by E. Hibbs
“I... I wasn’t there,” Silas replied after a moment’s pause. “I was with the Pere... the Patrians. I was injured; they have been seeing to me almost from the very day I set out. But I had no intention of being gone so long!”
He kept quiet about the full details of his ordeal – even being careful to keep both his hands in loose fists to avoid drawing attention to his exposed left one. They had all been through too much to also deal with the notion that at least part of the accusations were true. Silas distantly wondered how he would ever tell them of what he had done, in daring to cross the Wall. But that was dashed from his mind with the horrid pressing of Raphael’s disappearance.
Raph... gone...
It was something he could barely comprehend. How could Raphael have left the family? Silas felt terrible enough for leaving in the first place himself; and even more so for delaying his return from the camp. But with the lack of one son, why had Raphael – the eldest, and the one with the most power by right – gone off, leaving their mother and younger siblings defenceless in a village that was suspicious enough of them?
Anger mixed with fear. It didn’t matter about that, now they were all safe. But Raphael never left. As laid-back as he could be, he was loyal and strong, and Silas had never seen it in him to do something like this. It wasn’t like him at all. As Julian had once said, long before he had fallen sick:
‘If Raphael is the foundation of our family’s ground, then Silas is the sturdiest stone that makes it. The two of them are the backbone of us all. They are the sun and the rain that bring forth bounty for us, year after year. So different, true; but together, incredible.’
Silas quickly thought back to how long it had been since he had set off, with no more than a knife and a net, towards the land of demons. If Raphael had left shortly afterwards, then he could easily have made it to Ullswick and back by now. Where could he be?
A knife... and a net.
Silas remembered in an instant what the Elder in the mob had said. In his fury, he had paid little attention to the details of the accusations, being too concerned with protecting his family. But the man had mentioned the two eldest sons having dealings with the demons, not just one.
Realisation crept over him like ice, and his eyes shot towards the west. The Wall stood out starkly against the lightening sky.
Oh, nay, he thought frantically, and it suddenly made perfect sense in his mind. Raphael had made it to the other villages, and upon no sign of his brother, had turned to the only other place where fishing was possible: the great Lake, hidden in the forest like a freezing trap.
Despite the near-risen sun, the Wall seemed darker than ever.
Silas thought quickly, and whirled on his family so quickly that Araena cried out in alarm.
“Listen to me,” he said, nervously glancing at the Eastern Ridge overhead. The night had almost completely gone. “Mount up again. Now. Ma, you get up, and you two as well. Mekina, you keep hold of its mane and head up there, to the corrie. You see it? The Travellers are up there. You must make haste.”
He reached up to his neck and pulled the kerchief free. The knot worked loose surprisingly easily, and he pressed the blue fabric into his eldest sister’s hand, curling her fingers around it and then clutching them fondly.
“Ask for Shadow Mask – a tall fellow with black hair and whiskers. Give him this. Tell him I sent you and they shall help you,” he commanded, but even as he spoke, he heard that his voice was much softer.
He looked at her face: freckled and framed by her wild, flaming hair – a face that he had known all her life – and saw her for the first time in so long. He couldn’t help but glance behind him at Araena, Uriel and Selena; and noticed it in them, too. He saw their confusion and fear and horror, but also every little scar and blemish; the ways their hair fell and their clothes folded, and how the light hit their eyes.
“Are you not coming, Si?” Uriel asked in a small voice. “Please come with us! Don’t go, too!”
Silas swallowed, reaching over and gently rubbing his little brother’s cheek with his thumb. The stallion was alarmingly calmer, even with three passengers on its back, and although it kept its attention on Silas, it made no move towards him.
“I must find Raph,” he replied quietly. “But I will return this time. I promise you. I swear to God and for all I am worth, I will never leave you again.”
He smiled at his mother. “But before we part this final time, I must tell you all how much I love you. I have not told you often enough. But I care for you all so – terribly so – and you must never forget that.
