by M C Dwyer
Around them the sea roared, the wind blew, and the foundations of the earth trembled, but here at the eye of the storm, all was still.
“Why?” she asked.
Pyrdred echoed. “Why? Why did you all hate me? My own mother tried to kill me. Did she know what I would become?”
“You are not responsible for your mother’s actions,” Luce said, “only your own. My mother left me to your mercy, preferring her own comfort above my safety. I can’t change that. But I can choose how to respond.”
There was a tremor in the waters, and, as if called by her thoughts, an undine shape appeared next to Luce.
“Child, why are you still here talking? Finish him and come home to the sea.”
“In a moment, Mother,” Luce said, then turned back as she disappeared again. She shrugged. “She is what she is. I forgive her.”
“And what about me?” Pyrdred said, his eyes hardening. “Will you be able to forgive me, too?” He sneered down at her, his smile as mocking as ever.
Luce considered him for a long moment. “Yes,” she said at last. “I think so. If you hadn’t done what you did, I would never have become Nepenthe. And I wouldn’t be the person I am today.” She added, “That doesn’t excuse what you did, but it does make it more bearable.”
Emotions warred on his face: surprise, disbelief, and scorn, but also weariness and defeat. “Little Sib,” he said, and for once the mockery was absent. “Let me go.”
Luce gazed at him for another long moment, but she finally nodded. “Yes, I will.”
She pinched off the flame that was Pyrdred. Bereft of its power, the salamander form dissolved, sending spirits in all directions. They crept, crawled, or flew away as their nature led them, and Luce held up the glowing bit of fire that was all that remained of Pyrdred.
“Be at peace, Brother.”
The fire faded, and a whisper of warmth brushed past her ear.
Luce sighed and tried to remember what it was she was supposed to do next. But she was tired, and her heart was sore, so instead she simply drifted on the breeze and did not think at all.
Sometime later, four figures could be seen making their way back through the city. The storm had swept most of the area clear, settling the larger rocks and washing the smaller debris out to sea, so the going was easier than it had been earlier in the day. They brought the horses with them this time, and more than one of them wondered if they’d be able to find Luce in the vast expanse of mud.
It was Jasper who finally managed it, bringing the companions back to a familiar courtyard that was now covered in mud and distinguishable only by two human forms. One was slightly cleaner than the other; Aidan sat with his head in his hands on a length of toppled column while Luce lay on the ground in front of him, covered from head to toe in salty sludge.
Jahan moved forward with a startled exclamation and crouched next to Luce’s still form. Her amber earring was gone and the ear healed; the other ear still held the silver ring. He checked her over for injuries but found none to account for her stillness.
“She’s wandering,” he said worriedly. Without the amber ring, he had no way of recalling her to her body.
“What’s this?” Mae said, holding up one of Luce’s hands. It was clenched in a white-knuckled grip, and when they pried open her fingers, they found the amber ring, split into two pieces.
“Now what?” Barth said, looking at the group.
Jahan glanced at Aidan and, when he showed no signs of moving, turned to the group.
“We’ll stay here in the town for tonight,” he said, “assuming we can find someplace with less mud. Tomorrow we’ll head for the river and get cleaned up, and we can take a better look at Nepenthe.”
The others nodded and set out to make camp. It was a miserable affair, as the mud was everywhere and stank of fish. By unanimous agreement, they set out at dawn’s first glimmer and headed for the river. The women took Luce and gently washed away the dried mud of the encounter with Pyrdred, but they still found no injuries to account for her wandering spirit.
“We can only wait,” Jahan said. He took the two pieces of the amber ring and tucked them into a pouch, then put the pouch around Luce’s neck. While it no longer had any power, she had no doubt been clutching it for a reason.
Back around the fire with clothes hung up to dry and tea on the boil, the five companions held a council.
“We need to get back through the mountains before the snow starts to fall,” Mae said. “But what does that mean for Penthe?”
