by Jane M. R.
My parents look briefly at each other. My mother looks away first. Score one for me.
“We just need to make sure the basics are covered,” my father says. “Especially since you have Jaicom’s eye.”
I mindlessly nod.
I’m finally released, which causes me to bustle to my room more anxious than usual, irritated that my plan had almost fallen apart because of supposed whoring women.
I don’t even know if I should be excited or scared. Tomorrow, I will finally start the ending of what Durain had begun.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BRINELLA
Varseena is all chatter as she dresses me, and all the while I want to tell my macramist that it is pointless, that I am going to take it all off once I leave.
Curling my hair takes much too long for my liking and I’m bristling with irritation when I sit down for a quick breakfast. My father carries my carpet bag out to the coach, opening the door for me and then follows. A rapt knock on the roof of the coach gets it rolling.
“Be sure to check out the cathedral,” my father is telling me. “And walk along the Froom River.” He winks at me. “You’ll really like the walk. We took you to Bristol when you were younger. Do you remember?”
I nod, deciding not to tell him the only thing I do remember is falling in the river and almost drowning because, huge surprise, females are not encouraged to learn how to swim, because swimming is immodest and not lady like.
I’m glad my father continues to describe all of Bristol to me so I can have something to pull from when I explain my trip when I come back home, so I sit and smile and nod politely and get myself all excited for Bristol so by the time we arrive at the train station I think I’ve convinced him.
Corden is there waiting, hands clasped in front of him and I’m impressed with his continued act. The coach stops and my father steps out first, guiding me down from the door. I clutch at my carpet bag, holding my bonnet in place as a wind tickles against it.
“Thank you again for letting your daughter come with us, Mr. Frondaren,” Corden says. “My daughter is happy to have a friend along. I’m such a dull companion and she has tired of all my old war stories.” Corden is wise to not use names. One slip and this whole bonfire of lies will burn me.
“Of course,” my father says. He pulls me in with an arm, kissing the top of my head. “I’ve left enough money in your purse to pay for a coach to take you from the station back home when you return.”
“Okay.”
“Have fun, sweetie.”
“I will.”
He enters the coach. I watch until it bumbles out of sight, my heart twisting at the mountainous lie I have just built in front of him. I don’t have a problem lying to my mother – a shame. I know – but my father has stuck up for me, let me be free just a moment longer.
Corden tugs on my sleeve. I follow his led away from the train station along the river, into the trees until we can’t see any buildings. Corden stops.
“Be careful, Miss Frondaren. Joseara told me what you are up to, and I want you to know you are not alone in the troubles that will come, for many of us have gone through them already. A dark thing you are stirring up, but it needs to be stirred. The monster cannot be slain until it is released.”
My back stiffens. “I’m releasing a monster?”
His face scrunches up. “Indirectly. The monster is not where you are going, but when you come back.” Wet sincerity glows from gray eyes and he looks away. I get the impression he had lost something as great as Joseara’s family. “You may leave your carpet bag with us, if you wish. I only ask that you share with us your success if you find it.” His smile gleams and I wonder again if I should trust him. But Joseara does, and Joseara couldn’t afford to not be picky about who she chooses to trust.
“Where can I find you when I return?”
“Here,” he says.
I hand over my carpet bag. Even if he does steal it, I only have a couple changes of undergarments, a tiable dress, rose perfume, and other minor things inside it that will be no great loss to me. My real bag is still hidden in the forest next to my house. It has the Star inside of it.
I hand over my bag, then turn and proceed to walk back toward my house through the cover of trees that fills the three mile stretch between my neighborhood and town.
The sun and physical exertion of walking create a heat storm inside my dress. By the time I reach Durain’s rucksack I’m ready to knife off my dress with Durain’s bone handled knife.
I gather the rucksack and walk south, looking both ways down the road before I dash across, submerging again into the trees and walk my accustomed route to Durain and mine’s fire pit. It’s only been three weeks but nothing seems to have changed, as if this spot had preserved its favorite memory and froze that moment.
I begin the task of untying myself.
After twenty minutes, I resort to knifing my dress open. Shameless, I gather the tattered fabric into a pile and drop into the fire pit. I light it on fire. And maybe a maniacal little giggle escapes me. I don’t even care how I’m going to explain why I’m missing a dress when I get home.
Freed from my bird cage, I slip out of my chemise and haul Durain’s trousers and shirt out of the bag. As if accepting the wearing of a relic, I put them on with humble ceremony. Pulling my chaos of curls out of their neat pile, I throw it all together again in a tight braid.
Now liberated with enough energy to tear the mountain down with my hands, I take my first step to following the last instruction Durain left for me.
I had disassembled the Star after discovering it could move on its own, but I put it together now, stuffing it in my bag before it activats. Sure enough, the Star bucks to life like an irate cat in the bag, and even confined, it pulls heavy in the direction toward the mountain I’m standing beneath.
Exhilarated by the unnaturalness of the phenomenon, I loop both arms through the straps on Durain’s bag, the Star resting against my back, thumping at me as if pushing me forward, like a magnet attracted to another magnet in the mountain.
