Blindsighted Wanderer

by E. Hibbs

  Penro walked softly onto the bank and faced Raphael. He could have reached out and touched him if he had wanted to, but he kept his arms by his sides. The breeze whirled around them again and was now enough to lift both Asræ and human hair in its grasp.

  “Pray tell,” said Raphael after a while. “Those wrappings around her wrists. They are the sign of the ruler of you all?”

  “Of the voice of the Lake, indeed,” Penro said. “I can tell from the way you speak of her that she has already told you that she is a Princess?”

  “Aye.”

  Penro seemed actually surprised, as though he almost wasn’t expecting to have the obvious answer to his question confirmed. He glanced away for the first time, and watched a reddish-purple flower head nod in the wind. Raphael looked down too, and realised for the first time that they were standing in a small glade that opened out between the cave and the water, completely covered in the blossoms.

  “Amarant,” he mused aloud.

  He cast his eyes around the shores that he could see, and in places, they were swathed with the same flower. The plant was all growing thinly but surely, and steadily claiming parts of the forest floor. And in the centre of the Lake itself, on an island bearing a huge and ancient willow, they bloomed thickest and proudest of all.

  Penro smiled. “It will only grow where she treads upon the land. Wherever the ruler walks in Delamere, that place will sprout the amarants – the flower of the Royal Family – until they die. And the blossoms will die with them, only to grow again when the successor comes forth.”

  Raphael looked back to him, and Penro sighed, gently laying a finned hand on a nearby birch trunk.

  “Ever since the great King Zephyr died, I wondered if there would ever be amarants again,” he said.

  “What dost thou mean?” asked Raphael.

  Penro paused for a moment, obviously choosing his words with care. He seemed to be the complete contrast to Merrin: whereas she showed a fleeting parade of emotions across her face in an instant, his were so singular that they shone sure and true.

  “Merrin has an immense loathing of Delamere – this forest,” he explained, and the way he spoke of her made Raphael take note: it was immensely caring and concerned in the same instance. “Indeed, of anywhere above the Surface. And especially of the land to the east, across the Wall. A long time ago, she was terribly hurt not far from where we stand now, young Raphael. That she is even abiding your company is something I never would have believed her capable of.”

  He glanced around, almost wryly, realising the irony in his own statement since she had long since fled. Raphael couldn’t help but smile too. It felt like he hadn’t smiled naturally in such a long time, and the action reminded him of Silas. He gripped the stone tightly, still clutching it in his hand.

  Penro gave him a silent nod, and then turned away, heading back across the shining surface of the Lake. Raphael watched him go; eyes alight with wonder and admiration at how friendly and gentle he was. Then a sudden ominous realisation came to him and he dashed forward, his boots sinking into the soft mud in the shallows.

  “Wait! Please!” he called.

  Penro paused and glanced back over his shoulder. The difference between his placid face and Merrin’s stony one was now as obvious as the dawn.

  Raphael spoke. “You mean she hates all humans so?”

  A long moment dragged by between the two of them before the Asræ gave him a strange look.

  “One family, above all others.”

  And then he disappeared back into the depths.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Twofold Trust

  D espite his want to meet again with Ida at nightfall, Silas went to bed early: so early in fact that he was not even awake long enough for the dusk to revive his sight, and he fell asleep with the blindfold still over his eyes.

  He saw in his mind the entire Valley, as though he was flying over it like a bird. The Eastern and Western Ridges loomed high and dark, fencing in the green heart forever.

  In the shadow of the Wall, his family stood, all of them weeping and grief-stricken, broken and bent on the hill. There was Araena, her hair still covered by her wimple; Raph clutching Selena; Uriel and Mekina... and Julian! His father was there, standing thin but alive, and crying.

  “Oh, Silas!” they all seemed to be wailing. “Where are you? Why did you leave us so? Do we mean so little to you?”

  “Nay!” he called down to them dumbly. “Nay!”

  “Ai, Silas, wake up!”

  His eyes shot open and he briefly glimpsed Pearl Spring as he jumped in alarm, smacking his temple on the beam. He flung both hands to his brow as pain exploded behind his skull.

