“One day–” Patron began and then stopped to clear her throat. “One day, soon after I had become captain of the Flying Fish. This ship,” she added, rapping on the table for emphasis, “we were on our way out of Peran waters, headed towards Galecia, and were just passing the White Islands to reach the Marble Sea, when the crew spotted something in the water…” Patron grew silent.
“Go on, Patron,” Orion urged her. “Remember? It’s all right now…”
Patron shook her head as if to clear her mind of the tendrils of memories…
“We thought it was a boulder, maybe,” she continued in a dull monotone. “Flotsam. Debris. But someone said it waved–” Again, Patron paused. “I said ‘Logs don’t wave, you’re seeing things!’ but they insisted that it waved to us… so we changed course to see what it was…” A small, sad smile appeared on Patron’s face. Again, Orion urged her gently to continue. “It’s all right, now,” he repeated.
“It was a girl,” Patron sighed. “A little girl. She was clinging to a dead branch of a cypress tree, and had tried to get our attention by waving her skinny little arms. So we picked her up. She was such a scraggly, little thing,” Patron continued. “We didn’t know why she was there, in the middle of the sea, wearing just a thick white robe. She couldn’t tell us how long she’d been out there clinging to that branch…
“Not for a while, anyway. She was half-dead with cold and starvation, the poor little mite. We didn’t know where to take her, what to do with her. She was terrified of being taken back to the islands, which were the closest land at that point. I had just left Pera and did not want to return so soon, and we thought she might be all right with us for a bit,” Patron said. “She seemed eager to stay on the ship, and I had a good doctor on board who checked her out. She was pretty healthy, despite the trauma she’d obviously suffered. It was a good thing it was summer, otherwise she’d have died long before we got to her.
“She said she was eleven. A tall, thin, stick-like thing. She didn’t say much…for a long time. She was very obedient. Very disciplined. No bother at all. She was obviously bright, and kept following me around! Like a puppy. Like my Hazel,” Patron smiled at the recollection. At the sound of her name, the little dog that had been sleeping quietly in a large blanket-filled basket in a corner of the library gently thumped her tail.
“What had happened to her? Who was she?” Father Griffith asked sharply.
Patron smiled wryly. “Who was she? I asked her… I asked her what her name was. At first she refused to answer. No, not exactly. She was too polite for that. She just said she was no one… now…” Patron sighed sadly.
“Poor thing,” Cat said.
“She was Cypress,” Orion said clearly and without emotion. “Her name was – had been – Cypress.”
“Cypress?” Cat looked confused.
Why, father? That uncomprehending question full of pathos, full of heartbreak, rose to the forefront of his mind… “What have I done?” Father Griffith whispered, not knowing why he did so.
“Yes,” Patron said softly. “From Evening Song. She was Cypress from Evening Song. The Land’s doomed daughter.”
“But how?” Cat cried as a horrified suspicion insinuated itself into her thoughts.
“She had been cast off a rock to her death – well, she got away by clinging to a floating branch. She didn’t drown, but that had been the aim. As for who did this to her? Her family. Not all of them, of course. Her father... On one of the White Islands.” Patron laughed mirthlessly. “The River Ritual and then this… Now they were murdering their own children.”
“Good God!” Father Griffith gasped.
“We finally got her to speak – and she didn’t for a long time. She was a proud little thing.” Patron smiled at the recollection. “She kept telling us she was all right. Didn’t shed one tear – at least not that anyone saw.” Patron sighed. “Well, eventually, we got her to tell us her name.
“She said she was Cypress… Little Cypress from Evening Song: the Land’s daughter. Apparently she was chosen at birth because she was a girl child born on March 21, the vernal equinox, in the between time – twilight. She said she never wanted to be called Cypress ever again, and no one, to my knowledge, has ever done so…”
The room was silent.
“What happened to the little thing?” Cat asked, her voice cracking with emotion. “Is she all right? I hope you didn’t take her back where she came from!”
“Of course I didn’t take her back to the islands!” Patron cried indignantly. “I took her to Pera … eventually. We couldn’t leave her in the middle of nowhere and she really had taken to the ship!” Patron laughed. “So she stayed with us for about six months. Then, when we returned to Pera, we found her a good home, and of course I kept an eye on her too,” Patron added. “I felt responsible for her.
“Don’t worry about her, though. She’s absolutely fine.” Patron flashed a knowing, playful smile. “You all know her, as a matter of fact.”
They looked at her, puzzled.
“Oh yes,” Patron grinned. “You know her as Blanca. Blanca Chevalier.”
Bruce whistled. Blanca. “That makes sense…” he said slowly. In his mind he saw white horses galloping under moonlight, once condemned to death or life in a circus, and Blanca’s ceaseless determination to provide for them a life of ease and freedom.
