A yawn interrupted my storytelling, and I rubbed my tired eyes. “I think I must still be recovering from the poison. It’s only barely past dinner and I’m exhausted.”
“That’s all?”
I looked at the elk and chuckled. Her eyes were wide with excitement from the story, her head tilted as if asking for more.
“That’s all? I’ve been reading for two hours already.” Standing, I stretched the stiffness from my neck and back. “I need to eat and get some sleep, as do you. I’ll read more tomorrow after I’ve worked on my other project some.”
She flopped back against her pillow, pouting.
“Perhaps you can survive on nothing but air, but I require a bit more than that.” I set the book aside and bowed low. “By your leave, Your Highness…”
Her resigned sigh swirled around me, the tiniest hint of thanks stirring the edges of my hair.
My permission granted, I took to the kitchen once more, but found I barely had the energy to slice up some bread and cold meat for my dinner. After washing what I’d dirtied with the endlessly filled water pitcher and self-draining basin, both of which never ceased to amaze me, I succumbed to yawning once more as I wandered back to say goodnight to the elk.
When I returned to her, something in her demeanor had changed. It wasn’t that her face was overly expressive, but she seemed anxious, maybe even nervous.
“Is something the matter?” I asked.
Her pale blue eyes searched my face for a long moment before she answered. “No…” came the airy reply, along with a slight shake of her head.
“Do you need anything else before I go? I’m only in the next room, but if there’s—”
“No.”
Her answer was sharp and sudden, prompting my frown.
“No…” Her tone softened. “Thank you…”
At least she’d been polite in her dismissal.
“Then I wish you a good night,” I said with a nod and continued on to my room.
I made sure to shut the door before I changed into the soft cotton sleeping clothes. Knowing she’d seen me undressed before still disturbed me, even despite wishing it didn’t. When it came to putting out the lamps ensconced in the wall, I stopped. There were no visible switches or levers to douse the flames, and the glass enclosures were too hot to lift away to blow them out. I searched the walls, ceiling, and floor, but couldn’t find anything that might be of use, or at least offer a clue of what to do. It occurred to me that maybe they were always burning, as there were no windows to let in light, when the oddest thing happened.
It began with the lamp nearest the door. At first, I didn’t notice it at all, but the sudden darkness as the flame extinguished itself caught my attention quick enough. Next, the light near the wardrobe dimmed, eventually putting itself out as well. The lamp at the back of the room was next to go, which left only the small lantern on the nightstand. Already knowing what was coming, I hurried to the bed, not wanting to stumble and fall in the pitch blackness that enveloped the rest of the room. As I pulled the covers up to my chin, the lantern’s light vanished, unsettling nothingness descending in its place. With little recourse left to me, I settled in and curled up on my side.
Was there anything in the place that wasn’t magic?
* * * * *
Back home, the groans and squeaks of the house were normal and rarely, if ever, woke me. But in the strange, magical home of the elk, there weren’t any of the normal sounds. Aside from out in the garden and the occasional crackle of the fireplace in the library, there were no sounds at all.
It was only that reason that the creak of the bedroom door opening woke me from slumber. I’d found enough evidence in my stay to know that another roamed the halls at night, but the knowledge did nothing to ease the thudding in my chest.
Someone else was in the room.
Cracking open an eye revealed the same darkness I’d fallen asleep in, so I had no way of knowing where the intruder was. In as much as I could, I kept my breathing slow and steady. If they knew I was awake, what then?
I heard nothing for several minutes, so long that I thought perhaps they’d gone. As I started to relax, however, the mattress behind me sank a little under someone’s weight.
“You needn’t be afraid. I won’t harm you.”
Even though she whispered, I knew her voice. Perhaps I was dreaming after all. She was the one who’d cared for me when I was ill.
“Are you feeling better? It seems you are, but I wanted to make sure.”
I tensed, unsure of how to answer, or what to do in learning the woman was real and not a part of my fever dreams. “I am,” I said, hesitant. “Thank you.”
“You should be more careful. I’m not sure what I’d do if you died.”
Uncertain of what I’d find, I turned slowly. I blinked several times, to make sure my eyes were open, but the darkness persisted. “I’m tougher than I look, but I’ll make a greater effort in the future to avoid poisoning myself.”
“You look plenty tough enough to me.” She giggled, the sound like wind through reeds.
“Can you see through this darkness then?”
“I…” She paused. “No, but I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Then how do you know what I look like? You’re never about in the light.”
Her weight shifted on the bed. “You were sick. I cared for you for three nights. It wasn’t so much with my eyes as with my hands that I saw you.”
Unable to contain the question a moment longer, I cut straight to what I wanted to know. “Who are you?”
She was silent then, thinking. “That’s a complicated question.”
“Names aren’t complicated. I’m sure you have one.”
