by E. E. Holmes
Savvy reached out and flipped it shut again before I could take in even a word. “Mate, I’m not sure you want to do that. I already feel like shite for reading a little of it, and I can pretty much guarantee you’re not gonna—”
But I slapped her hand away, and she pulled it back, looking shocked at whatever ugly thing was splashing itself across my features. She said nothing else, but shook her head ruefully. Her warning only fired my curiosity. What was in this book, this stupid book that he pulled out under my nose a hundred times and scrawled in so intently? What was he so keen to hide?
I opened the cover again and stared down at the first page, which contained ten lines in tiny but incredibly neat handwriting. If I hadn’t seen Finn writing in it, I never for a moment would have guessed that his hands could produce anything so neat and oddly elegant.
If
If the wind could just carry her to me
Effortless, a leaf upon a breath of breeze
Then I could catch her between my outstretched fingers.
If music could play the song of her
Then she could float in through my ears
And root there deeply in the rhythm of my pulse.
If the early light of morning
Could just tip her over my horizon
Then she could spill into the shadows of me.
But instead we stand, the breadth of a world between us
And I cannot even endeavor
To extend toward her a single, trembling hand.
“It’s poetry,” I said, blankly, and my voice sounded as though I’d never heard of such a thing before.
“Yeah. Stop reading it.”
I ignored her and flipped open another page.
I scanned another page, and then another. They were poems. All poems.
“So all this time I thought he was scribbling hateful journal entries about how much he loathed me or a handbook on how to be antisocial, he was actually writing… this?”
“Yeah.”
“These… are poems. Love poems,” I went on blankly.
“Yeah.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I was so thrown, so confused. Finn Carey, a poet? Finn, who could barely construct a sentence in a woman’s presence that wasn’t a veritable manifesto of misogynistic bullshit?
After a minute of my dumbstruck silence, Savvy just mumbled, “People are complicated, mate. And sometimes the ones that seem the easiest to read are the most complicated of all. Sure would shed some interesting light on why he left if those poems are what they seem to be.”
I looked her in the face, and she was smiling at me in the saddest way. And for some reason this only made me angrier. Angrier because things were complicated enough. Angry because I didn’t have a shred of anything inside me left to give, a single corner of my head to process anything else.
“I don’t have time for complicated,” I said, flinging the book back at her. “You can wipe that smirk off your face, because those poems have nothing to do with me. In case you’ve forgotten, Finn hates me. He practically had to be dragged kicking and screaming to his initiation, and he’s barely tolerated me since. And I hate poetry.”
And even as I said it, the vision that his words had painted danced through my overwrought thoughts, forcing its way in. It burrowed in amongst the anxiety and fear, making itself at home, entwined around the gaping, wretched question mark that was Finn Carey.
16
A Little Word
DESPITE THE FACT THAT I YELLED in the face of the High Priestess of the Traveler Clans, no Caomhnóir brigade arrived to kick us off the premises. No pitchforks, no torches. In fact, everyone completely left me alone the entire next day and into the evening.
I was starting to wonder if we were being strategically ignored, when Annabelle arrived at the wagon after dinner, which had been left on a tray outside by a young girl who all but fled when we came out to get it.
“She sent Anca for me,” Annabelle said, when I asked where she’d been. “She wanted my advice.”
“About what?”
“About how to get back in your good graces,” Annabelle said with a grim smile. “She knows she’s alienated you, and the Traveler Council is in a panic. They’re afraid that you’re no longer going to agree to Walk, and that Ileana has destroyed any chance we have at foiling the Necromancers. Ileana’s afraid she’s going to be voted out of her position.”
Savvy snorted. “She deserves the sack, the old cow.”
“So what did you tell her?” I asked.
“I told her that I had absolutely no sway whatsoever over what you decided to do,” Annabelle said. “After all, I’m just an old gypsy fraud who once threw you and your pet fish out of my tent and swindled your roommate out of five dollars.”
I grinned at her. It felt strange to smile, like my face had forgotten how to do it. “Well, that’s true.”
“She’s getting desperate. I told her that her best bet was to put all of her efforts into finding Hannah. She’s been meeting with groups of Trackers all day, so I think she is probably stepping up her efforts.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. She wanted you to know that Flavia is in the Scribes’ wagon, and at your disposal, should you need her. I also agreed to ask if you would consent to go see her tomorrow morning. I told her that I could make no promises, but that I would pass along the message.”
“I honestly thought she would kick us out,” I said.
“She’s too scared you’d never come back,” Annabelle said. “They’re not stupid, Jess, they know it’s your decision. And don’t be afraid to leave them hanging a little. They might be inclined to offer even more help if they think you might really not Walk again.”
“Have they still got the enclosure set up?”
“Oh, yes. Everyone is in position, ready and waiting in case you decide to show up.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Well, maybe I will let them wait, at least until tomorrow. Milo should be here any minute. We’re going to ty to connect with Hannah again. We’re not giving up on finding her, even if Ileana thinks it’s pointless.”
