him short. “I wanted to tell you...”

  Merrin averted her eyes to escape the unease, but then wrenched back with a scream. “The sun!”

  Penro whipped around, releasing her, and his eyes widened at the golden light peering out from over the Mountains. He yelled in horror and spun back, pushing her away hard.

  “Get undercover!” he shouted before diving quickly, out of the creeping rays.

  Not needing to be told, Merrin scrambled to her feet and sprinted across the Surface towards the nearest bank. Her feet barely felt as though they were touching the water. Panic surged through her veins, and her heart leapt into her throat. Frightened shrieks escaped into the dying night.

  She reached the shore and raced up the grey shingle. On the shore stood another small fleet of old wooden boats, which had served the fishermen of Ullswick in times gone by. They were laced with cobwebs, and scattered with old leaves, embedded deep into the ground.

  Get to the cave! Get to the cave! Merrin thought hysterically, barely stopping for breath. She rounded a corner, and froze, staring in front of her. There was no cave, or shelter of any kind – just a large hazel tree, brimming with nuts.

  With a horrid jolt, she realised she had moved in the wrong direction. The cave lay on the opposite bank, in the west, and there was no way that she could make it in time, before the sun rose.

  A deep, primal terror took over. She could barely think for it. All she could see in her mind was the screaming pain to come. If the light touched her, she would simply melt into a pool of water, and there would be no body to lie in the Tomb Garden beside her father. Sure death and disappearance awaited all who remained above the Surface.

  She ran blindly through the maze of trees, their branches whipping her face. Roots tripped her feet, as though trying to trap her in the light of the encroaching sun. It crept like some victorious monster, waiting to claim her, knowing there was nowhere to escape.

  A scream of hopelessness ripped out of her and she clutched feebly at a spindly birch. Her eyes fell on the tight green Bands. She didn’t know what to say. All that she did know was that she was going to die.

  Father, I am so sorry that I failed you.

  A pair of strong arms suddenly seized her around the waist and flung her up and over a shoulder. Merrin cried out in surprise, fin waving madly – and after a short dive, she found herself behind a ledge in a shallow pit, thankfully sheltered from the sun.

  And clutching her was a red-haired human.

  “Take your hands off me!” she yelled, and without a pause, drove both feet into his stomach with such force that he flew backwards. All the breath left his lungs in a sharp yelp and he curled up, baring his teeth in pain.

  “You impertinent boy, how dare you set foot in this place? Brazen, insolent fool!”

  The human coughed and held out a hand in an attempt to sway her anger, the other still clutching at his stomach. “I am sorry!” he wheezed. “I beg your pardon, truly! I am sorry!”

  “You are not sorry!” Merrin raged, barely able to contain herself. “Do not give me your half-hearted apologies! You know what you have done in coming here! You are not welcome and you know it, so do not dare to lie to me, that you are sorry!”

  Her voice shook with wrath and hatred, and a trembling of fear. Suddenly furious with herself, Merrin tried to push the fright down, unwilling to give him the satisfaction. Gasping for breath, the human opened his eyes, shielding them from the sunlight glaring over the rim of the pit. Merrin pressed her slight body into the earthy wall, terrified of the brightness. She tried not to let it show – mainly because she had guessed, from the boy’s wavy red hair and strong brown eyes, that he was related to the other one.

  “Quit staring at me!” she shouted, making him jump.

  He swallowed, quickly averting his gaze to the ground. “What... what are you?”

  Merrin pursed her lips and raised her head proudly, as best she could from where she was huddled. “I am an Asræ.”

  The boy blinked. “Asræ,” he repeated, sounding out the word. But it sounded nothing like the way Merrin itself had managed to say it.

  “Yes,” she snarled in response. “And you are an Atég
o.”

  The boy’s eyes widened; and sunlight streamed into his face as he accidentally let his hand drop. He hurriedly crawled towards the shadow cast by a large rowan, but that brought him closer to Merrin, and she shot him a warning look, bristling her fin.

  “How do you know who I am?” he asked.

  “That does not matter!” Merrin snapped angrily. “What does matter is that you are not welcome here! So get out!”