I step onto the road leading into Valemorren Canyon, named so by the unoriginal folk who had settled in this area. Durain and I have been up it loads of times during one of our frequent haunts, but we had never been up it all the way. About a half hour hike in, a landslide has torn apart the canyon wall and all the trees, mud, and boulders filled up the canyon for three miles like a dam.
My father said the old road used to be the route to Bristol before the train, during the thirteenth century or so. The landslide had only happened about twenty years ago.
Following the pull of the Star, I begin on foot into Valemorren Canyon.
I see Durain in every boulder we had climbed, every tree we had fallen out of, the stream we drank, the berries we ate and then sickened because they were not edible.
Half an hour into my hike, my progress is stopped by the dam of forest debris in the canyon. It reaches about twenty feet above my head. The Star is pushing me forward. I begin to climb.
The rotted wood crumbles under pressure. But like a ladder, the horizontal forest is easy to climb. Mostly, I’m lavishing in the joy of wearing trousers again.
I reach the top, already sweaty and tired. The chaotic mess stretches on for another three miles. Boulders stick up randomly in the mess, like white teeth from a giant… like the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk. Maybe this is where the giant fell.
I take a drink out of Durain’s silver flask and move on.
I have to calculate every step, making sure I can complete the jumps between each tree and make sure the tree or boulder I’m jumping to next is stable. I keep looking at the deep gaps I’m crossing, expecting to find a skeleton of someone who had fallen into the pits. Maybe even the giant’s body.
The day bears hot on the back of my neck. Sweat stings my eyes and hair is sticking to my forehead. I wish it would rain. I jump off a boulder onto another tree. I wish Durain was here. I wish my mother would have another ba
by so her attention won’t nitpick mine. I land, wobbling a little before I set my feet and grab at the branch sticking skyward. Pay attention. I wish I wasn’t scared about whether or not someone would marry me. I wish I knew why Jaicom was courting me. I wish Joseara still had her family. I wish I was living in the Middle Ages. Ya. The Middle Ages. Those dresses I would wear. They are so stylish and did well attracting handsome knights. I would love to be courted by a knight –
The tree I land on crumples into sawdust. With a shout I flail down into the pit, throwing my body wide and I manage to catch another tree which I smack into like a giant fist in my chest. I cover my head. More pieces of rotted tree and bugs rain over me and the whole framework I am laying under shifts. Terror spikes through me and I brace to prepare for total collapse. I give it five trembling minutes but it doesn’t happen. I suppose there is no space beneath of which it can collapse.
I still don’t move, not trusting my shaking body to be reliable enough to get me back to the surface safely. My heart still thrumming in my throat, I look down into the pit I had almost fallen into. Trees and branches crisscross the way and I scare myself with all the damage I could have suffered. A broken ankle – leg? No one knows where I am. If I couldn’t get out, I’d die. And I’m certain I’m the first person to actually climb across this dam of forest junk.
I give myself ten more minutes to calm my sparking nerves. What if what I’m looking for is hundreds of miles away? Hopelessness at that possibility crashes into me.
But what if it’s close?
I climb back up to the top.
I’m going through water fast. I brought three flasks with me, hoping to rely on streams I found. I hear water running far below the dam. No use.
I move on.
Rain actually does come; a short, cooling relief, just enough to get me wet and miserable before it moves on.
I wish I was dry.
The sun sets at my back. Tired and cold, I look about for a place to lie down next to a fire and maybe sleep. To either side slopes the steep canyon walls. I jump onward a little while longer. A deep shiver rattles me. I find a rock nestled between the trees just big enough to support a fire. At this point, getting dry is more important than sleep.
The rain storm had been brief enough that I find dry kindling underneath the crisscross network of horizontal trees. I strip off my clothes and huddle as close as I can to my meager flame, wrapped in my blanket while perched on a tree next to the rock, the rough bark making an angry seat. I eat my jerky and hard bread and watch the last of the warm sun wink out.
My clothes are dry an hour later and I put them back on. I settle for laying down on the log I was using as a seat, bundling a corner of my blanket into a pillow. I’m tired enough that I sleep without much protest to my bed.
I wake sore and stiff but feel rested enough to move on. The pull of the Star is stronger today. I begin again the endless journey over the forest debris.
I haven’t been traveling long when the pull of the Star becomes noticeable against my back, nudging me left. I stop and pull it out. Yes. It has changed directions. It definitely wants to go left, toward the canyon wall.
The fire for my mission rekindling in my chest, I follow the new direction. By now I’m an expert for navigating a flood of horizontal trees. The pull of the Star moves down. Forcing myself to rein in my anxiousness lest I fall into the framework of trees and break something, I put the Star back in my bag so I can use both hands.
I lower myself down through the gaps in the trees and stones, feeling like an animal scuttling about at random. After a full day behind me and twenty more feet, I finally touch muddy bottom. I take the Star out. It practically jumps out of my hands in its want to go straight at the canyon wall, which is eight feet in front of me. I look up.
