First Light (Forever After Series)

by Michele Paige Holmes

  “You still don’t believe it, then?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe. Tallinyne and particularly Castle Canelia are strange, to be certain, but you’re the first, and only, person who has told me any solid evidence of a serious famine or plague sweeping the land. Our passage from Rincoln to the castle showed some evidence of drought, but mostly it was dreadfully boring.”

  “Is that why you’ve helped me these past weeks and with this errand?” I asked. “So you might see and judge for yourself the condition of the land?”

  “Yes.” Cristian looked straight ahead as he answered. I felt another pinprick of hurt, but a second later it healed over as he looked at me, a tender expression in his eyes.

  “That was my reason at first, anyway. But it was the irresistible pull of your friendship that kept me coming.” He reached for my hand once more.

  Queen Nadamaris frowned as she stepped onto the balcony adjoining her chamber. Walking to the edge, she looked down, peering out across her kingdom as far as she could see. Something felt… unusual. Out of place. Wrong. Inhaling deeply, Nadamaris realized what it was— the air was lighter, and the fog wasn’t quite as thick as usual.

  Lifting her face to the sky, her eyes rolled around, taking in the heavy, gray clouds that hung permanently over the castle and all of Baldwinidad. They were her greatest accomplishment thus far, one both respected and feared by the residents of the neighboring kingdoms. As well it should be— she was the only ruler in history who’d mastered the ability to control Mother Nature. And control it she did, gathering clouds and moisture from other lands and bringing them to hers.

  When someday she had the ability to control fire as well… How great would be her powers then, how endless her reign.

  But just now, something seemed—

  Nadamaris’s eyes narrowed then blinked rapidly, as they swept the far end of the valley beyond the forest. From here it almost appeared there was a break in the clouds.

  “Impossible,” she muttered, continuing to stare as the gap slowly widened, exposing the blue sky above. Whirling around, she reached for her telescope that was no more— forgotten over the past several weeks since she’d thrown it at Hale.

  With a last, angry look at the sky, she marched indoors, to her chamber, colder and darker than outside. She commanded the candles on her table to light then stood before a floor-to-ceiling curtain, covering a corner alcove. For a moment she hesitated, not quite fearing, but certainly dreading what lay behind.

  It has been a long time… still, my telescope is broken, and I must know immediately.

  With her head held high and proud, she swept the curtains aside to stare at the large oval mirror behind. Its murky surface waved like the waters of the sea, beckoning her question.

  “Mirror,” Nadamaris began in a steady voice. “Has someone stolen from my clouds?”

  She paused, waiting as a figure began to form in the depths of the mirror. “If they have, and done it by right, show me now where to find them.”

  Laughter bubbled from the mirror’s surface, and gradually the glass smoothed, revealing a reflection similar to her own.

  You’re aging well, sister, Nadamaris thought.

  “You’re looking as hideous as ever,” the illusion of her sister, Naominclel replied.

  “But at least I can look, beyond the confines of a plane of glass.” Nadamaris curled her lip smartly, and she noticed the woman in the mirror did the same.

  “If you see so well, then why are you here?” her sister asked.

  “My telescope is broken. And I need to know at once who or what has breached my clouds.”

  “Who— or what?” Naominclel paused, as if considering whether or not she wished to tell.

  “Show me,” Nadamaris ordered. She glanced behind her at the fireplace poker. “Or I’ll add to your misery that much more.”

  “Do so,” Naominclel said, “And it will be added to the ways I shall someday repay your many kindnesses.”

  “The dead do not have revenge,” Nadamaris said. “Now speak.”

  “Very well,” Naominclel said. “If only for the pleasure of seeing you enraged.” She made a point of fixing her hair— the thick, full hair covering her entire head— then clasped her hands in front of her and began.

  “The one you seek now is the same, whom prophecy says will ruin your name.

  She and her love have joined together, saving those you would starve by weather.