“Now, go! Mekina, keep close to the tree line. Let those in Fanchlow see you not!”
She nodded nervously, and took hold of the stallion’s mane before beginning to hurry on towards the corrie, the necktie clutched tightly in her hand. Silas stayed where he was, watching them grow smaller and smaller. His heart wrenched as Selena and Uriel kept their eyes on him in a childish mixture of fear, sorrow and wonder, until they disappeared into the shadows.
When he was sure they couldn’t see him anymore, Silas threw a glance at the sky again and ran to a nearby tree. He grabbed his knife and quickly hacked off a thin branch to use as a makeshift cane. He clutched it in his hands and then took off back down towards the village. He moved in a wide arc with stealth he’d never known he had, so that the mob wouldn’t see him. They had largely dissipated by now, but some were still nearby, and as he’d led the family up to the pasture house, the cockerel had crowed and roused anyone who was still sleeping.
The flames of the burning house still rose tall over Fanchlow: flickering angrily as the village lantern was doused for another day. He left the pasture, leaving the cows behind. The cattle were now all that were left of their lives in the Valley, and would soon also be lost to them. Now he was alone, he noticed the hay that had been cut in the Atégo fields had been savaged or stolen, and their spices and salt taken. It was all too clear that they were no longer welcome.
It was like walking in Evertodomus all over again. The demon’s furious cries rang in his ears, now synchronised with voices and faces he had always thought he could trust.
And now you return there, Silas, he said to himself.
Before long, he had slinked past the village, keeping low, and followed the road a little to the south to keep the wide berth as much as he dared. He reached where the channel narrowed just upriver of the mill – to force the water faster through the wheel – and quickly jumped it, with only a little splashing up the backs of his legs. Worried that the tiny noise would attract attention, he ducked down into the meadow, hoping the green Peregrin shirt would camouflage him.
He was all too aware of the proximity of the dawn. It would be literally moments left before his sight deserted him once again. But despite that, he was surprised to find his mind straying to their old donkey, and hoping that she had managed to escape the shelter before it was engulfed in flame.
And then, out of nowhere, a white donkey trotting wearily down the river blundered into him. He clamped a hand over his mouth to avoid yelping in shock, and the animal gave an alarmed bray and tossed its head. Silas grabbed up the branch, having dropped it in the commotion, but then he froze as he glanced at the donkey’s white coat. Crouching in the tall flowers, he gripped at its mane, staring.
Its legs were soaking wet – presumably from having run through the river – and its breath was ragged, as though it had run a long way. And on its neck, held in position from the water, were a few strands of characteristically copper hair, next to a single thin green one.
The howling demon flashed in Silas’ memory and pushed all doubts aside. His eyes found the Wall over the donkey’s withers and bobbing blossoms – and at that moment, his vision narrowed down before vanishing completely.
Silas quickly released the animal and stayed still for a few moments to regain his bearings. He imprinted the last image he had seen into his mind; then he moved as slowly as he dared. He swung the branch bac
k and forth carefully to feel his way – although it was unnerving to only have the soft strokes of stems. Abandoning the idea, he reverted to the direction of the rapidly-warming sun on his back, and the rushing of the river to guide him. He tried to keep in a straight line, always heading for the Wall.
Before long, the heat had intensified as the morning drew on, and Silas realised that now there was less time between him and midday than dawn. It made him nervous; he felt as though he had covered barely any ground. But in another respect, he was glad that he would be returning in the sunlight, rather than risk the wrath of the demons under cover of darkness.
He had never regretted his timing so much. Not just because he was now exposed and in an area that he couldn’t judge at all, but because he knew that if only he had looked down from the corrie sooner, he might have managed to help his family so much faster.
You selfish fool, he thought savagely. Truly you are blind, in thought as well as sight! You put yourself before your family, just to spend a little more time in the company of people who you will never see again! How could you have danced and made merry so, when right behind you, your family were in terror? What must father think of you in Heaven?