“Yes…” Cat mused. “She is certainly fine, but what about the islanders?” she asked briskly. “What was done about them? Or at least to the girl’s family?”
“Nothing happened to the islanders. The leading figures – they are known as Twilight’s Hands. Each island has one. The Twilight’s Hands claimed they knew nothing about the Cypress Ritual, and promised they would ensure that it would not be repeated. The child’s father and one of his brothers confessed and were handed over to the police in Pera.
“There was a lot of outrage in Pera, of course, but it seemed to have been an isolated incident. Over time it was forgotten, but in the meantime, the islanders grew more and more isolated.
“And then about fifteen years ago, the fishermen started talking about the Cypress Ritual again. They had the most contact with the islanders, such as it was, since the islanders rarely eat fish and hate water! They don’t even swim.” Patron shook her head, perplexed.
“We did not pay much attention to these rumors, but then a fisherman took his wife with him and brought back a girl from the islands. She was eleven, with soft dark brown hair and light hazel eyes.”
“Oh dear, not again.” Cat tut tutted.
“What a terrible tragedy…” Father Griffith shook his head sadly.
“Well, yes, obviously. But it turned out there was not a great deal that could be done legally by this point,” Patron explained, “because the Islanders had managed to insulate themselves from Pera’s civic control. So, the police couldn’t touch them. They claimed they would deal with the perpetrators within the community.
“Again, the Justices offered a solution, and this time people listened carefully: the Justices pointed out that there was one group that could go where law enforcement could not, because they were just part of the populace of Pera: the blind policemen.”
“Good idea!” Cat nodded approvingly.
“But no one trusted the Islanders to institute their version of the blind policemen, so the Justices approached the pirates – the APC as a matter of fact – and asked us to choose a group that would be willing to patrol the islands, if not every day, at least on a weekly basis. We agreed. It also fulfilled one of the requirements of our charter which is to perform a certain number of community service hours annually.”
“Well? What happened?” Father Griffith asked impatiently.
“Patience, Father!” Patron chided, smiling. “I was one of those chosen to patrol,” she added with pride. “We could not patrol as frequently as the blind policemen on the mainland, of course, since we don’t have enough people, and most ships are at sea much of the year. But w
e managed. The Justices worked with us to create a workable schedule and we patrolled each of the islands for years– for almost fifteen years, actually.”
“You said the patrols ceased about a year ago,” Father Griffith interjected. “After – I forget the name – the immortal’s death–”
Soon after Dragan’s death, the patrols had ceased, Patron explained. “It had never been easy to patrol, you have to understand,” she continued. “I know those islands as well as anyone; better than most. I spent more than a decade – about once every two months – patrolling at least three of the islands. There are ten of them, and we split the duty among four blinders. The largest island got two blinders.”
“It was hard work. I don’t mean the patrols themselves. The patrol simply involves walking around the entire island for several hours. It’s no more difficult than the blinders’ job on the mainland, but the Islanders don’t talk. They won’t talk to outsiders. When I say ‘they’, I am referring to the general population, not the men they call Twilight’s Hands. They are the leaders, and all from the group I told you about, who originally lived on the islands. At each island, the leader of the tiny community, the Twilight’s Hand, would approach the patrolling blinder who arrived at nightfall – just as on the mainland – and pleasantly tell him or her that everything was in order; that there were no problems to report. We didn’t believe that, of course, but the regular people tended to stay indoors for the most part at night, which made it difficult to patrol effectively. So we changed tactics. Unlike the mainland blinders, we started to patrol during the day. Instead of nightfall, we arrived at daybreak and remained until the time for Evening Song. It meant we were able to observe the Islanders better.
“Besides, they were all slightly afraid of us, even the Twilight’s Hands, because we were pirates. And the Justices refused to disclose our schedule to the Islanders–”
“But if you saw something, if you witnessed a crime or heard of a problem, what could you do? Nothing, right?” Cat ventured.
Patron sniffed meaningfully. “Well, these things cut both ways,” she said cryptically. “Since the Islanders insisted on withdrawing from the jurisdiction of Pera’s civic authority, then, by the same token, they had no right to complain to the same authority…
“True, in Pera, the blind policeman has no official powers; he cannot arrest or charge anyone with a crime, but out on the islands?” She laughed menacingly. “They knew why we were there, and they had no option but to behave. It worked quite well, actually. There was one murder on the biggest island towards the beginning of the patrols… and that was it. Very peaceful time in their history,” she said innocently.
“A novel approach,” Cat smiled, tilting her head to one side. “But they managed to get rid of you, I understand.”
Patron glanced quickly at Orion. “Yes, and I don’t know exactly why,” she said slowly.
“These are all questions we can’t answer until we get to Pera. I think we should do our best to enjoy this trip. Our guests don’t need to be inundated with tiresome politics.”
“You’re right!” Patron laughed. “These are matters that should not concern us now. I think it’s time to end our lesson, don’t you?”