“Good for you,” Annabelle said. “Let them squirm. But do be sure to update them in the morning, alright? No need to interrupt the entire clan political structure to prove a point.”
“No need,” Savvy said, “but it feels damn satisfying, wouldn’t you say?”
Annabelle nodded. “Very well. Oh, I almost forgot. Ileana is offering you a Caomhnóir for protection, if you want one.”
The smile slipped off my face. “What? Why?”
“Because you don’t have one here at the moment,” Annabelle said. “And they know how precious of a commodity you are, even if it doesn’t feel like it. So, I suppose you can think about it and let Ileana know tomorrow. Honestly, it might not be a bad idea, though. I know we’re all hoping Finn turns up, but in the interim, it’s better to be safe than sorry, don’t you think?”
I could feel Savvy’s eyes boring into me. I ignored her and nodded at Annabelle again.
“Right, then. Well, I’m heading in.”
As Annabelle swept past us and into the wagon, Milo materialized with a tiny popping sound. He looked awful; pale and drawn, even for a ghost, and with something less than his usual pearly luster.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Are you ready?” he asked.
“I’m going too, then,” Savvy said. She stowed Finn’s little black book in the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ll let you two get to it. Good luck. I’m off to hit up my cigarette connection.”
As Savvy stalked off toward the main clearing, I turned my attention back to Milo. I bit my lip as I looked him over again. “Are you sure you’ve rested enough? We just did this yesterday. Maybe that’s not enough time for you to recover.”
“I’m peachy keen, jelly bean,” Milo said, with a wan smile.
“I can’t believe you just said that. What are you, a bridge-playing grandma?”
“Don’t sa
ss your elders,” Milo said. “I told you I’m fine, so I’m fine. Now move over in there.”
I rolled my eyes and barely had a moment to brace myself before he expanded inside my skull like a mental balloon, and I felt like a claustrophobic commuter on the subway at rush hour in my own body.
“You okay? It feels cloudy in here,” Milo said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m tired. I’m not sleeping.”
“Neither am I,” Milo said snidely.
“Yeah, the difference being that you don’t sleep ever,” I said.
“True,” Milo said. “But I can’t let you feel all tormented and misunderstood. It’s not good for you.”
“Just shut up and focus please,” I thought. “With both of us compromised, who knows how long we’ll have.”
We both quieted behind Milo’s chuckles and found the place in our mind where Hannah could be found. Now that we knew how to focus on her, it was almost as though she were waiting for us.
At first the only sound was a gentle sniffing and the occasional turn of a page; she was reading, then, and seemed to be alone for the moment. We listed to the quiet symphony of sounds of her solitude for a few minutes.
“Do you think we should pull out and try again later?” I asked as the silence stretched out. “There’s no point in wasting all this energy if she’s just by herself reading.”
“Yeah, maybe we should—” Milo began, but his thought cut out abruptly as a voice joined Hannah in her cell.
“Hey there, love. Care for some company?”
It was Lucida. I didn’t need the loud, echoing shush from Milo as we both settled in on the frequency again and concentrated for all we were worth. Hannah’s room, with its stone walls and dim slanted light, shimmered into view.
“Sure,” she was saying, and an old leather book fell closed in her hands. “Any word yet? About Jess or the others?”
“No, not yet. We’ll let you know right away when we find them, I promise. I just hope we can do it before Marion does,” Lucida said as she stepped out of her signature four-inch stilettos. How she could have maneuvered over castle floors in such things was a total mystery. It was almost as impressive as her ability to make it sound like the Necromancers weren’t looking for us just to kill us.
“I hope so, too. At least, I think I do,” Hannah said. “Do you really promise me that they won’t hurt them?”
“Yes, I promise, love,” Lucida said with her Cheshire cat smile that nevertheless seemed to put Hannah totally at ease. “All we want is to find them and bring them here.”
“And are you sure I can’t just talk to Milo?”
Lucida shook her head sadly. “No. We already lifted the casting on your connection, so it’s being blocked from the other side, somehow. We’re working on it, but the easiest way to open things back up will be to get him here.”
“I can’t even Call him,” Hannah said, her voice breaking with a dry sob, and I felt Milo’s answering whimper reverberate through my head.
“I know, love. But you’ll be together again soon enough. I just know it,” she said. “Are you making heads or tails of that?” She curled like a cat on the bed beside Hannah and tapped a perfectly manicured fingertip on the cover of the book. It was printed with runes instead of letters, the symbols stamped onto the cover with flaking gold leaf.
“I don’t know,” Hannah sighed, and our view was obscured momentarily as she rubbed at her eyes like a small child. “There’s just so much of it, and it’s hard to tell fact from theory. It’s like trying to decipher an entirely new culture.” She paused and laughed a little. “Actually that’s exactly what it is.”
“I don’t know that you really can get the feel for it from a pile of old books,” Lucida said, shaking her head. “Experience is always best when you want to understand something for yourself.”
