Blindsighted Wanderer

by E. Hibbs

  She paused. “I... I think I understand now. Times have changed, across the Wall. And because of the Wall, and... because of me, keeping myself in Lacudomus, I did not see that.”

  Dylana nodded with certainty, and a great smile broke over her face. “Indeed, my dear girl. How else was it that all other Asræ were not as bitter? Forget that you bore the brunt of the scars two centuries ago; we all felt your pain. You could not see this; your mind was too clouded with rage and hate. But now you do. And I am so proud of you.”

  She moved her hand to Merrin’s neck, expertly avoiding touching her gills. It was the softest that Merrin had ever heard her speak. “You are ready,” she said. “Ready to become the most amazing Queen you can be.”

  King Zephyr’s face suddenly filled Merrin’s mind, and she broke down. Her head dropped and tears stung her eyes. They dripped from her cheeks to the Lake below, and where they landed, light brighter than that pooling around her feet flashed out, as though stars had fallen from the sky.

  Dylana pulled her into an embrace and they held each other tightly. The near-full moon watched down with a sympathetic eye. It felt as though the whole of Zandor was whispering to her, that she must only endure one more day before she would be free. And Merrin felt herself swell with it, for when freedom came, she would be Queen. The aversion had now vanished completely. It didn’t matter anymore that she would be the first female Monarch, nor the youngest. All that mattered was that she made her people happy, by being kind, and just, and loving.

  In the course of two nights above the Surface, two centuries’ worth of darkness had spilled out from her heart and disappeared into the sky. In her mind’s eye, she could almost see the Tomb Garden, where she carried a shrivelled version of herself like some dead identical sibling, and laid it to rest, enwrapped in nets.

  “What are you thinking about, Merrin?” Dylana asked, cutting across her imaginings. “Raphael?”

  Merrin paused for a moment, hesitant – but then decided the truth was the best answer. “No. Adrian.”

  She expected Dylana to react: she waited for the tensing of muscles, or the flickering of a fin. But there was nothing. And what surprised Merrin the most was that there was also nothing from her, except an involuntary shudder of saying out loud a name she had forbidden herself to acknowledge for so long.

  Keep going, Merrin, she thought. Give it physical words and throw it away. This is the time.

  “For all he shares with Adrian, he is not the man his forefather was,” she said. “The light in his eyes is the light of truth. I have wronged him... all of them... all these years. Even Silas – the boy who pulled me from the Lake. I know that now. And I know what Raphael thinks of me.”

  Dylana smiled wryly. “Oh?”

  Merrin pushed away from her slightly, to look into her eyes.

  “He believes he loves me,” she said on, but carefully – for the sake of herself if nothing else, “but I would not want him too. And even if I returned his feelings, we cannot be together. I must do my duty, and where it lies, he cannot come.”

  Dylana nodded in agreement. “That is very true,” she agreed, her tone barely changed. She shook her head happily. “My girl. My dear, dear girl. If only you could stand where I stand, and look at yourself. It is uncanny, I tell you. I see who you were centuries ago, coming back from the depths of yourself. And it brings an old Asræ such joy!”

  Her eyes brimmed, and Merrin blinked, startled. Dylana never cried. Never.

  She felt a sudden pang of guilt in her heart, but as though Dylana had read her mind, she grasped her shoulders warmly.

  “No, no, do not be sad for me! I am but happy for you!” Dylana cried. “Oh, Merrin. My darling, what you have become.”

  All Merrin could manage was a thank you, before they drew away. But her head was still full of Raphael. She tried to force herself to realise he was gone. He would never return. And although she didn’t love him, she felt so grateful to him; he didn’t know what he had done for her, and he probably never would.

  A million conversations with those closest to her could never have equalled all he had made clear in two nights: he, the descendant of her hated enemy. But now, she finally understood. Adrian was her enemy. Not Atégo.