  They’ve stolen your clouds and will soon take your life. Mere days remain until she is his wife. From enchanted orchards they gleaned all there was to give,

  So you may soon die, while they will yet live.”

  Nadamaris heard her own, astonished gasp as she peered at the vibrant sky, visible through the mirror, for the first time in years.

  “Hale!” she screeched, turning from the horrid sight. She ran outside, her grating voice continuing to call, bouncing off the surrounding walls and echoing through the forest below. She needed to go at once, and if Hale was with her and they captured the princess—

  “Heeere, Mooother.” Hale’s lazy drawl interrupted her thoughts.

  Nadamaris looked down where her son reclined on one of the benches in the courtyard. His deformed foot was propped up, and a bottle swung from his fingertips.

  “Look!” Nadamaris shouted, pointing her finger at the sky over the valley.

  Hale tilted his head backward but did not move from the bench. “Appears it’s going to rain— just like every other day.” He hiccupped loudly.

  “Worthless idiot,” Nadamaris muttered. “Like your father.” She should have known that tricking the drunken man into her bed would lead to no good. “Would that you had died before you were born and I set eyes on you.”

  “Doing my best to oblige,” Hale said, bringing the bottle to his lips.

  Realizing he’d be no help, Nadamaris returned her gaze to the sky and the blue patch now clearly visible to the eye. They weren’t even wed, yet, somehow, they had stolen her clouds.

  And for that, they were going to pay dearly.

  That she may heal the sick

  And feed the hungry.

  The first marketplace I’d encountered weeks ago, upon entering Tallinyne and passing the dreary shanties, had drastically changed. I felt my mouth open in shock as we drove down the main street, its shops mostly closed and nary a street vendor to be found. Few people were out and about, and those we saw wore haunted looks in their eyes. The rows of cottages were no better.

  “Look.” I gasped, pointing to a black spot posted on a door. “And there’s another.” The mark of sickness— of death— covered nearly every door. Overnight, it seemed, the bustling, bright colors had faded to gray. Brown, brittle grass stood stiffly in front of the buildings, and the dirt road was dry and cracked. Cristian drove more slowly as he maneuvered the wagon around large crevices.

  The further we drove into the town, the more people we saw— all with that same haunted, starving look in their eyes. Cristian wanted to stop and begin handing out our bounty, but I begged him to keep going. If the village had become this bad in so short a time, what had become of the people farther out, those already in poor condition when I’d seen them last? I dreaded discovering their fate, yet felt compelled to know it.

  Beside me, Cristian was tense and silent. I dared not ask him to share his thoughts, for I could guess them easily enough. Our errand, while noble, would only serve to convince him that he must follow through with his duty. By day’s end, I had no doubt Cristian would be firm in his commitment to marry Princess Cecilia— if for no other reason than the possibility that he might be able to save the people of Tallinyne and all of Canelia. I’d already read the compassion in his eyes and knew the goodness of his heart. Whether he wished it or not, he was a prince and would not shirk his responsibility.

  At least another half hour passed. We neared Tallinyne’s border. Ahead of us, the mountain I’d descended by moonlight rose tall an
d grand. On either side of us, the land appeared as though it had been dead for years. Withered trees lay toppled on their sides, their dried roots exposed to the baking sun. Enormous cracks ran through the ground, splitting several of the smallest shacks in two. Not a soul was to be seen.

  I felt a lurch of panic in my heart as I recalled those children who had approached me when I’d first wandered through here. Where were they now? What had become of them, their parents, their siblings? Had whole families— an entire community— been wiped out while I’d been baking pastries and picking apples at my leisure?

  “Stop here,” I said, reaching over to touch Cristian’s arm. He called the horses to a halt.

  “Where are all the people?” he asked.

  “Who are we supposed to feed?” Henrie called from the wagon behind us.

  “I don’t know,” I said in answer to both their questions. Turning in my seat, I took a large, red apple from the bushel closest to me. I stood up in the wagon, holding it out, so anyone who was out there might see. “We’ve brought apples to share— from Tallinyne’s center, where the drought has not yet reached,” I called in my loudest voice.