  “Oh, dear! Are yer alrigh’?”

  He didn’t reply straight away, but rolled onto his back and inched his eyes open again, focusing on her. The pearls in her hair swung slightly from her movement, and tinkled as they knocked against each other.

  “Just thinkin’, we really ought to move that there bed,” she mused, glancing at the beam.

  “What happened?” Silas groaned.

  “Yer were dreamin somethin’ bad,” she told him. “Kept shoutin’ ‘Nay! Nay!’ I had to wake yer, y’see. Else yer may have a’woken up the whole camp.”

  He nodded. “Thank you.”

  She reached over and touched his temple. He didn’t flinch away.

  “Does that hurt?” she asked.

  “Not so much now.”

  “Alrigh’. Yer should have a drink anyway.”

  She got to her feet and hurried out of the tent with a large leather tankard to fetch some water. Silas swallowed and rubbed his face hard, feeling his heart still hammering against his ribs. Before coming to the Peregrin, it would have been impossible for him to sleep so deeply as to not wake himself immediately during a nightmare. For a split second, he had felt like Uriel.

  He glanced idly at his left hand in the darkness, and pulled off the glove. The skin of his palm shone in the dying moonlight filtering through the canvas. He wiggled his fingers, and watched the surface glimmer. He remembered the demon striking him; the look of hatred in its eyes as it had screamed his name. How had it known who he was? And why?

  It is a demon, Silas, he told himself. They live to hate. They are the reason why your family suffers so in the first place.

  But the least he could do now, despite his own curse, was to help in any way he could. Even though he couldn’t work in the day, he could take up a mantle at night, and continue the chores left by his siblings – perhaps even cut down the time it would take them all otherwise. He knew straightaway that the Elders would not take kindly to it; his family was viewed with enough suspicion already – and probably even more so, now he had vanished with no trace. But to never return to them was a much worse thought than the anger and mistrust he might face from any others.

  Besides, Raphael would be an Elder by now, or very soon, at least. Then the family would have standing in Fanchlow again, and somebody to speak for them and defend them. Silas found he was immensely thankful that it was Raphael who was the eldest, who was destined to become the Elder following Julian. Despite the clouds over their name, Raphael had that wonderful quality that meant that nobody, not even the most superstitious and wary of people, could truly hate or fear him. If it had been Silas, who was already given enough sideways glances of his own, it would be a completely different story for the Atégos.

  “Here yer are,” Pearl Spring said, returning to the tent and handing over the tankard. Silas offered her a nod of thanks as he sat up and drank deeply. She watched him without a word.

  When Silas finally lowered the tankard and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, she cocked her head slightly.

  “Yer very quiet,” she stated.

  Silas glanced at her and raised one eyebrow.

  “Well,” she laughed softly, “quieter, if yer get me meaning. What be the matter?”

  Silas swallowed and sighed, his eyes passing to his hand. “You can read me so w
ell,” he said. “Nobody besides my brother can do that.”

  To his surprise, her face lit up. “Yer have a brother?”

  “Aye. Two.”

  She settled herself down and covered her knees with her skirt. She had changed out of her typical outfit into an old one-piece dress that she often slept in, so well-worn that the original blue it had originally been dyed was almost disappeared.

  “Tell me about them,” she asked, “please?”

  Silas frowned. “My family?”

  “Yeah. Please. I mean, I don’t mean to pry or nothin’, I just be curious, y’see.”

  Silas hesitated a moment, wondering if this was a smart move. He still hadn’t told the Peregrin his surname. But he decided to take the risk. After all, he had already risked so much, and these were people he trusted – Pearl Spring most of all.

  “I have two brothers and two sisters,” he said. “Raphael, who is three years my senior, and all the others – Mekina, Selena and Uriel – are younger. The only other soul is my mother.”

  “What of yer father?”

  “Dead.”

  Pearl Spring seemed genuinely sympathetic. “Oh, Lady! I be so sorry for yer!”

