by E. Hibbs
Ida laughed: a wonderful sound that shared the same notes as Pearl Spring’s.
“Well then, come out tonight n’ see me!” she told him. Then she grasped his left hand gently. “I see yer problem. Bein’ ‘ere with us, it’s shown yer somethin’ yer never knew yer had. Yer’s got a wanderer’s heart. I know, ‘cause with all us Peregrin, it be in our very name and nature. We can see it in another clear as day, even if they not be Peregrin themselves.
“But oh, Silas, yer’ve a family, down in that there Valley, who needs yer more than the Road does! That be the gut-wrenchin’ tear: why yer don’t know where yer heart’s at, am I right?”
Silas stayed very quiet for a moment, staring into black space. He was amazed at how much she knew. He had always thought himself to be closed off; impassive and stone-faced, so that he could take care of those he loved. But there seemed to be no place for hardness here. If anything, he had felt himself mellowing, learning and becoming more in the course of one week than he had in his whole life. Now, it was like he was as readable to them all, as though Pearl Spring had opened up her papers and written his feelings directly onto him.
Ida patted his shoulder again. “A’sayin’ that, mind, we’s all going to miss yer ‘round ‘ere. Yer be a strange one, but definitely a nice one. Garret and Irima in particular’s going to miss yer, for certain.”
Silas wasn’t sure whether he was more taken aback by that they would miss him, or that he had heard their true names used.
“Ah, hush about it!” Ida grinned, as though she had guessed his thoughts. “There be no-one around here, can yer hear it? And Irima be me cousin, so’s as long as I don’t call her that to her face, then Lady above allow me it!
“Anyways, me lad, they’ve grown mighty fond o’ yer. She perhaps the most out o’ all, since she be the one who’s looked after yer. N’ he just finds yer such a mystery! He’s been a’wrackin’ his brains, to try n’ think of whether we’ve ever come across anythin’ like what’s the matter with yer – ever since that first night, yer know! If he could help, then he wouldn’t hesitate. He be that kind o’ man.”
Silas listened to all this in silence, and with every word, his respect for the troupe leader and his niece swelled. Appreciation didn’t seem to be appropriate anymore; if anything, it seemed like such an understatement that he couldn’t think of a way to voice it. But the expression on his face must have betrayed it well enough, because Ida laughed.
“Ah, worry not, me lad. We’ll see yer right, best we can. Now, would yer mind keepin’ n’ eye on little Sonja for me while I run n’ get her some food?”
Silas nodded quickly, and reached out his hands. Ida gently lowered the gurgling baby into his arms, and then got to her feet in a rustle of clothing and grass before heading back inside her tent.
Silas pulled Sonja into his chest and held her in the crook of his arm, as he had done with Uriel a little over five years before. He explored her chubby, soft form with his free hand, and one of the most natural smiles of his life broke over his face, shining through the darkness of his daylight world.
CHAPTER XVII
A Clash of Emotions
R aphael was asleep opposite Merrin, curled up in a ball, his eyes softly closed. Merrin surveyed him with a cold, raging expression. Although he appeared similar to her, he was a boy of mere eighteen years. To her – to any Asræ – years were so obvious on the faces of others that they might as well have been written across the brow. Living for so long granted that ability.
And that he seemed so relaxed in her presence frustrated Merrin even more. She reminded herself that she could kill him before he even woke enough to scream. But she held herself back. As much as she hated to admit it, he had saved her life. The sun overhead continued to burn down, searching for her, and she pressed tighter into the hollow. If he had not come to her aid, she wouldn’t be there to stare at him. She would be lying as a pool of water on the ground, baking in the heat and the light, forever lost and alone.
She shuddered at the thought. It was the most terrifying demise of any Asræ, something they were taught to fear and award wary respect from their earliest centuries. The sun was death. Nobody must go within its sight. Her people had little to dread of anything else.
And so some compensate for it with immeasurable hatred, Merrin.