  I waited for several seconds, but no one responded to my offer.

  “Apples and wheat and beans,” Cristian called, standing up beside me. “We don’t want it to go to waste.”

  It was the right thing to say. A half dozen tiny faces peeked out from behind one of the shanties. A boy, who could be no more than five, scampered over to me, his hand outstretched. I bent over and placed the apple in it, my eyes tearing up at the sight of his exposed ribs and extended stomach. The poor lad was clearly starving. “Eat it slowly,” I admonished. “So you’ll keep it down.”

  He nodded and scurried off with his treasure. I held up two more apples. “I’ve lots more. Please take them.”

  Another few minutes passed; then the other children I’d seen with the boy reappeared, moving as one small mass toward our wagon. I filled my arms with apples and jumped down, pressing them into eager hands.

  “Give them two each,” Florence’s voice whispered in my ear. I didn’t bother looking around for her. Merry Anne had said Florence would accompany us today, and I had no doubt that, somehow, she had.

  “I’m afraid I’ll run out,” I said, surprised to find myself suddenly surrounded by dozens of skeletal children.

  “You’ll have plenty. Give them two.”

  I followed her advice and began placing two apples into the hands of each child. On the other side of the wagon, I noticed that Cristian was finally getting some takers on his offer of beans and wheat. But so emaciated were the men accepting the food that a sack one man should have been able to carry required a team of four.

  In no time at all, I emptied one bushel, then two, then half the wagon of apples. Behind us, Henrie was doing brisk business of his own, moving faster than I’d ever seen him as he hurried to serve all those clamoring around him. The throng of people only grew larger, and I thought I recognized some from the main street we’d driven through earlier. Perhaps they’d followed us. If so, who could blame them?

  A mother wept and clutched at my sleeve as I handed her child two apples. “Have you any milk?” She thrust a tiny, screaming baby toward me.

  “Not today,” I said, regretting we hadn’t thought to bring a cow— or twenty— with us. “But we’ll be back. Please don’t give up. We’re going to help you.”

  I hurried through another several bushels until only two remained. “You’d best make good on your promise, Florence,” I muttered as I picked up the second-to-last basket and began passing out the fruit. A few moments later, when it was emptied, I turned back to the wagon and saw not one but three overflowing baskets sitting in its place. “Thank you,” I whispered, no longer caring if I was losing my mind. For the moment, believing in magic was critical.

  Though it was mid-afternoon, and I should have been perspiring in the heavy cloak, a subtle chill had descended. Without looking up, I could tell the sun had disappeared and the sky was quickly darkening. Though time was passing quickly as we worked, I could not believe it was near dark already, and I worried for the scantily clad children still hovering around our wagon.

  I climbed into the wagon box to retrieve yet another basket from the center. “I think it’s going to storm,” I called to Cristian. Realizing the significance of what I’d just said, I glanced up at the sky, more than shocked to see heavy, gray storm clouds gathered above us. The crowd seemed to notice their presence, too.

  “Cristian— look!” I reached for him, grabbing his arm. At that very moment, the cloud directly above us opened up, and I watched, mesmerized, as silvery, glittering raindrops fell toward us. One hit the bridge of my nose, and I laughed out loud. “Rain.”

  “Rain.”

  “Do you see that?”

  “It’s raining!” All around us the people broke out shouting, raising their hands, their mouths opened to catch the sweet drops.

  Looking as awestruck as I felt, Cristian turned to me and grasped my other arm. Together we stood there, staring at each other as the sprinkle increased to a shower, cascading down our faces. Beside us, people were laughing and cheering. The wagon swayed with their dancing and stomping.

  I met Cristian’s gaze. “The curse,” I yelled above the crowd. “You’ve broken the curse— all by yourself.”

  “Not me. You. Us. Or maybe there is no curse.” Cristian picked me up and swung me in his arms, twirling me around in a tight circle. A literal cloudburst happened then, sending a deluge of water our way. The hood of my cloak fell back, and I felt my hair plastered to the sides of my face. I didn’t care. It was raining. It was a miracle.