  Silas felt his cheeks flush a little and he lowered his head. “What of thee?” he asked. “I remember you mentioned about your mother’s passing, but I have not met your father.”

  She pressed her lips together sullenly for a moment, and then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t got no father, have I?” she replied. “He’s gone too. Me parents’ names were Nathaniel and Otaie, but they’s both been dead a long time now. But it ain’t our way to speak o’ those who’ve passed, y’see. It ain’t polite.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

  “That be alrigh’, you weren’t to know,” she said, glancing at him. “But I see now why yer must go back. What with not havin’ yer father there.”

  Silas nodded. “Aye.”

  She ran her tongue along her lips, and Silas was surprised to see sorrow in her eyes. Sorrow, and... regret. His brow furrowed in confusion as he reached over and gently took her hand. She gasped a little as his freezing palm touched her, but she didn’t pull back; only looked at him silently.

  Silas didn’t speak either. He just held her eyes with his, unblinking and deep. Grey met brown in a haze of understanding. He realised numbly how soft his gaze was, and how placid his face felt. It was as though he had completely forgotten how to be unyielding.

  After what seemed like an age, Pearl Spring turned away, but she kept hold of his hand. Silas was so immersed that he wondered why, until his vision began to narrow down, and he realised that dawn had finally come. He remembered how much it chilled her to watch.

  He closed his eyes, and her hand slipped from his grasp. He listened, and heard the rustle of material as she got to her feet, but instead of heading towards the flap of the door to leave, as he thought she might, instead she came behind him. She knelt down, so close that he felt her knees against his back, and gently slipped the blindfold over his face.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly, feeling for the glove and pulling it back on.

  As she tied the knot at the back of his head, she put her chin on his shoulder. “Yer know what?” she whispered in his ear. “Yer not a Peregrin, n’ yer not bound by our customs as all the others are. So I want yer to call me Irima.”

  *

  1st day of Jyuli.

  This morn, Silas told me that he means to seek out Uncle and ask him to arrange the escort to take him back to Fanchlow. O Lady! My dear Lady, I shall miss him so! I do wonder if he is thinking the same! Perhaps choosing to leave us now is so that he may make the departure a clean cut, so to speak? O I wonder so! My poor, strange, blindsighted Silas with a wanderer’s heart! I do wish he would tell me what is in his head, to save my guessing and supposing! Will he miss me?

  When he goes to Uncle, I shall go to Ida. She did ask for my help with Sonja yester-day, in any fashion. And she is a fair confidante, I know. I shall tell her what I think. She will listen and understand.

  To-day is the day I have come to dread, and it has arrived at long last. O sweet boy. I shall never see him again. The notion is like a knife in my heart.

  *

  Silas walked around the camp slowly, stopping everyone who he heard pass to ask after Shadow Mask. The first few didn’t know, but eventually he came to Andreas and Tomas, who were giving the horses some fresh morning water from the lake.

  “He be in a Moot with the Seniors righ’ now,” Tomas replied, running a finger across his moustache. “Probably won’t finish for a fair while yet. Yer in for a wait.”

  There was an agitated whinny from one of the horses, and Silas recognised it as belonging to the charcoal stallion that had kicked him. He inched away slightly.

  He heard the sloshing of water inside a wooden pail as it was set down, and then the greedy gulping of the animals, followed by Andreas groaning as he stood up fully.

  “Ai, ai, dear me, I’s a’stiff this morn!” Andreas exclaimed, his shirt rustling as he stretched his arms to the sky. “How be those garments for yer?”

  Silas smiled. “Most comfortable, thank you,” he said, for it was the first time he had spoken properly with Andreas since he had been presented with the clothes.

  “Good,” replied Andreas, clapping him warmly on the shoulder. “I thought they’d fit yer, you n’ me be just about the same size, I figured!”

  Silas nodded with another grin. He had seen Andreas of a night, and though it was true that the two of them were nearly the exact same height, the man was much more well-fed than Silas, so Pearl Spring – Irima – had sat for hours taking in the sides.

