Blindsighted Wanderer

by E. Hibbs

“Anyways, we wasn’t about to let yer just sneak off anyhow,” said Shadow Mask.

  At that, Silas frowned and turned his head more in his direction. “Beg pardon?”

  Shadow Mask squeezed his hand so tightly that Silas felt his knuckles crack under his fingers. “Wait ‘til sunset, lad; just wait,” he replied mysteriously. “Yer feel the wind?”

  Silas paused, and realised that what had been a breeze not long before had now picked up and changed direction, blowing down the Valley towards Primoris Midpeak.

  “The rain will pass us by,” he stated.

  “Indeed it will,” said Shadow Mask. “I’s be feelin’ a tad sorry for them poor folk down in Ullswick, mind! Ol’ Fayreground, as some o’ us know it. They’ll be getting a right soakin’, yer mark me words!”

  The two of them laughed together, and Silas felt the light weight of the glove slip out of his lap. He felt around for it with his free hand. Shadow Mask let go of his left one and then stood up, making to leave, but Silas twisted round quickly and grasped his leg.

  “Wait. Please,” he said. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

  CHAPTER XX

  The First Shreds of Truth

  M errin took her time returning along to the cave. The moon hung low in the sky and dawn was creeping nearer, but she felt no rush to find shelter. The experience of yesternight had taught her to leave plenty of time, and she traversed the Surface like an ethereal ballerina.

  When she had fled from Raphael, she hadn’t sought Dylana’s company, even though she knew that her tutor would be searching for her. Instead, she had run to the opposite bank, where she was sure he couldn’t follow without taking an exhausting route around the Lakeshore. No Asræ had come to land to search for her. Merrin hoped they realised by now that she was managing well enough. Or perhaps Dylana has said that there should be no unnecessary comings to the Surface until the night of the Rise, so that Merrin must be alone with Raphael.

  Raphael Atégo.

  Merrin had hidden herself away, using a small grove as a sanctuary to vent her rage. Speaking to him had been like tearing the head off a scab. She knew he was unaware of the meanings behind what he asked, but it had infuriated her so much that running was the only thing she could do to stop herself striking out at him. The thought of the Brand crossed her mind; with the waxing moon, she was now powerful enough to deal it again.

  But why should I? The boy saved my life, and thus far has done nothing terrible enough to deserve blindness, she thought. That in turn led her on to think of his brother, who had pulled her from the Lake. She was still furious with him, but couldn’t help thinking that perhaps she had acted a little rashly.

  Dylana said he probably did not even know what you were, Merrin, let alone who you were. What were his true motives? If you do not know, then how can you say he is justly deserving of such a punishment?

  Eventually, Merrin crossed from water to earth. The amarants were soft under her feet as she approached the cave. She was startled to find a human garment hanging on the branch of a hazel nearby, and Raphael himself just inside the mouth, shirtless and fiddling with an object in his hand.

  “Oh,” he said, noticing her. “Hello!”

  Merrin stared at him. “What are you still doing here?”

  He got to his feet, and the last beams of moonlight shone on his shoulders, dancing across the contours of his muscles.

  “I couldn’t just leave without making sure you were alright,” he said simply. “It would be terribly rude of me to do that. Besides, it was my fault that you got upset in the first place, so I wanted to say that I was sorry.” He paused. “And after all thou hast told me, I had to at least bid good bye.”

  Merrin stood motionless at the entrance to the cave. He was apologising? Ensuring she was alright? Wanting to say farewell?

  Three things that his ancestor did not do.

  She swallowed, and then realised that the sun was about to rise. She grabbed his tunic and tossed it over as she stepped into the shadows. He caught it with one hand, the other still clutching the object.

  “It is dry,” Merrin said.

  Raphael pulled it over his head. “Thank you.”

  She glanced at him. “You are welcome.”

  When he didn’t say anything more, she crossed to the wall and sat. She looked away, trying not to think about how her stomach ached from avoiding Dylana, and the nightly meal that would have come with her. Eventually, however, she turned her eyes to Raphael, but he kept his own cast down. His body was tense, as though carrying a sudden burden.

