Blindsighted Wanderer

by E. Hibbs

  He remembered setting eyes on Pearl Spring for the first time at the Fayre. It all seemed so long ago now.

  She saved your life, Silas, he thought. Tomas found you, Shadow Mask and the Seniors gave you protection. But she is the one who stayed, even after you were deemed clean. She is the one who saved you.

  *

  “What are you doing?” Silas asked that evening, after his vision had returned once more.

  His sudden words startled Pearl Spring so much that she jumped, almost upending the inkwell beside her. She was sitting opposite him in the sick tent, with a worn, thick collection of papers in her lap, the sheets all sewn together with faded twine.

  “Writin’,” she replied quietly, dipping the tip of a feather into the inkwell. It had been cut down to a fine point, and took the ink so well that Silas silently marvelled at its construction. “I write in ‘ere a lot. But usually in the daytime, y’see, so yer’s not seen me a’doin’ it before, probably.”

  Silas nodded. Although it still unnerved and upset him, he was becoming more and more used to his shifts between blindness and sight. He idly flexed his fingers inside the glove – something else he was getting accustomed to.

  “What is it that you write, pray tell?”

  Pearl Spring glanced at him. “Nothin’ much, that’d interest any other folk anyways. Jus’ me thoughts and events that may go on. It’s so’s I can look back n’ remember things as they were, like places we’ve been to, and people we’ve met there.”

  Silas averted his eyes and tried to imagine how many different things there might be outside his wonderful Valley. How did people live, if there were no fields? Were the buildings bigger than some of the ones in Ullswick? Did everywhere exist alongside its own land of demons?

  “May I ask thee something?”

  Pearl Spring smiled and absent-mindedly twirled a ringlet around her finger. “‘Course yer can.”

  “Why have you stayed with me?” Silas interwove his fingers and cupped them over one of his raised knees. “I am clean now, so Shadow Mask tells me. You need not care for me any longer.”

  Pearl Spring gave him a sharp-toothed grin before beginning to write again. “Well, I s’pose I’ve grown a tad fond o’ yer company.”

  Silas was taken aback. Someone enjoyed being with him? The only person who he had truly believed liked it was Raphael; all of the others were much too wary. But now he thought back to his family, the respect they awarded him suddenly struck his heart like a sharp stone. He cared for them so much; he was the one who kept them working and looked out for all of them. Ever since he had been old enough to take give orders, he had stood in that stead, and none of his younger siblings had dared argue against it.

  But did that mean that even though he cared for them with all his might, that he had forgotten how much he loved them?

  He lowered his head and buried his face in his arms, resting them over his knees. Pearl Spring’s feather-pen continued scratching across the paper, so he knew she hadn’t noticed, but in his wretchedness, he lost track of the time, and she was the one who startled him by speaking.

  “What ‘ave yer got in yer head?”

  He dashed at his eyes quickly. “Nothing.”

  He glanced up to see her gazing at him, a look of concern on her face. But at his reply, she just nodded once with a small shrug and set down her pen to read back over her words. Silas watched with intense interest.

  “Where did you learn to read and write?” he asked.

  “Me uncle taught me,” she said. “All us Peregrin know how to write. An’ write proper, not in the way we be a’speakin’ nowadays, if yer follow me. This be our way o’ talkin’, but writin’ – it’s different, y’see. Not all of us uses it, mind. Only a few keep it up often, like me n’ this thing.”

  She closed it as gently as though she was handling something that would break at the slightest jostle, and set it down beside her before firmly plugging the inkwell with a stained piece of cork.

  “Doesn’t yer know how to write?”

  Silas shook his head. “Nay.”

  She nodded. “Well, I suppose yer’d have little use for it, bein’ farmers n’ all – if it ain’t too bold to say, mind.”

  “It isn’t too bold at all, it’s right,” agreed Silas, gently laying back on his bed – and moving his head slightly to the side so that he didn’t hit the beam. There was a few moments’ silence before he spoke again.