18
The Cemetery of Light Shadows was located on top of the highest of Pera’s seven hills, on the outskirts of the city. It was a crisp, cold winter’s morning when Pera laid Carl Volkswahr to rest.
He lay in white marble surrounded by statues of dolphins and rows of tall, straight cypress trees, keeping watch over the departed.
Some two hundred people, including all thirty-four immortals currently living or staying in Pera, were in attendance. They all paid their respects and greeted each other somberly to the mournful yet uplifting notes of The Song of First and Last sung to the accompaniment of a single violin and ney flute:
The Song of First and Last (for the violin and ney)
One morning, my brothers and sisters,
The Sun looked down from the sky.
Dear One, she sighed, from her seat in the blue sky
Dearest One, I can no longer watch you cry!
Day upon day
You weep.
Long after my brother awakens from his sleep.
In the dark hours of my brother’s keep–
You weep.
What is it? Such sadness fades the blossom of a smile upon your cheek.
I mourn the one who is no more, you replied.
I mourn the lost voice, you said.
I mourn the laughter we shared.
Dear One, she sighed,
Dearest One, I too have mourned.
I, too, have shed tears that seemed without end.
And I know a story that will help you mend.
How? You asked through the tears.
Nothing can mend what is broken without beginning or end.
There is nothing to mend
When all is broken.
Dear One, she smiled,
Dearest One, nothing can be broken without a beginning,
And that which has a beginning must have an end.
Listen a little to my tale
Of the First and Last,
And the confusion that kept them apart…
So my brothers and sisters, the Sun began her tale.
There once was a tree:
Tall and strong, with branches that leapt heavenward
And roots that clung fast and deep.
It bore glossy leaves of emerald green, and berries ruby-red and honey-sweet.
It was called the First Tree for it was the first tree upon the first hill that the Sun met
When she began her climb from the River where she slept.
But over time the land grew red.
Red with the heat of the Sun.
Dry heat, red heat.
And the tree longed for water
But even its roots, fast and deep, could not reach the water.
Upon this tree flew a bird:
It was a small bird with a tiny beak
And by daylight it looked a little bedraggled, a little weak.
The little bird picked the last of the berries: so juicy and sweet,
And swallowed it, seed and all, without heed.
All day long the bird flew,
Ignored by all for its nondescript, unattractive hue.
But when the Sun fell into the River,
And the Dark One rose from his bier,
So changed was the bird that all marveled to see
That the sparkle of its wings was brighter than the stars,
And icy flashes of blue were its tiny eyes.
For this bird carried within it the seed of light
That transformed its body, drab by day, to dazzle at night.
The little bird eventually grew tired, and flew
Back to the First Tree by morning dew.
Sitting upon the cracked bough of the tree,
The little bird dropped the seed
It had carried…
Dear One, she smiled.
Dearest One, do you know what happened?
What happened to the seed of the First Tree that the little bird had carried?
No, you replied. What happened to the seed
That the little bird carried?
Over time, it grew into a tree, replied the Sun.
A tree behind the one
That had succumbed to the red heat of the Sun.
This tree was short and stocky
And its leaves were not glossy.
Its branches did not reach for the sky,
But its roots dug deeper and firmer into soil that was rocky.
Its berries were not ruby-red, and they were not all that sweet…
And by the light of the Sun it looked a little ordinary.
It was called the Last Tree for it was the last tree that the Sun saw before she fell into the River.
But wasn’t it also the first one she saw? you asked, looking up at the Sun with eyes
red with weeping.
Tears that had dried in the telling.
For the First Tree was gone, you said,
To the red heat of the Sun–
The Last Tree now must be
The First Tree…
Dear One, she smiled.
Dearest One, try not to be impatient.
It is true, the Sun continued,
That the First Tree within had succumbed
To the red heat of the Sun.
But remember, Dear One,
That it still stood, in body, if not in spirit.
It stood before the other,
The one that was short and stocky,
With leaves that were distinctly not glossy.
So when she rose from the River,
The Sun saw the First Tree
But not the other,
And on her return trip, before she dipped back into the River
The Sun saw
The Last Tree and not the other.
And so the First and Last
Were ever apart, Dear One.
Dearest One, the tale is not finished…
She smiled.
For when Night held sway across the land,
When my dark brother sprayed stars upon the black mantle of the sky like sand–
The Last Tree dropped one of its berries
To be devoured by tiny creatures that nibbled through its flesh but left the seed–
The tiny seed
That shone as bright as the stars above,
That sparkled like a drop of ice…
For it had been transformed by the bird that carried the seed of light,
Dear One.
Dearest One, it is the way of things.
This is the way of things.
Do not mourn too long,
Try not to weep too deep,
Lest you miss the sparkle of a seed
the Dark shall do what Light cannot (LiGa Book 2) Page 18