  Merrin watched him unblinkingly as the sun slipped over the mountains, throwing new light onto the outside world. “You must have the utmost faith in your brother, to still remain here.”

  Raphael sighed; the sound full of pain and longing.

  Merrin frowned. “If you miss him, then you should go to him. I cannot help you anymore, and I can manage well enough on my own now.”

  “But you are not alone,” he said, looking up at her. “When you ran, I met another of your kind, called Penro.”

  Merrin was taken aback. “Penro?”

  “Aye. He told me about the amarants, and the nature of the mantle you must take up.” Raphael said. “I am sorry about your father.”

  Merrin’s breath caught in her throat and she stared at him – but even she could tell that her heat towards him had quelled. The only thing she could think to say was strained thanks, with a single – but appreciative – nod.

  “Thou does remind me a little of my brother,” Raphael said suddenly. “Silas is his name.”

  Merrin pressed her lips together, to hold back from telling him curtly that she knew that. Instead, she asked, “How so?”

  Raphael smiled with a small shake of his head. “You are both so driven, so passionate to lead. It is something I have always struggled with, even though I am the eldest son, and so leadership should be mine by birthright.”

  Merrin’s fin flickered. “I prefer to call such a notion, responsibility,” she replied. “And I do not make assumptions of your brother, but my own sense of it is very well-founded. I have a country to lead.”

  Raphael nodded. “Aye. And Silas: a family. To us – to him – that is just as important.”

  He glanced down at the thing in his hands. Merrin caught a glimpse of it: a large stone with a hole worn straight through the middle of it. It would seem so simple to most humans, yet she noted how Raphael handled it as though it were made of the most fragile material in the world.

  “His only flaw is in his very nature,” he carried on, almost more to himself than her. “In his responsibility and his sense of it, he is blind to love. He knows not how to give it, nor receive it.”

  Merrin gazed at Raphael in silence, and her fin gradually slowed to a gentle wave. She ran a hand along her gown, feeling the soft material beneath her fingers.

  Love. The word spilled a thousand connotations, and she mulled over them behind a wordless facade. Love had its place in the world. It was a brittle alliance. Allowing it to overstep its boundaries, one might as well hand over a blade, and bear the heart to receive it.

  That was what she had thought for so long. But sitting there, in the company of a human – an Atégo – she felt a shred of doubt.

  After all, Merrin, she heard herself mutter, was it not love that you felt for Father? Grandfather? And what do you feel for Dylana, Lailes, Anula, Uncle Lorelen? And what of Penro? What else is it than love? For all the loves you have ever known and felt; how many of them have ever broken you? One, Merrin. Only one.

  “I have never met a human like you for a long time, Raphael Atégo,” she admitted.

  He looked up at her from worrying over the stone. “Is that a bad thing?”

  Their eyes met. Merrin distantly wondered, why was she not snarling at him to address her as Your Highness? Why had she never done that with him?

  “No,” she said eventually, barely above a whisper. “No, it is not.”

  H
e smiled at her: a tentative gesture, although a sure one. She returned it. It was small, but there, nonetheless. Then she tore her eyes away, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “So where do you suppose Silas is?”

  The shadows returned to Raphael’s brown eyes, and he stared out of the cave mouth into the pale blue morning. “I know not,” he said softly, voice wracked with his loss.

  Merrin watched him. Her mind was suddenly filled with the fresh memory, of being hauled out of the Lake, falling into the hard bottom of the ancient boat. The young red-haired boy was trying to calm her, and assure he meant no harm. She remembered the overwhelming fury, rendering her incapable of hearing anything but her own screams. She felt her hand smack his as he reached out, his cry intermingling with hers.

  As Raphael sat barely a pace from her, she closed her eyes, overcome with guilt.

  Merrin. However will you tell him that you sent his brother away, with his doom waiting on his shoulders to cover his eyes with every moonset? How can you? And how could you have done that, without true conviction? What kind of Monarch acts purely on impulse? Is that what Father would have wanted of you?