  Touched and shaken, Dylana soon left her, to be alone with her thoughts. For a little while, Merrin wandered the Surface, but despite the night, she returned to the cave. Exhaustion pulling on her mind, she lay down on the leaves, the spider now having woven its new web between the trees just outside. Merrin didn’t realise just how tired she was until she fell over the edge of consciousness.

  She saw Raphael again. His face was frozen with fear and horror. There was fire and black smoke in the sky. Angry roars filled the air, and the wind howled like a lost soul. A donkey ran in frenzy through the river, sending up white spray on either side.

  There was a cry: a terrible sound, of a heart being torn in two.

  PART FOUR

  With what a deep devotedness of woe

  I wept thy absence – o’er and o’er again

  Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain,

  And memory, like a drop that, night and day,

  Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!

  - Thomas Moore

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Flight to Fanchlow

  W hen Raphael reached the border of Zandor, the moon was at its midnight point. The wind had died down, and though a few wisps of cloud were trailing across the sky, it was a very clear night. The ivy coat of the Wall was edged with silver as he stood in its shadow, staring up at the jagged rocks that built it.

  Before he could convince himself to turn around, he pushed Merrin’s face from his mind and filled it with Silas’. He threw himself forward, his strong hands finding holds, and climbed up to the top in moments. He swung his legs over; then scrambled down. Half-way to go, however, his foot slipped on the wet stone, and he lost his grip, falling to earth with an alarmed yelp.

  He landed on his back and sat up quickly, looking around to see if anybody was watching. His hair slapped at his cheeks as he swung his head back and forth, heart hammering. But he calmed when he didn’t notice any eyes, and then staggered back onto his feet.

  To his right, Elizabeth Falls stood startlingly close, the water’s roar cutting through the night like a blade. He felt the faint wetness of spray sent exploding from the plunge pool at its base, carried on the wind, and settling on his face and hands. The river tumbled past – white with the fury of the waterfall – and flowed on towards the north.

  For a moment, Raphael was worried that he’d strayed too far south, but then he noticed the black hulk of Ullswick rising up from the surrounding fields not too far away. The lake glimmered under the moonlight, making it seem as though the whole place was floating on the water. At the neck, the village lantern burned brightly: an eerily warm glow in the sleeping Elitland.

  Contented with how close he was, Raphael set off at a brisk walk. As he moved, he decided that even though he was now desperate to be on his way home – for Silas would have surely begun to head back that way by now, he told himself – trying to attempt the journey through the entire length of the Valley was one of the most idiotic things to do.

  So an idea came to him: he would wait until morning, and then exchange his knife for some food to see him to Fanchlow. The thought of trading the blade was painful; he had carried it for over ten years, and it had been his all-season tool through countless days of work, but then he reminded himself that it was a small loss if it meant a safer return. And besides, being of a slightly wealthier family meant that he would definitely be able to find something to take to the Fanchlow blacksmith and strike a deal for a new knife.

  So, feeling better for having made a decision, he headed straight into the streets. He was careful to keep to the shadows so as to not arouse suspicion from any late-goers, and soon found what he was looking for: a building with a painted wheel on the door.

  He glan
ced around to check if anyone was watching, then jumped over the low wall at the back, landing almost silently in a crouch. He kept low and moved along towards the rear door, and was just about to settle down to wait for dawn when the sharp tip of a blade was pressed against his back.

  “What mischief might this be, young rascal?” a voice hissed in the darkness. A hand grasped Raphael’s shoulder, spun him around and pushed him up roughly against the side of the inn. Raphael went to reach for his own knife, but the cold, sharp edge of the man’s appeared again, this time at his throat.

  “Speak quickly!”

  “Harm me not!” Raphael cried. “Please! God, I mean ye no harm!”

  There was a pause, but the hand didn’t let go. “Who are you?” the man demanded. “What is your business this late? Mighty queer, I must say! Come, answer me!”

  Raphael suddenly recognised the voice, and he gripped the hand that held the blade. “Abraham!” he gasped. “Abraham, please, it’s me! Raphael Atégo, your kinsman!”