  “I cannot! Pray, do not harm me! I did not come with evil intentions, I swear to God! I come in search of my brother! All I wish is to find him, and then I will never turn in the direction of this place for as long as I live!”

  There was the briefest silence and the boy risked a glance at Merrin. Her eyes narrowed. So they were brothers: one of the closest family bonds there was. Merrin, who had never known siblings, had only her younger cousins to compare to, but she instantly chased the flicker of remorse away. The boy looked perhaps one year older to how she would appear to him: eighteen. It was the same age his forefather had been.

  “Then you come in vain,” she said, disguising her knowledge by using the bitterest tone she could muster.

  The boy lowered his head in despair. It seemed that he had been searching for his brother, and in a final effort, had dared to risk crossing into Zandor. Merrin thought she might have awarded him courage if he was one of her own kind.

  “You have not seen him?” he said wretchedly, and sighed.

  “Oh, I have seen him.”

  His head shot up. “I beg pardon?”

  Merrin didn’t move at all and fixed her penetrating eyes on him. “He was here. But no longer. He fled almost as soon as he crossed the Wall.” Her face darkened again. “I suggest you do the same.”

  Crossed over her side, she twisted one of her wrists and gently flexed her fingers. A soft white glow shone from the tips. The boy jumped back in fright, only to be immediately blinded by the sun again.

  “Are you one of them?” he gasped. The words seemed to be out of his mouth before he could stop them, because he clapped a hand over his lips.

  Merrin kept her eyes on him unblinkingly. “Whatever you have taken to calling us on the other side of the Wall, then yes, I am indeed one of them. And I am proud of it!”

  The boy seemed to realise that he should be terrified. In his homeland, the humans had obviously come to view the Asræ with fear, and now he was completely alone on Merrin’s ground. For all he knew, he would be outnumbered if she willed it – and defenceless. But yet his eyes held the glazed air of captivation; of shock that she was no disfigured monster – and which showed that he couldn’t bring himself to be truly afraid.

  “Do... do you know where he went?” he stammered. “Could you tell me?”

  Merrin’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you anything? You are the trespasser here. If I should have any business with you then it is only to drive you out of Zandor!”

  “Zandor...” the boy repeated under his breath. “Is that what this place is?”

  “What does it matter?” she snapped. “I will warn you one final time. Leave!”

  “What will you do to me if I stay awhile?” he asked, a tiny shred of courage working through to the surface. But he bit his tongue as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

  Enraged, Merrin’s hand darted out through the shade and grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his face so close to hers that their noses almost touched. “Do not test me,” she hissed. “Despite my situation, I will make you pay for it!”

  A shadow of fear passed across his face and he let out a small whimper. The reaction – finally one of fear – satisfied her enough, and she threw him back away from her. As he landed, shock replaced the alarm, and she presumed it was because of how strong she was. All Asræ – despite their slight bodies – could easily best even the most muscular of humans, if they chose to.

  “What dost thou mean?” he asked warily. “About your... your situation?”

  Merrin showed her teeth, and began heatedly berating herself for letting him read her words so well. “I was not intending to speak of it so as to save myself the trouble, but now that you have asked me, I must not conceal it from you. I regret this with every fibre of my being, but I admit that you have saved my life this day. So by the Law of the Oath which I am bound by as an Asræ, I must help you in any deed you may ask of me.”

  She spoke begrudgingly and venom dripped from every word, viciously trying to sway him from asking anything. But the boy’s face had taken on a sudden firmness. Merrin realised that she had admitted to seeing his brother – so he would presume that she knew where he was now. There was no way he would have come to Zandor if his previous searches had been in vain, so he would take any chance he could for aid.

  A stream of curses whirled through Merrin’s mind. She kept her steely eyes on him, now with a dangerously expectant expression. The boy hesitated.

  “I need your help,” he said quietly, and Merrin ground her teeth. “I must find my brother. My family will not survive without his influence, and our home is in turmoil already, since the passing of my father.”

  “How sorrowful for you,” she glowered, with no shred of sympathy whatsoever. Her face dropped in disappointment, and she used it as a mask for her obvious wrath. The boy noticed it.

  “I swear to thee, I will not ask any more of you than I need,” he assured. “Do you know where he went?”