  Neither of them spoke again, and Merrin turned her face away from the sun. Its blazing eye was soon shrouded by a thick blanket of cloud, and a blessed shower of rain loosed over the forest. The sound of the droplets falling onto the leaves soon lulled her into slumber. The day weighed heavy on her motionless body as she curled up into a ball, hair swimming above her like a mist. Her eyelids twitched and the dancing patterns on her skin slowed their movements, as a dream picked her up and swept her away.

  She imagined one long moment, lying on the Surface. The light was harsh and directionless, throwing confused shadows over everything. The Lake extended on forever, with no trace of land or sky – for above, there was another Surface. It was as though a second Lake had been tipped upside down, but yet remained in position, and it pinned her where she lay, trapped between two worlds.

  When she came to, her eyes immediately found Raphael, slumped back against the cave wall opposite. He was chewing slowly on a small handful of pignuts that she presumed he had found while she was asleep. His fingers were dirtied from digging for them, but as she glanced around, Merrin realised that the hole was only a few feet from the cave mouth. Even for a meagre amount of food, he hadn’t left her.

  She stirred, and frowned as rough material moved against her. Her eyes strayed down, and fell onto his frayed cape. He must have approached and covered her with it, as she had with him.

  Raphael glanced up at her. “Good eve.”

  “And to you,” she returned.

  “Pleasant dreams?”

  “I have seen better,” Merrin admitted. “But, also, far worse.”

  Raphael offered a small smile and held out the remaining pignuts. Merrin eyed them suspiciously; then shook her head.

  “You must eat something,” he insisted.

  “How do you know I did not eat when I left you?”

  “Your tongue might hide it, but your stomach doesn’t.”

  Merrin’s fin waved as she realised that her belly must have been rumbling, but still she didn’t accept the nuts. Raphael, however, didn’t withdraw his hand, and instead fixed her with a soft stare.

  “They’re good,” he assured. “Hast thou never eaten them?”

  “Not for centuries,” Merrin said. “They are an acquired taste.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Raphael said. “Please.”

  Merrin glared at him, but not as harshly as usual, and begrudgingly cupped her hand. Raphael tipped the pignuts into her palm, their fingers touching fleetingly. Their gazes met awkwardly, and then he drew back to a respectful distance. Merrin looked away across the Lake as she ate the nuts one by one, not caring about how she had disliked them in the past.

  “When will thou become Queen?” Raphael asked suddenly.

  “In three nights. When the moon is full,” Merrin replied. “All Asræ will come to the Surface and we shall age.”

  She motioned towards Coronation Mount in the distance. “It is then, over there, that I will be named the Queen. But I am already Queen. I have been Queen since my Father died, months ago. Ever since then, I have worn the Bands. But until my Coronation, I remain a Princess in the eyes of the Lake.”

  Raphael seemed to have barely slept at all. The skin under his eyes was dark and puffy, and he sat with his shoulders hunched, as though every muscle in his body was screaming at him to rest. But Merrin could tell from his voice and face that he wouldn’t want anything less than that. He wanted to learn about the Asræ. She didn’t know whether that notion shocked her more, or that she was giving him the answers.

  “In the eyes of the Lake?” he repeated. “You speak of the Lake as though it is alive.”

  “Not it. She,” Merrin said. “She is our Mother: all of this place belongs to Her, and exists solely because of Her. She is home to so many creatures, from tree to minnow. Birthplace and grave is Hers and of Her. We are all Her children, all equal and forever in Her embrace. But I am Her voice. That is what it means to be the Monarch of the Asræ. To speak for Her.”

  Merrin swallowed. “And She is old. So old; older than all of us. She knows no good or evil, just existence.”

  Raphael stared. Merrin wasn’t sure if he could understand. He spoke of God, as the humans had done for centuries in the Valley – but for as close as the two races once were; the Asræ still knew little of this being that their neighbours looked to. Merrin didn’t rush to make assumptions now.

  “It is not just the sun being such a danger,” Raphael said suddenly, his voice overlaid with new realisation. “You cannot leave this place.”