Jahan and Taela exchanged a wordless look, but it was Jahan who spoke. “Distance does not mean the same thing to a spirit that it does to us. In theory, Nepenthe will not be bothered by the distance to her body.”
“In theory?” Aidan was moved to speak for the first time since they’d found him.
Jahan spread his hands. “I cannot say for certain what ails her, so I don’t know how to bring her back. When the earring was intact, it served as an anchor. Without it, she may never return.”
As one, they glanced at where the silent, empty body lay bundled in the furred cloak next to the fire. It had been cold when they found it, and it breathed only occasionally.
“My mother may have another idea of what to do, but for that we need to get Nepenthe back across the mountains.”
“So,” Mae said, “we can stay here and hope she returns, but we’ll probably run out of food and starve; or we can take her back over the mountains and risk losing her spirit all together.”
“More or less, yes.” Jahan sighed. “Our choices are all bad, but I think the best one is to try to beat the snow in the mountains and take Nepenthe to the Farlan.”
“I concur,” Taela said.
“I guess I agree,” Mae said, and Barth nodded.
They all looked at Aidan who scrubbed his face with his hands and looked up. “All right. We’ll head back over the mountains now and try to beat winter.”
At his words, a chill breeze ran through the camp, and everyone shivered.
Chapter 38
The journey back across the Breccian countryside was accomplished much more easily, for they only had to bear due east. Even so, snow was already falling in the mountains, and even the circle of destruction left by Nepenthe was softened by several inches of white. They made it through the pass, however, with the wind nipping at their heels and howling through Tolmen Gate.
Through it all, the faithful Jasper carried the bundle that was Nepenthe; wrapped up in the fur-rimmed cloak and slung over the saddle, she looked uncomfortably like a dead body returning from the wars.
At night, they laid her near the fire so she could stay warm and they could watch for any signs of returning life. But she remained silent and inert.
After many long, weary weeks of travel, they reached the edge of the Farlan Plains and stopped to confer.
“Jahan and Taela will take Nepenthe to the Farlan winter camp,” Aidan said, and the two nodded. “I will return to Lainen and tell Edmun of our journey. Barth and Mae, will you travel with Nepenthe as well?”
The two Ailerons exchanged a glance, then looked back at Aidan’s haunted eyes.
“The child is in good hands,” Barth said. “We’ll ride with you.” He clapped Aidan on the shoulder with his large hand.
Aidan looked acutely uncomfortable but nodded. “All right. Edmun will want an update if anything changes with Nepenthe’s situation; Jahan, can you send a message to Lainen?”
He nodded. “Of course. I will let you know as soon as we discover anything.”
Aidan sighed. “Well, best of luck to you. I hope to hear from you soon.”
The party split, the three Ailerons heading for Lainen and the two Farlan heading northeast, leading Jasper and his silent burden.
“You won’t need to send a message,” Taela observed sometime later.
Jahan smiled slightly. “I know. We’ll need to tell the border riders to watch for King Edmun’s arrival.” His smile vanished. “I just hope w
e have some good news for him.”
The two arrived at the winter camp shortly thereafter and were greeted with joy and some astonishment.
“We weren’t expecting you for some weeks, yet,” Neria said, embracing her son.
“We rode quickly to beat the snows,” he said, kissing her cheek. He stepped back and carefully lifted Nepenthe from Jasper’s back. “We also hurried for her sake.”
“I see,” Neria said. She lifted the flap of the main yurt. “Get her inside where it’s warm and I’ll take a look.”
After arranging Nepenthe by the fire, Neria knelt by her head and placed her hands on Nepenthe’s cheeks. “She is wandering,” she said after a moment, “but it is not like before.” She frowned. “Where is the earring?”
Jahan tugged the pouch free and dumped the two half circles of amber into Neria’s palm.
“Hmm,” she said, rubbing them together. “Its power is broken, so that’s not it. You say she was clutching this when you found her?”