She snarled and kept her eyes on Raphael. His hair, the colour of Delamere’s leaves in autumn, caught the light in flaming strands. His skin was well-tanned and his cheeks blushed. His eyelids flickered as he dreamed.
This human – this Atégo – had saved her life. And not just once, but again, when he had dug a shelter into the earth, so that the sun couldn’t reach her. It was a notion too alien for Merrin to comprehend.
It appears to be a break in the monotony of his name, at any rate, she thought bitterly.
A cloud passed overhead and draped the trees in a breath of shadow. It wasn’t enough for her to emerge – she dared not until after dusk, but she risked a little movement to relax her legs. She eased them away from her chest and tucked her knees to the side.
It was so long since she had seen a human. And now two had come within days of one another. Both of the same family as the last. Thinking of her old demon, Merrin bared her teeth as his face reared in her mind. Neither Raphael – nor his brother – looked anything like him, save for the red hair. Their features were stronger and more angular, with high cheekbones and full lips. But they were of the same lineage. It didn’t matter to Merrin. They would die. The illness would come to them both in time.
And as for the insolent one who dared pull her to the Surface... she hoped his end came in the lonely dark of his sightlessness. He had dared to repeat his ancestor’s mistake, and so Merrin had rewarded him in the same manner: the Brand. Blindness by the day, so that in the darkness of night, he would see only his own misgivings and flaws. In the night, when the Asræ ruled, those black truths would come to the fore, and in their stare, he would fall.
Dylana had said that the boy probably didn’t know who Merrin was, or even what she was, but that did little to console her. He had still taken her against her will, and in that respect, she thought him no different than his forefather. At least, two hundred years later, he’d had the Wall to deter him, yet he had still dared to come. And because of him, Merrin remained trapped, on the very cusp of her becoming Queen.
Insolence and stupidity, she raged silently. The Lake knows he deserves it! They all deserve to fall!
She looked back to Raphael. He had said he wanted to help her, but that only convinced Merrin of his foolishness. She decided that should be the common name for all humans: greedy, selfish, uncaring fools.
But where do any of those words fit with this one, Merrin? Another part of her mind spoke up, as though trying to counterbalance her fury. All he has done so far is anything but greedy, selfish, or uncaring. He could have just left you to the worst death; or at the very least, held you to your Oath and then let the sun on you! But no, here he still is – despite looking for his brother, despite how the trail becomes colder day by day.
Raphael twitched in his sleep. Merrin swallowed reservedly, and she threw a glance at the cloud. It was still over the sun, blotting out the worst of the light. Her fingers trembled as she pulled his cape off her front, opened it out, and then raised it into the air. The glow of the magic from her hands shone and rippled in the morning, throwing new shadows onto the earth. She sent the cape over towards him, and let it fall down softly over his body.
Her fin flickered and she buried her face in her arms, letting time pass her by like a wind. The sky spun overhead and she moved with the sun, being sure to keep clear of its fingers as they crept close, but never enough to envelop her. Raphael had been right. If she had stayed where she’d been without him digging the hollow, then it wouldn’t have been enough.
Eventually, twilight settled over Delamere, and the rays melted away over the mountains. Merrin wasted no time in clambering out of the pit. She hea
ded straight for the Lake, leaving the still-slumbering Raphael behind. She moved silently and with purpose, having no intention of waking him or allowing him to follow.
She reached the shore – freshly coated with amarants – and set her foot onto the water. It took her weight and she walked out into the very centre, sending tiny ripples out in her wake. The small islands rose up around her underneath the moon, the sparkles of stars reflecting off the glassy Surface.
There wasn’t a single breath of wind, and the leaves in the trees were full and embracing. The tussocks sat squatting darkly in the reed-beds. Directly before her – little more than a small black shape in the distance – was the largest island of all. In her mind, Merrin saw it: shaded by the willow tree and coated with deep amarants: the blossom of the Monarchy.