  Merrin rose to her feet, and the faintest breeze lifted her hair. She felt it whip, cool and comforting, down the back of her neck. It reminded her fleetingly of a tiny current in the depths, which forever swirled and shifted around the Palace at Lacudomus.

  Even here, in harsh Delamere, there is a trace of Her even where She does not lie.

  “No,” Merrin replied. “We cannot.”

  Raphael looked thoughtful for a moment. “I did wonder why no-one had ever happened across a kind such as yours in the other lakes,” he said. “But they are not this Lake. Not the Lake.”

  Merrin glanced at him. She read every silent thought betrayed by the way his eyes flickered, and how he held himself as he spoke.

  He does understand, she thought, and then nodded stiffly. “That is right.”

  Their eyes met once again: purple and brown each searching the other, as though for handholds along the face of a rearing cliff. The rain had moved away and left a cool dampness to the air, wonderfully fresh after the humidity of the past few days.

  “What’s it like?” Raphael asked suddenly.

  Merrin frowned. “What?”

  “The Lake. Please, tell me of it.”

  Confusion overcame her. What was this? Why would he want to know about matters like that? What for? What could they possibly mean to him?

  Just speak to him, Merrin. Listen to Dylana.

  “Well...” she said woodenly, grasping at where it might be best to begin. “Zandor is the name of our Kingdom. This forest is Delamere: the forest of the Lake. Beneath the Surface lies Lacudomus.”

  Raphael froze. “Lacudomus?” he repeated.

  Merrin blinked in surprise. “Why the sudden emphasis?”

  He seemed to come to his senses and settled back against the wall. “Ah, nothing. It merely sounds a little similar to the name that we use nowadays.”

  “Mm.” Merrin pressed her lips together. She didn’t know what this name might be, but there was no want in her to find out. Perhaps not too long ago, she would have pressed him for it, but now, she couldn’t. What would it matter anyway? What was in a name, truly?

  What indeed, Merrin.

  She watched him for a moment, making sure that he was done with his interruptions before continuing.

  “Lacudomus is the home
of all Asræ, and of the Palace: the seat of the Monarchy since its inception, over nine millennia past. That is three Asræ generations, I should add, including my own. Everywhere is surrounded by the shoals of minnow and chaff; pikes lurk in the shadows; and the weeds wave in the water, like hair growing from the mossy rocks. And all of the water is alive with the shine of magic.”

  Raphael’s eyes had glazed over. “Magic?” he whispers, words saturated with wonder.

  Merrin couldn’t hold back a smile. “Indeed.”

  “You all are capable of this?” He leant forward again. “Or only some?”

  “No, all of us,” Merrin explained. “But some more than others. All Asræ are Sorcerers, but the oldest and most experienced of us still alive is a Necromancer. I am under her tutelage, to follow in her finstrokes, if I am able.”

  “By God, how wonderful!” Raphael gasped.

  Merrin felt herself blush a little. “It is not an uncommon occurrence.”

  “Regardless, it is a wonderful notion! How I wish that we also possessed such power!”

  Merrin watched him coolly. He knew nothing of magic. It was best kept that way, she believed. But, beyond any doubt, he was unlike any human she had met. At the very least, he wasn’t the man his forefather had been, by any means. In the short course of time she had spent with him; that much was certainly clear.

  Both Dylana and Zephyr had told Merrin that she must release her demon if she was ever to become a great Queen. Now, finally, she saw what they meant.

  One step forward, Merrin. Let it go.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Silas’ Confession

  S hadow Mask walked so fast that Silas struggled to keep up with him. The leader had hold of his hand tightly, and with every step, Silas feared that he would stumble. He sensed the eyes of nearby Peregrin on them with interest, but as quickly as Shadow Mask was moving; it wasn’t brisk enough for curiosity to turn into suspicion. So as they passed people, Silas was relieved to hear them soon resuming work.

  Eventually, Silas recognised that they had reached the sick tent by the route they had taken. It was confirmed as soon as he entered and the familiar musky smell of incense filled his nose, having soaked itself into the tarpaulin. He made for where he knew the bed was, but Shadow Mask guided him away from the corner where it lay and made him sit down at the opposite end.