Nodding, Jahan said, “Her body must have picked it up after she left it.” He quickly described how Nepenthe had beaten Pyrdred or, at least, what Aidan had been able to tell. “She summoned a storm unlike anything I’ve ever seen or heard of,” he said in awe. “It picked up the four of us and carried us right out of the city, as simply as waving good-bye.”
“Hmm,” was all Neria answered. She dropped the amber pieces back in the pouch and tucked it back into Nepenthe’s hand, which closed around it. “Did you see that?” she said. “That gives me hope.”
“Some part of her must still be aware,” Jahan agreed. He gave the pouch a tug, but Nepenthe’s hand tightened.
“We will have to wait and see,” Neria said. “Either she will return, or her body will die. I’m afraid there’s not much we can do beyond keeping her warm.”
Jahan tucked the cloak around her. “I expect King Edmun will be arriving as soon as he hears. It will take a couple months or so, but if I read the situation right he’ll leave the moment Aidan tells him where she is.”
Neria smiled softly. “I have no doubt you are correct. I hope she lasts that long.”
Jahan gaze turned troubled. “I hope so, too.”
Luce drifted. Unbound by heavy flesh, she could soar on the wind with the spirits of air, or float in the sea with her mother and grandfather. She wafted through the world, untroubled by anything save the occasional nagging feeling of something, somewhere, left undone.
Her mother shrugged when she tried to explain, and her grandfather harrumphed.
“Mortal complaints,” he said. “They’ll fade in time.”
Luce didn’t tell them that she didn’t want them to fade. There was something very important she still wanted to do, and whenever she tried to remember, her hand crept up to her left ear—but there was nothing there, and so she couldn’t think of what it might be.
After a while she grew bored of the sameness of the sea and returned to the air. Her grandmother caught her up in the vast currents that flowed through the sky like the tides of the ocean, and she saw many strange cities and lands filled with all sorts of different people. None of them, however, were ones she knew.
“Grandmother,” she asked, “I’m looking for something, but I can’t remember what it is.”
The West Wind reached out a hand and caressed her cheek. “You are searching for the one you love,” she said. “I saw you together, and it made me glad.”
Luce looked at her in surprise. “I was in love?” Her hand crept up to her ear, looking for the earring that wasn’t there, and suddenly she remembered. “Edmun,” she whispered.
The West Wind took her hand and blew, scattering storm clouds heavy with snow and freezing an unwary tree that hadn’t managed to drop all of its leaves yet. Together, they swept across snowy fields and a forest, and then reached a palace that was very familiar.
“Thank you!” Luce cried and dove for a familiar balcony and the even more familiar form sitting on the stone bench.
“Edmun,” she said, twirling in front of him. “Edmun,” she said, spinning around him. “Edmun!” she shouted, reaching for his cloak, but he sat like a statue, staring out over the city. As she watched, he breathed a heavy sigh.
“Edmun?” she said, and reached a hesitant hand to his cheek.
At this, finally, he looked up. “Shadow?” he said, straightening. He put a hand to his cheek and searched the empty air. “Ah, no,” he cried softly. “Don’t say he’s killed you.”
Luce recoiled. He thought she was dead? She stared down at her hands and reached again for Edmun’s cloak. They passed straight through. She tried to grab his hand but could not touch it.
“Am I dead?” she wondered, holding up her ghostly hand to the sky. The moon shone weakly through it, which didn’t seem right. It had never done that when she had a body.
A body. Her entire being froze. What had happened to her body?
She remembered, now, casting it aside when she was fighting her brother. Was it still lying in an empty courtyard in Brae? No, Aidan would never—her memories came back to her in a sudden rush. Pyrdred, the Brotherhood, her disguise and her flight, and her year—the happiest year of her life—spent with Edmun and the Ailerons of Alain.
If she still had tears, she would have wept, as Edmun did now. As it was, all she could do was keen with the wind, a sound that Edmun could hear as well.
She threw herself back into the wind and set off in search of her body. She went west, first, flying through the snowy mountains and brushing the tops of the trees in Breccia. Above the Forest of Night, she spotted Nox and swerved to talk to him. From him she learned that her companions had already been through on their way home. Luce raced back, crossing the mountains in the space of a breath of wind, and then tarried, undecided.