  Henrie let out a whoop from his wagon, and still clutching Cristian’s arms, I looked back at Henrie, smiling. A second later it was pouring so hard I could no longer see him. Puddles formed on the dry ground, and men held their hats out to catch the precious liquid. Women and children ran from the dilapidated homes carrying cups and kettles— anything with which to store water.

  “This is wonderful,” I cried, pressing closer to Cristian.

  “This is dangerous.” Florence said in a fierce tone I’d never heard from her before. As usual, it seemed she’d appeared out of thin— or in this case wet— air.

  “Where’d she come from?” Cristian asked me.

  I shrugged.

  “Sit down and hang on,” Florence ordered abruptly as she settled on the wagon seat and released the brake.

  “We can’t leave now,” Cristian said. “We should wait for it to stop raining, and we haven’t even distributed all the food.”

  In answer, Florence snapped the reins and turned the wagon around in a surprisingly tight circle. I grasped the seat back and sat down. Cristian leaned forward, as if to reach for the sacks of wheat still on board, but they were gone— stacked in a neat pile with the other food alongside the road.

  Florence stopped briefly at Henrie’s wagon, reached out and literally pulled him onto the seat next to her. Whipping her head around, she looked at Cristian and me. “Quit touching each other! Scoot apart.”

  Frightened by the wildness in her eyes, I obeyed at once. Cristian, however, looked indignant at being given an order. I reached out to him, touching his sleeve to admonish him to keep his temper. As my fingers slipped from the soaked cotton of his shirt to his bare wrist, a loud clap of thunder erupted overhead, and I shrank back.

  “I said don’t touch!” Florence shouted. “You are what is causing this storm. The closer you are to one another, the worse it is. And if we’re discovered by Nadamaris before we can get back—”

  We’re causing it? That made no sense, but then, neither she nor her sisters ever did.

  “Get back there and sit between them,” Florence said to Henrie, practically pushing him over the seat back to the wagon box. He landed with a thud between us.

  “What’s this all about, Adrielle?” he demanded, holding his arm tenderly as if it was injured. He glanced
over his shoulder at Florence. “She’s got the strength of an ox.”

  “Quiet,” Florence barked. “Nadamaris can hear voices and see things miles away.”

  “Then why are you talking?” Cristian rose up as if to climb in the front with her.

  “Because she can’t hear me,” Florence said, as if that ought to be the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Let her be,” Henrie said to Cristian. “She may be addled, but she’s not a bad driver, and she’s taking us in the right direction, at least. I won’t mind not having to drive all those hours back to the castle.”

  And we’ll get there a lot faster, I observed. We were already more than halfway through the deserted main street. Behind us, thick, gray clouds still hung low over the earth, and the downpour continued. But a mere sprinkle was all that fell on us here, and up ahead I could see clear sky once more.

  Still looking annoyed, Cristian settled down on the other side of Henrie.

  Instead of rattling and swaying, the wagon ride became smoother, so that I’d have almost believed we were floating, had I not seen the wheels and ground beneath us. The countryside rushed by, and it wasn’t long before I began to grow sleepy. Beside me, I noticed Henrie in much the same condition. Only Cristian appeared alert and on guard. Several times I caught him looking at me, concern in his gaze.

  I smiled briefly, before finally giving into my heavy eyelids. As my head bobbed against Henrie’s shoulder, it occurred to me that this ride was like another I’d had once— in a sleek, black carriage on my way to Tallinyne.

  When I next awoke, it was to find my head resting on my pillow. My tired eyes blinked as they tried to focus on the worn bricks inches away. I shivered and wondered why the kitchen was so very cold.

  “What? You’re not up yet?” Maggie’s squawking voice remedied that situation almost immediately. A cold breeze tickled my back, and her footsteps hurried toward me. I sat up as her broom met my backside. “You lazy thing.”