Coronation Mount. It was where she would be crowned at the Rise, as her father and grandfather were before her. And it was before it where the betrayal began, two centuries ago. She saw the memory as though watching from afar, as her younger self knelt there upon the water. He was beside her in one of the old boats, his white mare drinking in the shallows. It was a night not so different: the Lake like a millpond, with Her creatures all looking on.
Tonight, the birds and fishes sensed a difference in her. They came to investigate, and Merrin let them. They were of the Lake. They were trustworthy.
In her head, she saw the two of them in front of Coronation Mount: herself without the Bands and almost two hundred years younger, with one less sparkle in her eye. He was tall and flattering, the same age as Raphael. She watched him hold her close, whispering words in her ear; words she thought were of affection, but were in truth, masks for lies and deceit. She saw their lips draw close...
She cried out in disgust and turned away, to see Dylana watching her through the Surface.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her face etched with concern.
Merrin nodded. “I am fine.”
Dylana breathed a sigh of relief. “Penro was panicking, that you would not escape the sun in time. I feared the worst.”
“Penro will panic at the smallest thing,” Merrin replied, kneeling down in front of her.
“True, but I would not call almost losing our Queen the smallest thing.”
I am not Queen yet.
“And do not try to be smart with me, Merrin,” Dylana carried on. “I know that you are technically still a Princess, but it is only ceremony now that says so. I know that you do not feel ready for it, but you are. You must accept it. Your views of it will not change overday after one ceremony, do you understand?”
“I do not want this now, Dylana,” Merrin said softly, motioning with her hands. “I mean no offence, but please understand. I am shaken; I barely escaped this morning.”
Dylana’s eyes suddenly took on a new gleam, and dread built in Merrin’s chest.
“And how would it happen that you did escape?”
Merrin glowered at her.
“Merrin,” Dylana said, laying a hand on her arm. “Please. It is not a crime to admit the truth, and certainly not to me, you know this. You can trust me – however much of an annoyance I may be to you sometimes.”
Merrin held her gaze for a moment before replying quickly, so she didn’t have to listen to the words for long enough to concentrate on them. “I was saved by a human boy.”
Dylana raised an eyebrow. “How very interesting,” she hummed. “Especially after what happened merely nights ago.”
Merrin felt her thin patience crack. “If you have something to say, then please just say it.”
“I have nothing to say,” Dylana replied; “except what I have just said: that it is interesting.”
“By interesting, I assume you mean more than remarkable.”
“Hardly.” Dylana stepped through and joined Merrin on the Surface. Her ancient eyes searched the Princess’ as they faced one another, and she placed her hands gently onto her young shoulders. At the touch, Merrin’s pretence dropped like a stone. She lowered her head, fin quivering miserably as she covered her face. Dylana pulled her into a hug, stroking her hair in comfort.
“I am so confused!” Merrin cried brokenly. “Why is all this happening? Why now? If you know, then tell me, and I am sure you know! You know everything!”
“No-one knows everything.” Dylana rested her chin on the crown of Merrin’s head. “Not even one who has lived as long as I.”
“Regardless! Do you know anything of this? Please!”
Dylana was silent for a moment. Merrin looked up at her, wiping tears away. Her teacher was the closest to a mother that Merrin had ever truly known. Through the centuries, Dylana had cared for her and guided her; she had taken Merrin under her wing as her pupil, and helped her to hone her magic. Beneath Merrin’s occasional lack of patience with her, she knew that Dylana meant her well; that it was only her, being too quick to react. Merrin forced herself to calm down as she meet the old, sparkling eyes. Now more than ever, she knew she had to listen.
“Merrin, my dear girl,” Dylana said softly, barely above a whisper as she cupped Merrin’s cheek in one hand. “I am but a mirror for your own thoughts. I do not always tell you what you wish to hear, but in your heart, you know that whatever it may be is true. The only reason you are forever asking me things is because you cannot admit them to yourself. You are blind to what you truly know, because you do not want to believe it.”
Merrin nodded, stifling a cry. “I know. But I cannot help it, Dylana! It is all I know!”