Finally, she turned to the Farlan Plains and blew along at the front of a blizzard. It deposited her at the door of a yurt, and after a moment of hesitation, she slipped inside.
There, at last, was her forgotten body. She moved forward, then paused, frozen in indecision. Why was she hesitant? She didn’t know, but she suddenly could not bring herself to slip into the empty shell that was her mortal home. Instead, she wafted outside again and slowly drifted back towards Lainen. She saw three familiar shapes on the road, and matched her pace to theirs.
She was there when they reached the palace gates; she was there when Edmun came running to hear their report. She was there when he said, “Spirits be praised—she’s not dead.” She was there when he argued with the Ailerons over whether or not he should go to the Farlan Plains, and then pulled rank on them and left anyway. And she was there as he made the long, weary march north in the dead of winter with a guard of Ailerons headed by Barth and Mae.
They were met at the borders by Farlan scouts who led them to the winter camp, and then Luce was there when Edmun pushed open the flap and saw her body by the fire.
Thoughtfully, they’d left him alone for this reunion, so no one but Luce saw him gather up the still form and clutch it to his chest.
“Shadow,” he said, “come back. Please come back.”
And still she hesitated. Why, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps there was something about the spirit form that made one feel the needs and emotions of a body less keenly. She’d lamented often enough her mother’s distance; was this what ailed her now?
Over the next few days, she pondered this as she hovered, a silent witness to Edmun’s long vigil by her side.
One evening, Mae brought him a mug of tea and paused to talk. “Have you tried speaking to her?” she asked.
Edmun shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell her how you feel. Tell her why you want her to come back.” It was Mae’s turn to shrug. “Tell her all the things you were planning to tell her when we came back.” She turned and headed for the door. “If all else fails,” she said over her shoulder, “kiss her.”
She left and therefore missed the rare demonstration of King Edmun’s blu
sh. Luce saw and wondered if she would have blushed, too. She sighed, stirring the air of the yurt, and Edmun glanced up and then thoughtfully sipped at his tea. When the mug was empty he set it aside and picked up Luce’s hand, still clenched around the pouch containing the earring.
After a moment he started talking, haltingly at first, but then faster as the words seemed to pour out of him.
“I told you, didn’t I? That I’d been watching you? I really didn’t plan to. But that night, the night you danced with the storm, I saw you. You curtsied.
“Shadow,” he said accusingly, “you curtsied. I thought I’d been mistaken. You were, after all, just a boy. A sad, lonely boy. But I started watching you. There were other things—your shyness, your quietness, the way you flinched when people touched you. The way you protected your earring.”
Luce crouched across the fire, staring at Edmun. She’d been found out that early? Edmun continued.
“I was going to leave you alone. I wasn’t a part of your life, and I couldn’t afford the distraction. Negotiations with Iona had already begun, and rumors of problems with the eastern clans had been multiplying for nearly a year. But I kept watching. And watching, I had to act. I could see that Aidan was trying to help, but he's always been a bit thickheaded, and he had no idea what to do with you. So I intervened. I threw caution and the words of a lifetime of advisors out the window and sought you out. Having started, I couldn't stop. Shadow, I've been in love with you since before you fell sick, and it was only the fact that you let me touch your earring that gave me any hope that I wasn't deluded or simply mad.”
Luce was a block of ice: frozen, immoveable.
“That night I found you on the balcony, I touched your earring again. Your body was so cold and lifeless, but I remembered how you'd gotten better after last time, and I had to try something. That wasn't the only time. When I carried you in that night you fell asleep, I decided I had to confirm if I was just imagining things or if you really were the woman I thought you were. Shadow, you're beautiful. Did you know?”
If she had had a body, no doubt she would have been blushing furiously. As it was, she felt curiously detached, but was also profoundly and painfully aware of the lack of response. She wanted to feel something more, but couldn’t.