  Abraham didn’t say anything for an agonisingly long time, and he looked over the boy with intense scrutiny before finally lowering the knife. Raphael sighed in relief.

  “What manner of happening is this?” Abraham asked in an undertone. “Nalina and I awoke days ago to find thee disappeared without trace! By God, we thought it might be some young troublemaker for a moment, wanting to cause us grief, until she found your payment! You left too much, I must say, lad – but why did you leave in the middle of the night, pray tell?”

  “I left enough to cover my lodgings, and as thanks for the information thou gave me,” Raphael explained quickly. “As for my business in leaving, I realised a trail leading in my missing brother’s direction – you remember me speaking of why I left my home to begin with?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, I followed the trail, and it now leads back to where my journey began, in Fanchlow, I believe. But I did not wish to risk journeying by night. Here is the only place and folk that I would truly trust in a village I know little of. I meant only to shelter nearby and be on my way in the morning, believe me!”

  Abraham ran his tongue across his lips. In the silvery light, his scalp shone. “I do believe you,” he admitted quietly in the end. “And, humbled as I am that you sought us again, I blame you not, for wanting to find somewhere safe.”

  Raphael frowned deeply. “What dost thou mean?”

  But Abraham just put an arm around his shoulders and steered him inside, before shutting the door quietly. There was the familiar sound of a bolt being slid into place, and Raphael glanced around. The inn was empty, just as it had been when he had first arrived, and Nalina was curled up asleep in one of the beds, her hair still in its long plait. Abraham shook her awake.

  “Mm, whah’ is t’ matter?” she mumbled, peering at him with weary eyes.

  “Come on. Up, my girl,” Abraham said sharply. “Wake up. Our distant cousin has returned.”

  At mention of Raphael, Nalina sat up straight and looked him in the eye.

  “Good eve to you both,” he greeted as she lit a small lamp.

  “And to you,” she returned.

  “I’m sorry for the briskness of all this,” said Abraham, coming over towards him, “but I’m afraid it cannot wait, not even until the morn, lad. You must leave, quickly, as soon as you know what is happening!”

  Alarm seized Raphael with a grip like iron, and Abraham grasped his shoulders tightly.

  “A rumour has come to the south, of terrible trouble in Fanchlow,” he said, his voice heavy and solemn. “Hear me! We heard of it yesterday, that there are witches there, or something of the kind: poor souls who are cursed by demons, or who are in league with them! They say that in the course of one month, three of them have been lost: first the husband to terrible illness, then the two eldest sons simply disappeared!

  “They speak of your family, I am sure! The secret – long unknown to you yourselves – is out! But Fanchlow is not like Ullswick: here they are wary, but leave me and Nalina be. But not with you, nay! They have turned on you; they wish to harm you and your family, do you understand?”

  Raphael stood there, his heart drumming in his ears, eyes wide and staring. Fear rooted him to the spot.

  Nay... he thought wildly. Nay, this cannot be happening! Oh, God, nay...

  Abraham’s eyes hardened. “I know where you have been,” he said, now much quieter. “Only a Fotáni or an Atégo, because we are the only ones left of Adrian, could dare risk the crossing of the Wall. You have gone to the west, have you not? To Evertodomus!”

  Raphael suddenly found his voice. “I did go to the west,” he answered, amazed by how collected he sounded, “but not to Evertodomus. Nay, I went to Zandor.”

  Abraham and Nalina exchanged confused glances, and she came over to stand beside her father.

  “Zandor?” she repeated, sounding out this new word as though it were a strange morsel of food.

  “Aye, indeed,” said Raphael. “But there is no time! I think you right; it is my family in danger! If that be so, then I can wait not a moment! As you told me, I must go now!”

  That seemed to bring Abraham to his senses and he nodded. He turned around to Nalina and tossed his head in the direction of the rear door. She replied with a swift “aye”, and then the three of them hurried towards it. Nalina shot the bolt back, and as she swung the door open, the clean night air flooded inside, whipping Raphael’s hair back from his face. She ran into the shadows, and Raphael glimpsed a small privy – which he silently linked with Abraham’s own wanderings outside in the first place.