  “So... have you happened across folk like me before?”

  “Eh?”

  “In need of help.”

  “Oh!” Pearl Spring nodded. “Yeah, a few, to be honest. Whenever anyone’s in need o’ help, we can’t refuse ‘em, can we?” She paused. “But none quite like yer.”

  Silas swallowed. “Tell me about it.”

  She looked up from where she had twisted around to secure her writing materials, in a shallow wicker basket near the lit lamp. “About what?”

  Silas shook his head. “Anything. The world. Tell me what there is outside the Elitland. Please.”

  She smiled fully, and came to sit closer to him, the ornaments in her hair tinkling. Silas watched her, but his eyes had lost the intensity they had carried a week earlier when he had met her. As she began to speak, he let them close gently, allowing her words to transport him to another place, while he waited for the dawn.

  “Well, the Elitland lies in the far south o’ a continent – that be a group o’ a few different countries all close to one another – called Europa, but as far as I know, no-one knows where the Valley is ‘cause o’ all the mountains, so whether it’s part o’ a country, I couldn’t tell yer. It probably isn’t, but I can’t be all that sure, y’see. Anyways, it’s quite far from any country we’s been to...”

  *

  30th Day of Jyune.

  I did manage some sleepe last nighte but awoke a little before dawn, so I busied myself by writing. Silas was already awake – or still, I suppose should be a more accurate description. The poor boy seems to have forgotten how to slumber in the dark. But a part of me blames him not: it is now the only time when he may see the World with his eyes, and not by smell, touch, or sound.

  Many a time, I have awoken to find him wandering about the camp site of a nighte: silent as a ghost and as awestruck as one might be by those still living. The times I have approached him, he has said not a word. He seems haunted by himself; when I looke into his eyes I see – dare I say it? – trust, in us and all we have done. Or, that is what I hope I see, Lady. It is alarming to watch him move so, through the darknesse, his movements so purposeful and sure after his days feeling his way awkwardly. In a lighte that would be too dark for any other, he sees all things.

  There are still those in the camp who are a little wary of him, but I do not turn a cold shoulder to their worries; I myself remain somewhat unnerved when I looke into his eyes and watch them turn from white to browne in the course of a heart-beat or two. But I must admit, O Lady Maria! I am becoming attached to him, I find! Out of pity and my past position to care for him, but alas! I do enjoy his company, however blunt and quiet it may be!

  I should like to think he also enjoys my company in return. He has not turned me away as of yet. This morn, leading up to the dawn, he asked me to tell him of what lies outside the Elitlande. So I spoke of the Lande of King Pen Draig – my favourite foreign place, as well as the other routes we have taken through the years. He asked me about the pearls in my hair, and so I explained to him how they are homage to my birth-place by the sea: the origin of my title. He told me in return that he has never seen a pearl before... and has never seen the sea. How startling! I am aware of how he cannot have seen it, but it is so terribly strange to me! As it is that the Valley-folk never leave this lande; how they can bear to remain in one place forever!

  And Silas himself... why, he is the strangest of all.

  CHAPTER XVI

  Conflict Within

  T he Asræ sat huddled in the hollow that Raphael had carved out f
or her, legs drawn up tightly to her chest and arms wrapped around them. He had been careful to cut back the earth around the elm’s roots, and now they hung down about her like a cage. But, Raphael noted silently to himself, it seemed more like a protective embrace. Even the shadows seemed darker and deeper than what he would have expected for such a bright summer’s day. It was almost as though the whole forest was watching over her, unwilling to let her come to harm.

  She hadn’t taken her steely eyes off him ever since he had backed away and let her crawl inside. All she had done was to throw the cape back to him, but he had approached again – earning another stern glare – and left it by her feet.

  “The sun may swing around yet,” he had said. “You may need to cover up to escape it.”