She sighed. “Names are powerful, which makes them complicated. In my case, more so than others.”
“You can’t tell me anything about yourself?”
“I… no.”
The darkness was maddening. What I wouldn’t have given for even a matchstick in that moment. “Are you a prisoner here?”
“Not really… that is, I suppose not.”
“I don’t understand.”
The mattress moved as she stood. “I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’ve been forced into this.”
I frowned in the direction of her voice. “I don’t see why you should be sorry. And I wasn’t forced. I made a promise to my mother, and I won’t break my word.”
“And you always keep your promises?” She was on the other side of me, somewhere near the door.
Turning again, I nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Unless I poison myself again, and your gracious hands cannot help me, I mean to see this through.”
She giggled again. “Gracious?”
“Your presence was all that kept me from going mad with fever. If that isn’t grace, I’m not sure what is.”
“I…”
If I could see her, I was sure she’d be blushing. As it was, I felt very strange myself. The woman, whoever she was, had saved my life. I owed her a debt, but something more, something familiar, tugged at me.
“Thank you, Lukas.”
“For what? It’s me who owes the debt.”
“There’s nothing owed. You’ve given me more than I’ve had in a long time.”
“Have I? What have I given you besides nights of worry?”
The door creaked as it started to close.
“You’ve given me hope.”
The latch clicked into place, and she was gone. Immediately I missed her presence. Whether it was her voice or merely having someone else to talk to, I couldn’t say.
I laid on my back and stared up into the blackness, turning over every word she’d said. I’d given her hope? Hope for what? Maybe she was as glad as I was not to be alone in the strange house buried in the rock. I wished she’d at least have given me a name to call her by. While I knew that my savior during my sickness was real, more than before I wanted to know who sh
e was.
Perhaps I would see her again in my dreams.
* * * * *
“This will only take a moment,” I said as I held the stick against the elk’s broken leg. “I just need to make some measurements.”
I tried to ignore the curious looks she’d been giving me all day, but it was a little exhausting. She still refused food and drink, which concerned me quite a bit. I thought getting her back on her feet would help with that issue, and so I’d set in to work on my project for doing exactly that.
“You still haven’t asked what it is I’m doing.” I made a notch in the stick at the top of her shoulder. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
I glanced up to see her studying my face with that intense scrutiny again. After a moment, she relaxed and breathed out a very simple answer.
“No…”
“No? Why not? If someone started measuring my leg and talking about building something, I’d certainly want to know what—”
“I trust you…”
Her comment stopped me cold, and I looked at her again. “You do? Why?”
The elk had no response to that.
Sighing, I gave it up and finished taking the measurements I needed. She dismissed me with further silence, and I returned to the garden to collect the wood I needed for the rest of my project.
Farther down the path leading to the lake, I discovered a group of six oaks that were smaller than the familiar, towering trees that grew down the mountain. That suited my purposes well enough, however, and I examined the trunks to see which one would provide the circumference I needed and would fall away easily from the others. My tree selected, I set about with my ax, cutting away triangular slices from the base, calculating with each swing the direction it would fall. With one chunk cut from the front, I started on the back. The wood was harder than the soft pine I was used to, and took twice as long as I thought it should, but soon enough the trunk bent, tipped, and went crashing to the ground, almost exactly where I’d intended.
The plan was to encase the injured leg in a wooden cast, immobilizing it while still allowing the elk to move around. She certainly wouldn’t be running any time soon, and the cast would ensure that.
I’d considered carts, slings, and wheels, but each option I thought of was thwarted by either the confined space of the house or lack of materials. I was reminded of the men in the village that had lost limbs in wars, from felled trees, or due to rough lives on fishing boats, and it made me wonder if I couldn’t fashion something similar for the elk. There would be a learning curve for her, but as she seemed very intelligent for an animal, I was sure she’d figure out how to work around it.
After cutting the trunk into the pieces I’d need later, it was time for a break. Lunch was a hearty meal of sausages, squash, and bread, and I returned to the elk with our book in hand. We read for over two hours, exploring along with Torrin as he discovered his origins. Originally one of the seafolk, Torrin’s parents had escaped from the underwater kingdom of Mer to live as humans on land. As Torrin learned of his heritage, forces amassed against him. He was the true heir to the throne, and, in a land torn in two by those who had battled for years to gain power, his life might be forfeit if he put his trust in the wrong allies.
Again the elk was disappointed when I paused in my reading, but she didn’t argue when I marked the page and made to leave. It wasn’t until I was nearly to the door before she stopped me.
“Wait…”
I turned to her, met again by the curiosity in her eyes.
“Yes?”
It took her a moment to reply, almost as though she was surprised she’d spoken up.
“I would like to see…”
“See what?” I asked.
“What you build…”
Granted, it would be much easier to have the animal nearby for fitting and sizing the wooden cast, but how to move her there? I certainly wouldn’t have the space I needed to work in the room she stayed in.