  Not long after, Nalina returned, leading a donkey. It was quite stocky; about the size of a small pony, and looked as though it could carry considerable weight. Its black eyes gleamed from amid a coat as white as virgin snow.

  “The least we may do to help our kinfolk is give you the best chance of returning home swiftly,” Nalina said. She patted the donkey’s neck. “He may not be much, but he’s young, and stronger than he looks. He’ll get you back to Fanchlow in a night if kept at good speed.”

  Raphael couldn’t believe his ears. A donkey was a valuable asset to any family; to give him theirs would mean the Fotánis surrendering half their livelihood. But the situation was so dire that he couldn’t bring himself to object, and told Abraham of how sorry he was that he had nothing worthy to exchange.

  “Worry not of that!” cried the innkeeper. “By God, just go home!”

  But Raphael pulled free his knife and closed Abraham’s fingers around it before he could refuse.

  “Take this, please!” he said. “It’s barely a good trade, but it’s all I have, and I could not leave in such a fashion without a trade of some sort. Please.”

  Abraham swallowed; then nodded to show he accepted the offer. Raphael thanked him deeply, and Nalina thrust the donkey’s reins into his hands.

  “Make haste!” she told him. “But be sure to be on the road before you straddle him, mind! Otherwise ye shall make a racket, and people will wake and wonder about your business! But go quickly, and may God be with you.”

  Raphael smiled gratefully, and placed his hand on her cheek for a moment before turning to face them both. “Before I leave, I want to tell you what I have learned,” he said. “Across the Wall, there are no demons, only an ancient people who have been done great wrong. So whatever might become of the Atégos, I want your family to know that; no others are more deserving of the knowledge.

  “And thank you, my kinfolk, for all you have done for me! God bless you. And merry part to you!”

  He gave them one final smile before quickly leading the donkey out along the streets, again walking in the shadows. He moved fast, but carefully, and as though sensing his thoughts, the donkey did the same, with hardly any sound from its hooves. Eventually they passed through the neck of the lake, under the glow of the village lantern, and the road opened up ahead of them.

  A little further down, Raphael leapt on the donkey’s back,
and after a sharp smack in the rump, it set off quickly. As the far south began to disappear behind him, Raphael’s mind swam with Silas’ face – as well as his mother’s, and his other siblings’, at the mercy of the Fanchlow villagers who had turned against them. What had once been a warily respected family were now unprotected victims. He had to get to them, and fast.

  Julian’s face joined the others’ in his head. And then, but faintly, so did Merrin’s.

  *

  Merrin started awake as the new day began to tint the sky far in the east. The leaves rustled sharply around her. Beneath her ribs, her heart slammed frantically. The dream that was not a dream burned in her mind like the sun.

  “Merrin!”

  She glanced up and saw Penro kneeling on the Surface. From the looks of things, he had been there for a while. She went to move over to him, but he held up a hand and warded her back.

  “No. Stay in there. The sun will rise very soon,” he said. “I do not wish a repeat of last time.”

  Merrin nodded. “What is it?”

  He walked closer to the cave, but remained on the Lake – just a few strides from the mouth – so he could dive down quickly. She noticed that his hands were in loose fists at his sides.

  “All is prepared for the Rise tomorrow night,” he said. “Everything is ready.”

  “I trust that it shall be wonderful,” Merrin replied. “I shall wait in here until the Coronation calls me.”

  Penro grinned, and Merrin smiled back. She swallowed nervously, biting her lip as she crawled to the front of the cave.

  “Penro,” she began, softening her voice, “what was it you wished to tell me, the last time?”

  He flustered, and there was a moment when she thought her approach had been all wrong. But then his eyes shone and he took one step onto the bank, reaching out towards her across the glade of amarants. She hesitated – but only for a moment – and lifted her hand to his, heart swelling in her chest.

  How could you have done this to yourself, Merrin? He has always been here for you...