  He gazed at her, remembering back to when he had first seen her, screaming and wailing in the dawn light – looking so much like a human. It was shock and pity alone which had made him reach out and fling her into the nearest shade, which seemed to be the only way to quell to her distress.

  Surely, he had thought, something so lovely – and so humanlike – cannot be a demon; cannot be evil. Surely the demons look different to her. As far as I know, she might have been running from demons herself.

  But as he sat with her, he realised that hers was the true face of the formless dark monsters that Valley-folk saw in their minds. She had the form of something similar to a girl of roughly his age, slender and graceful: long limbs strong and yet sinewy, with the fingers and feet webbed with thick membranes. Two shining gauntlets were bound tightly around her wrists. Long green hair flowed down her back and over her chest, so fine that when the wind caught the strands, they drifted around as though suspended in water rather than air. Fine glowing patterns traced the smooth green-blue skin, and from a startlingly beautiful face, two large purple eyes glared out at him; sparkling with tiny lights.

  She suddenly set her jaw firmly. “Why do you not leave me be?” she barked. “I have told you what you wanted to know!”

  “I want to help you,” he said calmly, completely entranced by her voice. It was unlike anything he had ever heard shape words: somehow young and old in the same instance, and fairer and clearer than any human mouth could ever manage. It held wisdom and experience; and strength that seemed embodied by the ages, as though every experience and sight awarded a new level of sound.

  At his reply, she snorted as though in amusement. “Help me? Why... how would you? What can you possibly have in mind to help me?”

  Raphael waited a moment before answering. “I only wish to make sure that you survive the day. I would hate to have helped you this far, get information, and then leave thee.” He cast his eyes to the sun overhead. “It would harm you, am I right?”

  She pressed her lips together indignantly, but nodded. “Indeed.”

  “So the least I can do for you in return for telling me what you know is to remain with you until you are safe.”

  The Asræ studied him silently for what seemed like an age. “But you have saved me,” she admitted resentfully, “and I told you what you wanted in return. That is the Oath I am bound by, and it is fulfilled. And as such, I wish you to leave!”

  Raphael shook his head. “I dare not.”

  “Why? Your brother is gone. Long gone, I might add!”

  “My family is under enough scrutiny from the Elders already: our illness, for one notion. They will know by now that both the eldest sons are gone. To be seen crossing the Wall in the daylight will risk too much for our family, and neither he nor I are near enough to protect them.”

  Raphael swallowed. “And my brother is a strong one. He will manage another day.” He added the last part with much more conviction than he felt.

  She glowered. “If you speak of his nerve, than I second your opinion.”

  Raphael frowned. “I do beg your pardon? What dost thou mean? Did you meet him, whilst he was here? Not just see him, as you said?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Why did you not say?”

  “Because you did not ask,” she said curtly. “Which brings me to another point: you said that you would not ask any more of me that you did not require. So I might ask you, how did this interrogation come about?”

  Raphael blinked, and shifted his weight. Her eyes didn’t leave him. He looked at them, marvelling at the sparkles in their depths.

  “Well?”

  He looked at her steadily. “If I intend to stay with you until nightfall, then I would like to call it polite conversation.”

  A strange expression crossed her face. Raphael thought he saw the same immense fury that had burned behind every one of her movements, but now there was also shock.

  “I was rude, forgive me,” he said.

  She snorted again; making no secret of how ‘rude’ was the lightest expression on her mind.

  “Allow me to introduce myself: I am Raphael.”

  When she didn’t respond, he asked her if she had a name. She sat up straight, her beautiful face plastered with offence.

  “Of course I have a name! What do you take me for, some kind of primitive monstrosity?”

  Raphael flung up his hands. “Nay, nay, I am sorry! Truly, I did not mean –”

  “Merrin,” she replied stiffly. “If I must abide you until the night, then the least I may do is co-operate. Merrin is my name. Lady of Lacudomus, Duchess of Delamere, and Crown Princess of Zandor.”