There is an archway carved out of the rock. At once it might have been elaborate with intricate carvings but time has made a meal out of it. Aside from that, the archway is closed off absolutely by a sheer wall of more rock.
The Star wants to go that way. I walk forward, stepping over and ducking under trees in my way. I stop directly in front of the flat stone face of the canyon wall beneath the arch. The Star still wants to go forward. Pointlessness fills my throat. This is just rock.
I still step forward until the three red barbs on the Star touch flush on the stone.
And the stone dissolves away. I nearly drop the Star in my shock.
Revealed before me is a tunnel shooting straight into the mountain. I see a pin prick of light on the other side.
It’s hard to swallow with my heart beating in my throat. Magic. This is… magic.
I shake my head. Impossible. I push my hand into the tunnel. This is no weird illusion drawn up in the weary of my over-creative mind. It’s real. A real tunnel.
Real.
I shake my head. The Star wants to go through the tunnel. My mind is reeling, unable to understand how the rock just dissolved and revealed a tunnel beyond. But intense curiosity coats my dread and I take a step forward into the darkness. I keep the Star in front of me, my eyes focused on the pin prick of light. I trudged softly forward, as if the ground and walls around me are as stable as a dream. There is a pop in my ear and I shake my head and look around, but there is nothing to see. Chalking it up to be random bodily oddities, I keep walking.
Twenty steps through the tunnel and my ears pop again and it feels like the pressure changed. My heart races a little; on edge already because of the oddness of the tunnel so any little noise is going to get my fear jumping.
The pop comes again after twenty or so more steps. I keep walking.
After two more pops, the tunnel exit widens as I approach and I hold my breath as I step onto the other side.
I’m standing on a rocky precipice, shielding my eyes against the sun directly above. Mountains surround me, as if I’m standing in the heart of a deep mountain range. Pine trees pepper the rocky facets and a river curls around…
A castle.
The aged weathered stone looks much like the mountains surrounding it. I’ve stopped blinking. Am I still in Valemorren?
I cast my gaze around. It looks like I’m just on the other side of the mountain from Valemorren. Surely people know about this castle? But I don’t see any roads. Only the tunnel I –
The tunnel has closed over. Solid rock again.
I don’t even try to understand it. I walk forward.
I’m on an overgrown, rocky pathway torn up by wind, rain, and snow. It’s leading me the way to a high bridge arching over the river to the castle on the other end.
I don’t need the Star to know this is what I’m supposed to find. I even forgot the bloody thing was still clutched in my hand.
Excitement at my find conquers my weariness and hunger. The trail is shuffled with slates of shale. Birds flit overhead and three does bound down the hill side away, looking back at me. I come to the stone bridge, the river far below sliding underneath.
I cross to the other side. Massive wooden doors hanging rotted off the hinges dangle precariously like two snaggle teeth. Birds have nested between the merlons and in the broken spaces of missing stones of the towers to either side of me.
I stop in front of the doors, heart pounding with the dread of the unknown. Moving around the shambled doors, I step inside.
I think I’ve just fallen into one of Durain’s stories. Enough sunlight reaches through the open windows within that it leaves very few dark corners. More birds have made home of the interior and at frequent intervals they swoop in and out of the windows. Incessant chirping greets me so that it sounds as if I’ve stepped into an aviary.
Stone pillars run parallel on either side of the long chamber, supporting a mezzanine that encompasses the whole room. Rotten blue flags hang from the balcony. At one point they must have touched the floor but some of them pile in brownish heaps and others have been chewed away by time so now they hang at varied lengths.
It’s clear no one has been here for
a very, very long time.
“Hello?”
My voice echoes back, like empty laughter. Of course no one is here.
Old wooden furniture molds along the sides as I trudge forward with the Star in my grip, leaving footprints in the dust. My anticipation about what I’m still about to find does not soften all the hard edges of terror of the unknown hovering at the edges. If I die in here, I’m dead. Well… obviously. But, you know what I mean.
Sadness is actually working between the spaces of my thrill, inserting a wedge that breaks apart my excitement as the wedge demands to be heard. What it is saying, is that Durain is not here discovering this with me.
I walk to the end of the chamber and look back. I don’t know why. I continue onward to the continued pull of the Star.
A hallway curls around behind the wall. I walk along it, entering into another chamber that branches down, straight, and up dusty stone stairs; looking exactly like the kind of place where people have seen ghosts before.
The castle is definitely primeval. Middle Ages? It has to be. All stone, the only wood is doorways and furniture. Dust sugars everything. I drag my hand along the stone railing, collecting grime between my fingers.
As the Star leads me around corners and through old rooms, I give in to feministic fantasies. I imagine the Grand Hall at the entrance filled with life, with people dancing, opulent dresses and suites. And even myself wearing the best dress of them all to catch the eye of any young man I want… any man I could choose. A knight. I’d choose a knight.
I half debate not going home. I could fix this castle up again, make it my home and fill it with the life I just imagined. And then I’d die alone. I pretend that doesn’t bother me.
There are no windows in the lower levels but torches hang in sconces on the sides. I take one and strike a match, proceeding downward in a pool of torch light coughing with every step.