“You want to watch me work?”
The elk nodded.
Circling the bed, I studied her from all angles. “I suppose if you use my back as support, you could walk on your back legs, if that would suit you. It isn’t all that far to the garden, and I can move everything to just inside the door. Would that be agreeable?”
“It is…”
And so began the first trip out to the garden. It was an awkward affair, and more than one of the vases in the hallway met its end as we passed by. We spent the time with me working and answering the occasional question about my life or family, as though she were making a serious effort to learn about me. She offered very little about herself however, her answers vague or a simple yes or no. The elk had something in the way of family, but never told me what. From what little she did say, she wasn’t from Valmyr, but another kingdom entirely. There was a sense of a long time traveling to her, insomuch as she didn’t call any particular place home outside of the house in the mountain.
By the end of the day, the two halves of the cast had been cut down to relative size and roughly the shape I wanted, but there was still a lot of work to do. The trip back to her room was less destructive than it had been leaving, though it wasn’t particularly easy for me after a day chopping down an oak and shaping the wood. It was a relief to see her back in bed, as I was quite exhausted myself.
I’d barely finished eating when the lights in the kitchen began to dim and go out. Leaving my dishes for the following morning, I ran back to my own room to stay ahead of the darkness.
“Sleep well,” I said as I passed the elk. “The shadows are coming before I can ask if there’s anything you need.”
“Goodnight, Lukas…” came the reply as I closed my door.
The lights extinguished before I’d finished undressing, and I fumbled and staggered around the room before I was changed into nightclothes. The bruise I’d have on my hip after running into the footboard would serve as a reminder to not be so late again.
Finally under the covers, I let myself relax. I wondered if the woman in the dark would speak with me again. It was a valiant effort on my part to try to stay awake, but my exhaustion got the better of me, and before long I was fast asleep.
Chapter 6
Some hours later, the creak of the door woke me. I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t a different kind of creature creeping into my chambers.
“Are you awake?” she whispered.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come, but I’m awake now,” I answered. “The silence of this place makes every sound ten times as loud as it would normally be.”
“You left a mess in the kitchen.”
I chuckled. “I didn’t have time to clean up after myself tonight. It’s been a busy day, and I barely got to my room before the lights went out. I don’t mean for you to pick up after me. I’ll do it in the morning.”
“It’s already done.”
I couldn’t tell how irritated she was with me by her voice alone. The infuriating darkness made conversation difficult. “Thank you, but I don’t want to cause you trouble.”
She sighed and sank down on the bed. “All men are trouble, in my experience, though you seem less so than others. Aside from nearly dying.”
“I do my best to pull my weight,” I said, sitting up. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Help me?” She sounded surprised.
“Of course. You seem like you’re in a difficult situation, so if there’s anything I can do—”
“You don’t know me, why would you want to help?”
I frowned at her tone. “I don’t need to know you to want to help you. You’ve saved my life, why shouldn’t I?”
“Some people can’t be helped,” she said, her voice quiet and edged with sadness.
“If it means anything, I’d like to know you.”
“Know what?”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. “Who you are, mostly. You won’t give me your name, but people are more than names. What
do you like? How old are you? Do you hate it here? What dreams do you have?”
“Dreams?”
“Yes,” I said. “What is it you’d like to do in the world? Where would you rather be? Our hopes say as much about us as anything else.”
She shifted on the mattress, perhaps thinking it over.
“I want to ride the wind. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Her response surprised me. “Ride the wind? As a bird does?”
“I suppose, but there’s more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
She hummed a bit. “Have you ever felt the breeze lift your hair and wondered where it would take the rest of you if you could let it?”
The question immediately conjured visions of spring days, where I’d stared at the sky silently. The wind would blow around me, though never strong enough to take my body from where it stood, immobile as a massive boulder in a tempest. “It’s never occurred to me that I could let go.”
“And if you could?”
“I suppose there might be many adventures to be had in riding the wind. Who knows where it would take you?”
“Precisely,” she said, her smile evident in her tone. “That’s what I dream of. Adventures. Wonders. Freedom.”
I chuckled. “Not every adventure requires leaving home.”
“But the important ones, the ones that make you who you are, those do.”
Blinking in the darkness, I had no argument to that. “I already know who I am.”
The bed rose as she stood. “Do you? Someone told me that you never truly know who you are without at least one adventure.”
“Who told you that?” I jumped on the tone of her voice, certain whoever had said those words to her meant a great deal. My sudden desperation surprised me.
“I…” She was nearly to the door. “Just someone.”
“Aren’t they worried about you? If you’re trapped here, I’d think—”
“I never said I was trapped.”
“You didn’t not say it, though.”
Ride the Wind: A Flipped Fairy Tale (Flipped Fairy Tales Book 3) Page 5