  *

  “Silas?”

  He stopped walking and raised his head slightly, listening.

  “Silas, did yer hear me? Could yer come o’er ‘ere?”

  Silas exhaled sharply. It was a group of small children, who had been taking delight in running about and calling to him from all directions. They had been doing it ever since he had first ventured out from the sick tent, trying to disorientate him. Even though he knew they were cautious about him, they were still young, and to them he was just a new object of fun.

  He touched his blindfold fleetingly – he had taken to wearing it again during the day so that he wouldn’t be tempted to open his eyes and see darkness.

  “Now, be off with you!” he snapped.

  The children laughed. They never came too close, but Silas knew they were all roughly Selena’s age. When she had only been a little over a year younger, she had tried to annoy Silas when she wanted to avoid her chores. Of course, it hadn’t worked, and she had come near enough for Silas to grab her and give her a sharp smack on the backside. Although time had passed since Selena had learned the hard way not to aggravate him, Silas still hated being the brunt of amusement.

  Despite his blindness, he squared his shoulders and barked out at the children again. They quietened, but before they could continue teasing him, another voice joined in.

  “Ai! Go n’ give yer chins a rest, n’ leave the poor lad alone!”

  The speaker – a woman – got through to them immediately, and Silas heard the group run off towards the backs of the tents. Moments later, a new game of tag had begun. Silas headed in the direction of the woman and gave a small smile, hoping he was facing her.

  “Thank you, Ida,” he said quietly.

  He felt her tap him on the shoulder. “That be alrigh’, Silas, me lad,” she replied, and Silas could tell from the way she said it that she was smiling.

  He knew her already: she was Pearl Spring’s cousin, whose husband, Tomas, had brought him into the camp. On his first day wandering around, Ida had approached him and introduced herself and Tomas properly. He remembered Tomas from the night of the Moot, when he had been bound to the horse pole, but was yet to see Ida during the night and match a face to her warm voice.

  He heard her two-year old baby, Sonja, gurgle contentedly on her lap. He imagined her kneeling on the grass with her skirt draped modestly around her, as most of the Peregrin seemed to sit. He supposed, though, that Ida would be sitting slightly differently, because she was heavily pregnant with her second child.

  Silas stooped d
own and carefully reached out a hand. Realising what he was doing, Ida took his wrist and guided him to Sonja’s face. He tickled her plump chin and smiled, reminded of when Uriel was young.

  “So, how’s yer gettin’ on today?” Ida asked.

  “Well, thank you,” Silas said.

  “That be good.” She paused. “Yer do know that yer can leave us anytime yer want, right?”

  “I know,” he nodded, lowering himself down onto his knees in front of her and carefully placing his cane down. “But I enjoy your company. All of your company.”

  “What of yer family, though? Do yer not need to get back?”

  Silas swallowed and lowered his head. Guilt clogged his throat. He thought of them all fretting about where he might be and what might have happened. For all they knew, he may have abandoned them. He tried to see Raphael, struggling to be the eldest son: to lead the others and care for the family, and keep them going.

  They wouldn’t manage without you there, he thought. Just as they wouldn’t manage without Raph.

  “What ‘ave yer got in yer head?” Ida asked.

  Silas cocked his head to one side. “I do not know what is in my heart.”

  He imagined her smiling.

  “Ah, lad,” she sighed, and he heard her bounce Sonja on her knee, to an overjoyed burst of baby-laughter. “I think I now see why yer asked Shadow Mask to delay takin’ yer home.”

  Silas sat bolt upright. “He told you that?”

  Ida shrugged. “Well, it only be a small camp ‘ere. Even if he didn’t come out n’ tell us himself, word gets around like wildfire, especially since he wants an escort to take yer back.”

  Silas ran his tongue over his lips uncertainly. “I must return,” he said. “But I fear I shall not see you again.”

  As he spoke, he realised the irony of his words and added, “even though I have not seen thee yet!”