Dylana shook her head. “No, it is not.”
Merrin didn’t take her eyes from her mentor’s.
“You must understand,” she carried on, her voice like a song. “It is a mask that you have forced upon your own face, to stop yourself from being hurt again. That is completely understandable. Two hundred years ago, you were nothing like this, Merrin. Two hundred years, it has been, since you had your revenge. Trust me, my girl, please. You must let it go.”
Merrin caught a sob in her throat and swallowed it back down hard. “Father said the same,” she admitted, “more or less.”
Dylana nodded, and pushed some stray strands of hair behind Merrin’s ear. “Do you doubt him?”
Of course not! Merrin thought instinctively, and she bit her teeth together to hold back an enraged scowl. Dylana noticed every movement and the countless silent words they contained. When Merrin eventually relaxed, Dylana smiled widely – one of the widest Merrin had seen come from her lips in a long time.
“I am proud of you,” Dylana said softly. “It is beginning. You have finally set it in motion. You are letting go.”
“Am I?” Merrin replied, still hearing a curt edge to the words. “I still hate. So much that I feel as though my body is the only thing stopping me from exploding out to kill them all.”
“And yet the young Atégo still slumbers on the banks: he is at his most helpless now, and you have left him be.”
“I owe him a debt.”
“That is more than you would have allowed mere decades ago.”
Merrin exhaled sharply and turned her back, fin waving furiously. Dylana didn’t move.
“Merrin,” she said. “Merrin, please listen to me and try to understand. Do not shut me out.”
“I am listening,” Merrin snarled, but then she bit her tongue. “I am sorry.”
“Do not apologise to me, it is yourself who you lie to,” Dylana said calmly. “There is no harm in letting go of what has happened. It is not taking a step back. It leads forward, into a new beginning. You have wallowed in this darkness and fury for too long. None of the Atégos alive tonight are concerned in any way with what may have happened between you and him, do you see? The punishment you set down upon their men has long been served. It is time for you to let them go.”
Merrin glanced back over her shoulder, a pensive expression on her face. She knew that Dylana was right, but couldn’t bring herself to admit it. This was the one subject that was still so raw that it burned the fiery re
d of an angry wound. It had lain open and sore for so long that she was completely used to its presence in her life. To be without it: to let go of the rage and the hatred and the sweet vengeance... it would feel wonderful, but so terribly empty.
“I do not know how,” she whispered. A single tear rolled down her cheek, though she made no move to wipe it away.
“You know how to remove the Brand,” Dylana reminded her, but Merrin looked into her eyes. She could tell; that wasn’t what Dylana had meant.
“Of course I do,” said Merrin. “But that is of little matter since the boy is no longer even here. And besides, despite the subject of this conversation, I have not forgiven him for certain. It is because of him that I am trapped here.”
“Is that wholly deserving of the Brand?”
“It is deserving of punishment,” Merrin said, in a voice that settled the matter.
Dylana sighed. “And what of his brother?” she asked. “Are you going to punish him too for daring to cross the Wall, or just continue to berate him?”
Merrin pressed her lips together tartly. “I have held my Oath to him. Now I want him gone from this place and hope he learns his lesson.”
Dylana’s eyes were still on her: expectant, as though trying to draw something out of her. Merrin turned to face her fully again.
“What is it you want of me, Dylana?”
The smile returned to the ancient face. “I want you to open your heart. I want you to mellow, and learn from it: open up your eyes. That is the key to moving forward. If nothing else, to becoming the best Queen that you can be.”
Her eyes shone. “And that boy is the key. Of all things, Merrin, do not be blind to that.”
CHAPTER XVIII
Raphael and Penro
I t was the tickling nose of a curious vole sniffing at his face that woke Raphael, and with his first movement, it shot back into the undergrowth in a flash of dull brown fur. He smiled, hoisting himself up into a sitting position, and then stared at the light filtering through the bowers nearby. It was soft and warm, draped in dark blue shadows: well past sunset.