That upset him so much that he fell, although he quickly placed the branch in the direction of the Wall in case he lost his way. However, before he could even think anything else, a hand appeared on his shoulder. He yelped and flung himself away, pulling his knife out of his belt.
“Who –”
“Ai, calm yerself!”
Silas stopped still. “Irima?”
“Yeah, it be me,” she said in an undertone; then her hand grasped his wrist below the blade. “I finally found yer. Come on, look’s like they’re still a’lookin’ for yer. O’er there, into the brush!”
Without waiting for another word, she began to drag him after her. Silas barely had time to snatch up the branch before following.
“Go behind the fallen oak. There’s a great slab of granite blocking the other way in,” he advised quietly.
There was a silence in which he imagined Irima frowning. “How be it yer know that?”
“I grew up here; I know exactly where we are.”
She chuckled softly, and then the air cooled as boughs overhead blocked out the sun. Shadows fell over Silas’ face, and his arm brushed something hard and rough, which he recognised as the oak. They carried on, deep into the undergrowth, seeking refuge in the small patch of darkness. Thin naked twigs swept across his cheeks like frozen fingers, tangling in his hair and disorientating him terribly. He was immediately thankful that Irima had found him.
Eventually she came to a halt, and knelt down in front of him. Silas reached up and found her face. He ran his fingers over her nose, eyes and chin, and then her hair. He heard the pearls and beads tinkle. It was definitely her.
“What are you...” he stammered, “how...”
“I came after yer not too long ago. Took a short-cut from the north-east, so’s to save goin’ through that there rabble,” she replied. “I saw yer leave. Well, heard yer, I should say’s more the truth. Uncle’s horse really don’t like yer, by the sounds o’ things!”
Silas faltered for a moment. “That was Shadow Mask’s horse?”
“Indeed, yer little Raptor,” she said – and he could almost hear the smile in her voice, wry with knowledge. “He might be a’wantin’ to have a talk with yer when yer get’s back, yer mark me!”
The mention of Shadow Mask and the camp sent anxiety through him and he grasped her hand. “My family, did they arrive safely? Are they safe?”
“Relax!” Irima whispered. “They all be just fine, honest. They arrived just as I set out to find yer. Me Uncle’s takin’ good care o’ em.”
Silas sighed in relief, and threw his arms around her. She hesitated for a moment, and then laughed before hugging him back.
“Oh, thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much.”
“It be no problem,” Irima replied, and pushed her hand into his hair. Silas’ eyes closed softly, but then he pulled away.
“Nay, there’s no time,” he cried. “I must get to Evertodomus.”
“Everto-where?”
“The land across the Wall.”
Her breathing changed, and Silas felt her fingers gently grasp his left hand. “But... that be where the demons be, that what did this to yer!” She touched the skin under his eyes. “Why’s yer wantin’ to go back? I thought yer was a’runnin’ from there, when Tomas found yer!”
Silas swallowed nervously. He made no attempt to hide his fear. “I must,” he said, in a small but determined voice. “My brother is there. I must get him out.”
“Yer brother?”
“Aye.”
“What’s he doing in a place like that?”
Silas felt his heart wrench with guilt, and he lowered his face miserably, covering his white eyes with one hand. Irima grasped his shoulders gently, waiting with all the patience that she had ever shown him.
“It’s my fault,” he breathed. “He has gone there to find me, but too late.”
Irima was silent, and she hugged him again, tighter. Silas tried to take comfort from her presence, but then he said to her:
“I cannot ask you to come with me. It is uncertain enough, and to enter that terrible place is too much of a risk for thee.”
“Claptrap!” Irima exclaimed suddenly, her words muffled by his shoulder. “How do yer hope to find yer way without me, eh? How can yer hope to climb up that Wall, unseein’ n’ unaided, an’ not draw attention to yerself? Yer can’t! So whether’s yer likes it or not, I’m a’comin’. I didn’t see yer through after yer got out o’ that place the first time, for yer to just up an’ risk hurtin’ yerself again, did I?”