  The thought of Irima brought him back to why he was seeking her uncle in the first place. He had decided that he had lingered in the camp for long enough, and though he’d grown fond of them and would forever miss them, he knew the time had come to return to his family – minus one net, of course.

  But of all the Peregrin he had come to know: Ida, Tomas, Andreas, Shadow Mask... it was Irima – with the pearls in her jet ringlets and eyes grey as a winter morn – who he had grown the closest to. He would miss her most of all, he knew that for sure and certain. When he went home, he would miss her just as much as he missed Raph whilst he was with the Travellers.

  There was a sudden clamour of activity from the direction of the central tent, and Silas heard the hubbub of mutterings between the old Seniors as they continued to muse over whatever had been the subject of the Moot. But amid it all, he picked out Shadow Mask’s distinctive younger voice, and called to him. The troupe leader was so light on his feet that even Silas barely heard him until he was almost within touching distance.

  “Good morn, Silas,” he greeted. “How be yer today?”

  “Well, thank you,” he replied, and then he said, “May I speak with thee?”

  There was a small pause, in which he thought Shadow Mask was nodding, and then a flustered-sounding rustle of a shirt being straightened.

  “Of course yer may,” he said. “Let us go o’er to the lake, so’s we’s got some privacy, eh?”

  He put his hand gently behind Silas’ back and helped to guide him away from the main throng of people. Silas felt his way with his cane, but didn’t bother to outstretch his free hand; he knew most routes through the camp almost by heart now.

  When they arrived on the shale-covered slopes that dipped down into the lake, Shadow Mask sat, and invited Silas to do the same before reaching out his hands to help. Silas let him gratefully, and when he was seated, he slipped his hand out of the glove and groped around until he felt the cool water.

  “Yer’s gettin’ a lot better at findin’ yer way around, yer know,” Shadow Mask told him as he bathed his palm. “An’ it ain’t been all that long, yer remember?”

  “Aye, I know,” replied Silas.

  There was a sound of boots scraping along grass, and then of clothing against clothing as Shadow Mask drew his knee
s close to his chest. “So, what do yer want to speak to me about, lad?”

  Silas swallowed, already feeling gloomy. “I’d like to leave tomorrow, if it would be possible,” he said. “I don’t wish to trouble you any longer, but I wouldn’t go tonight: there is rain on the way.”

  Shadow Mask hesitated, and Silas imagined him frowning, or looking at the sky.

  “How do yer know that?”

  “The air is heavier and cooler. I can taste it, smell it.”

  The troupe leader laughed heartedly. “Oh, my; Silas, yer be a strange one, true, but by our Lady Maria’s name, yer be extraordinary!”

  Silas lowered his head, feeling a little embarrassed. “A blind man does what he can, Sir.”

  Shadow Mask grasped his shoulder. “Indeed he does,” he said. “Well, we’s all going to be sad to bid yer farewell, for certain – but don’t you go around tellin’ yerself that yer’s any trouble to us! If we thought that, then we’d have left yer where yer lay, now, wouldn’t we?”

  “You told me that it wasn’t your way, not to help a needy fellow,” Silas pointed out.

  “Yes, but no needy fellow be a problem if he be truly needy! N’ you were mighty needy, we all knew that. An’ we still do, yer mark me, boy. But I know, n’ so does Irima, that we can do no more for yer. I wish with all me heart that we could, but none of us knows nothin’ about what can be done, y’see. I’m sorry for that, truly I am.”

  Silas lowered his head humbly, and he waved his hand to flick off any water droplets before holding it up searchingly. Shadow Mask realised what he was doing and reached over to take it.

  “I want to thank you for all you and your people have done for me,” Silas said. “I mean that in the name of God, Sir, truly. You’ve all been too kind to me: you saved my life. I wish I could repay you somehow.”

  “Ah,” Shadow Mask smiled, “yer need not think o’ tryin’ to repay us, lad. It be good enough knowin’ that yer fine enough to be on yer way. If anythin’, I should be a’thankin’ yer for givin’ me reason to wrack me brains so!”

  Silas laughed.