  “I know only that he fled to the other side of the Wall. I do not know where.”

  “When was this?”

  “Four days past.”

  The boy thought back silently. “That was the day he disappeared.”

  “As I told you,” Merrin stated drily.

  The sun had shifted higher in the sky and she pressed herself further into the hollow. The boy watched and then cast his eyes to the sky, judging the sun’s position. He suddenly began to crawl over towards her, and Merrin started in shocked anger.

  “What are you doing?” she snapped.

  He glanced at her. “Where you sit is south-facing and in the shadow of that elm’s boughs,” he replied. “You will be safe from the light, but only until after midday.”

  He quickly untied the cords securing his cape around his shoulders and threw it over her. She gave a sharp bark of disgust and protest, but before she could do anything more, he gently eased her away. Then he took out his knife, and began hacking away at the earth, enlarging the hollow. Merrin fixed her eyes on him intently, blazing in the early light. He did his best to ignore her as he worked – and she made no move to stop him.

  PART THREE

  Dark and burning eyes, Dark as midnight skies,

  Full of passion flame, full of lovely game.

  I’m in love with you, I’m afraid of you.

  Days when I met you made me sad and blue.

  Oh, not for nothing are you darker than the deep!

  I see mourning for my soul in you,

  I see a triumphant flame in you:

  A poor heart immolated in it.

  But I am not sad, I am not sorrowful,

  My fate is soothing to me:

  All that is best in life that God gave us,

  In sacrifice I returned to the fiery eyes!

  - Yevhen Hrebinka, ‘Dark Eyes’

  CHAPTER XV

  Among the Peregrin

  S ilas splashed cool water on his face, instinctively closing his eyes. Above, swallows chattered and a willow warbler sung from a thicket. He knew exactly where they flew in relation to him; the precise number of steps he would have to take in their direction to find the trees.

  When he had finished washing, he felt for his crudely-fashioned cane, grasping it in his stronger left hand as he moved away from the lake. He held his other hand slightly away from his body, with his fingers outstretched.

  He saw the world without seeing it: the softest crunch of the grass under his boots with every step, the slithering of clouds over the hills as their cool shadows passed over his face.
The trickling voice of the river echoing off the mountainside from below reached his ears, overlaid with the dull crashing of Larkbird Falls to the south.

  In the day, the Peregrin camp was a hive of activity. Small children ran about playing tag and laughing whilst their mothers sat in the sun, weaving baskets and embroidering shirts and kerchiefs. The men tanned leather and made belts. The strong smell of cooking was always in the air: usually a thick vegetable stew. Preparation took up the majority of the day, but the meals were communal since there were only eight families in the troupe.

  Silas had learned a lot about the Peregrin since he had woken up in their care, and his gratefulness for their hospitality had lent him intrigue into their way of life. A lot of the information he’d gathered from Pearl Spring, but he had also gained his own fair share in the time he had been allowed out of the sick tent.

  He had soon learned that all of them spoke in the same way she and Shadow Mask did; as well as often motioning with their hands as they talked. They would wink, snap their fingers, and imitate the voice of someone else who might be the subject of the conversation. Silas had wondered how they might imitate him, with his quiet nature, and had felt amusingly glad that none of them knew Raphael’s nickname for him.

  They all washed their hands regularly, and Silas had never known any people so obsessed with general cleanliness. All of the clothes were washed separate in the lake, and in a set order. The women wore many layers of skirts that were tied on the left hand-side of their waists, along with loose blouses that exposed their shoulders. Men had shirts and baggy pants, in the same style that Silas himself was now wearing at the behest of their previous owner, Andreas. But all of them wore the golden crucifixes; the only jewellery except for Pearl Spring and Shadow Mask. She also had the pearls in her hair, and he two flat gold disks sewn over his chest. Pearl Spring had told him that the crucifixes were ornaments given to all Peregrin children upon their Baptisms, and were usually handed down through generations.

  Silas found his heart opening up remarkably to these strange, wonderful people. He secretly admitted that he was thankful for their being here; how they had happened to come to the Valley this year. What would have become of him as he escaped Evertodomus, blind and wretched as he was, and they had not been there to find him?