“Yes, and the only experiences I’ve had with them have been pretty awful,” Hannah said. “Running Jess and Finn off the road? Kidnapping? Torturing Annabelle for information?”
“No one is perfect,” Lucida said, and Hannah’s expression must have been incredulous, because Lucida hurried to amend her meaning. “I’m not saying all of their methods are laudable, pet, but just think what might have happened at the Durupinen’s hands if we hadn’t gotten out of Fairhaven when we did. The Necromancers have made some mistakes in their efforts to find you, but ends can justify the means sometimes, Hannah. This is so much bigger than any of us.”
“You mean the prophecy?”
“Yes, the prophecy, but you need to understand something. The Durupinen make the prophecy sound like the end of everything, but it’s not. All it means is the end of their own time in control of the Gateways. For us, it would just be the beginning.”
“But the beginning of what?” Hannah said. “I still don’t really understand what I’m being asked to do, because no one seems to know what will happen after we do it. I mean, I understand the Necromancers’ eventual goal; that part is pretty clear from the books. They want to explore beyond the Gateways. They want to understand what death is, and where we go when we cross over, and maybe even find the way to reverse it. I understand that. I think everyone wants to know those things. But it almost sounds like they’re chasing…well…”
“Immortality,” Lucida whispered, and even as she said it, her face lit up with an excitement that seemed slightly manic. “Free passage back and forth between the worlds of the living and the dead. Just imagine it.”
“I’m not sure if I want to,” Hannah said. “I don’t know if we’re meant to.”
“And what if we are? What if we’re just wasting the chance because we’re too scared to see what could be? The Durupinen are stuck in the past, afraid to seize opportunity. But the Necromancers are visionaries, love. Together we could discover extraordinary things.”
“You make it sound so exciting,” Hannah said, and there was even a trace of longing in her voice.
“It is exciting! Haven’t you spent enough time being scared?”
Again, Hannah didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Of course she’d spent enough time being scared. She’d spent most of her life being scared.
“What made you decide to join with them?” Hannah asked. “You grew up with the Durupinen in your life. You were always taught that the Necromancers were your enemy. What was the thing that changed your mind?”
Lucida seemed to really be considering this question. She bit at her bottom lip as she thought. “You know me, pet, I’ve never been one to sit still. I make my own way. But to answer your question, I think it came down to the idea of power.”
“How?”
“I’ve seen what spirits can do. Some are just lost and harmless, sure, but I’ve seen them destroy lives, torment people, and wreak havoc. You should know what I mean.”
Hannah nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“And here I was with this power not only to see them, and to communicate with them, but to control them. Why would you or I be born with that power if we weren’t meant to use it to some purpose?”
“Oh.” It was as though a light had gone on in her head, a light she never knew was there. “I never really thought of it like that before.”
“Of course not. You were too busy fearing them, terrified of when the next one would show up to torment you and demand you do something for them.”
“You make them sound awful. They weren’t all like that. A lot of them were just lost or scared. They’re people, Lucida.”
“No, they were people. People are alive, Hannah, and this side of the Gateway is our world. Why should the dead have control here in the world of the living? Why should we be at their mercy when they aren’t even meant to be here?”
Hannah did not respond to this. Her hands, fidgeting a few moments before, had gone very still in her lap.
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t help them when they need it,” Lucida went on, tucking her legs up under her and wrapping her arms around her knees, “but surely we aren’t mea
nt to be enslaved to do their bidding night and day, especially not you. The Durupinen talk of nothing but duty. They’d have you believe you have no choice. But look what you can do!”
“It scares me,” Hannah whispered.
“It shouldn’t! Now is the time you should finally stop being afraid! Think, Hannah. Just think of all you could do. All of those years those damn spirits controlled your life, made it absolute bloody hell for you, and all the while you could have been controlling them. All the pain and doubt, all of the doctors and institutions, and you could have ended it all, turned those spirits on whoever you wanted, and yet you suffered for no good reason. The Durupinen did that, don’t you understand? Our so-called sisterhood left you to endure that, purely because they feared your power.”
“They didn’t know about me, though,” Hannah said, with the air of someone trying to inject a note of diplomacy into the conversation. “How could they tell me all of this if they couldn’t even find me?”
“But it comes to the same thing, don’t you see, Hannah? If it weren’t for them, your mother would never have had to hide you in the first place,” Lucida said.
“My mother,” Hannah said, and she sounded like she was using the word without knowing its meaning, like it was entirely foreign to her, which in many ways, it was. “I wish I knew why she left me there alone. I mean, I know why she had to separate us, and what she was trying to do, but…” She was struggling, struggling with a thought she was ashamed of, or else it was too large, too complicated for her to voice without difficulty. “Why was it me? I know she couldn’t have known which of us would be the Key. I know that she couldn’t predict which of us would spend her childhood surrounded with Visitations, but… she must have had a reason for choosing one of us over the other, right?”