Silas didn’t say anything, and instead just held her back, wrapping his arms around her thin shoulders. He felt the hard shape of her crucifix against his chest as it pressed into him. More than ever, he wanted to look at her; to be lost in the deep shadows of her wintry eyes, and to watch her lips coming closer to his.
He suddenly realised that she had still been speaking to him.
“...so’s I suppose we’d best get a move on, eh?”
They drew apart, and Silas felt her hand on his chin, guiding him towards where her face was.
“Look at me,” she said.
“You know I cannot.”
“No. Don’t close yer eyes from me.”
Silas faltered. “But it disturbs you so!”
“I don’t care,” she replied. “I want yer to look at me. I’m right in front o’ yer, so don’t go lookin’ o’er me shoulder. Look at me face, yeah?”
“Why?” asked Silas, frowning.
Irima chuckled again. “Because I want mine to be the face yer last look at before we go o’er the Wall.”
And the two of them set off towards the west, hand in hand. The Traveller girl walked in front, leading the blind boy who no longer belonged.
Or perhaps... never belonged, Silas.
*
“Silas is coming,” Merrin said suddenly.
Raphael started from where he had been sitting, with one arm around her. He looked over. Her eyes were deep and unfocused, as though she was watching something that existed outside of everything physical.
“How do you know this?” he asked softly.
She held up her hands, both of them glowing white. “I saw it all in a dream. But I know he is come now.”
“You can see him?”
“No,” replied Merrin. “But I know from our last meeting. I... touched him. I can feel him in Zandor.”
Raphael stared at her. Normality had returned to her features, but now all of her attention was on her hands. She closed her eyes, as though remembering something unpleasant, and sucked both of her lips into her mouth nervously.
“What is it?” he inquired.
Merrin shook her head. Before Raphael could press her, the shine faded, and her palms returned to their typical green-blue. She flexed
her long fingers gently, watching the movement, and then reached down to the ground. Creeping in from the forest floor were red tendrils of amarants, their blossoms like blood on the moss.
He watched as she lightly touched one of them with the tip of her finger, and it sprang back when she let go. Then she glanced up, and their eyes met fleetingly before she stared past him, transfixed. She raised a hand, pointing, and Raphael turned to look over his shoulder.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice etched with confusion and wonder. She suddenly sounded alarmingly similar to a young child, marvelling at something unseen. But Raphael blinked when he realised what she meant.
“Why, it’s... a rose,” he replied, a frown creeping over his brow.
Merrin leant forward, captivated. It was a relatively small bush: so small that Raphael had never even noticed it. The flowers were snow white, petals full and curling, brimming with the height of summer. Dew clung to them, sparkling like miniature stars in the early morning sun. Spider webs, highlighted in the glistening droplets, laced the stems and leaves.
He glanced back at her in disbelief. “You have never seen a rose?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing of that sort has ever grown here. At least... not that I have seen.”
She added the last part rather begrudgingly. Raphael kept his eyes on her for a moment; then got to his feet. He walked out of the cave, feeling the warm day on his wet shoulders. He reached the bush, and carefully picked off one of the blossoms before returning and handing it gently to Merrin. She took it as though it was as fragile as the thinnest glass, and ran her fingers over it in awe.
“They do not grow in mere days,” Raphael pointed out. “There’s a bush of them over our house, and it has stood there since before even I was born. I wonder how you have not noticed that bush before.”
Merrin swallowed, not taking her eyes off the rose. “Perhaps I did not want to notice,” she said quietly. “I have loathed this place – all places that were not below the Surface – for so long; it should come as no surprise to me.”
Raphael ran his tongue over his lips. He was suddenly aware of just how heavy his soaking cape was, so he quickly untied the knot and tossed it onto an exposed root jutting from the stony wall.