“Everyone, please…” Radovan said.
“Alessa knew. She could have at least told me. I could have done something,” Jaimin said.
“The archway, Jaimin,” Alessa said. “Calm down. It certainly won’t work if you’re angry.”
“Uh…yes, this arguing is not helping. What else can we try?” Eleonora asked Alessa.
“You two keep looking,” Alessa told her. “You’ll know the archway when you see it. If you see it, go through. Perhaps you’ll encounter Elaina.”
Jaimin and Eleonora settled down to meditate once again, and Alessa returned to the throne room with Radovan.
Shadows lengthened as the sun began its afternoon plunge into the ocean. The Shadow Children had gotten wind of Maya’s misfortune, and were scouring the city for her body.
It was Jym who found Maya’s body and both daggers on a cart outside a military post, hidden under a tent cloth. He and a few other Shadow Children stole the entire cart, wheeling it to their new hideout, where they laid Maya out, wiped the dried blood from her mouth and cheek, and covered her with a clean blanket.
Even the smallest of the children was allowed to come near and see what death looked like. They all thought Maya looked just like she did when she was sleeping, although her skin was grey from all the blood she had lost. After everyone had a chance to spend a few minutes weeping over their fallen friend, they left her in the care of two girls who removed all of her blood-soaked clothes, washed her body completely, and wrapped her first in strips of cloth, and then, over that, a nightdress.
Soon afterward, Mascarin arrived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Leaving Ia in Candace’s care, Radovan and Alessa ventured back out to the palace gates, where Alessa cleared a few more soldiers, using her intuition to gauge their trustworthiness.
“What’s the mood in the city?” Radovan asked one of his commanders.
“Confusion, Your Majesty,” he said. “The subjects are not sure whether their princess is alive, and some are still debating whether you are indeed alive, or whether what they think they saw was a trick.”
“Tell them that I and Eleonora live, and that there is no quarrel between us.”
Radovan and Alessa then checked back with Jaimin and Eleonora to see if there had been any progress with finding Elaina’s spirit. Someone had brought in two padded chairs, and Eleonora and Jaimin were sitting in them quietly with their eyes closed.
As Radovan looked upon Elaina, sadness overtook him. No longer was the healing light numbing his emotions. “What was she like?” he asked Alessa.
“She was perfect,” Alessa replied, softly. “Maddeningly innocent; brilliant in her own way. She loved everyone for the divine spark within them. Her life’s mission was to continue her mother’s work: opening the Celmareans’ hearts to outsiders, and to new ideas. Calming their fear of the mainlanders.”
“Is there a chance of finding her in the spirit world?” Radovan asked.
“There’s always a chance,” she said. “I do believe if anyone can bring her back, it’s Jaimin.”
“They must have been great friends,” he said.
“They were betrothed,” Alessa replied.
“Poor lad,” Radovan said. “If there is anything more you can do to help, please…”
Alessa crouched beside Elaina and kissed her on the forehead. “Jem is trying to find you sweetheart,” she said. “You’ve showed him what he can be. You’ve made him happy.”
Jaimin opened his eyes. “It’s not working,” he said. “I don’t see anything. I’m useless.”
Alessa sighed. Eleonora slowly opened her eyes. “Any luck?” Alessa asked her, and Eleonora shook her head.
“Wait a moment,” Jaimin said. “We know where the real archway is. The real one—not the vision one. If I could get to it, I could go through.”
“I’m…not sure it works that way,” Alessa said.
“I need to try,” Jaimin said.
“What are you suggesting?”
“That we set sail for Celmarea. At once. Before we lose Elaina for good.”
“You’re needed here,” Alessa told him. “Your direction, your healing light, can be put to incredible use on the mainland. I know what you’re thinking, but the Kel-sei archway was sealed off from humanity for a reason…”
“Damn the reason. Do you know how to reach the room with the archway?” Jaimin asked.
“Actually, I don’t,” Alessa said. “But you’ve been there. Do you remember how you got there?”
“No. Elaina was my navigator,” he said. “Well, someone must know where that room is located.”
“None of our survivors do. I remember the elders saying this when we first arrived in Arra. They were discussing the sacred places that the invaders might not find.” Alessa remembered something else from that conversation long ago, and she had an idea: “Maybe we could find out its location in the Celmarean archives, if they haven’t been destroyed.”
“Archives? We’ll need Nastasha,” Jaimin said. “If the location of the archway is written somewhere, she can find it.”
“She might be able to.”
“Don’t you want to save Elaina? Don’t you want to see her again—in this world?”
“Of course I do,” Alessa said. “She means everything to me.”
“Then we sail.”
Alessa smiled one of her impossible-to-figure-out smiles. Jaimin sensed he had impressed her in some way.
“Look,” Jaimin said, “I’m sorry for screaming at you earlier.”
“I didn’t let her die,” Alessa said. “I think you know that in your heart.”
Jaimin stood and addressed King Radovan. “On your order,” he told the king, “your navy will provide a ship. Alessa and Makias can move the water behind it to speed us on our way.”
“The tutor will try to stop you,” Radovan warned. “He has control of a wing of the Celmarean palace, and he’s protected by a team of personal guards.”
“Well, let’s run the tutor out of there,” Jaimin said. “I have to try, for Elaina’s sake—for everyone’s sake.”
“Very well,” Radovan said. “I’ll have a ship prepared at once. Alessa, can you please oversee the selection of the crew?”
“Sure.”
“I will draw up orders for my army to arrest the tutor,” Radovan said. “His guards are well trained, but they shouldn’t be a match for the forces loyal to me. Bring the tutor back here to face justice. Kill him only if you must.”
A few minutes later, Alessa left the safety of the palace and made the short trip to the city’s seaport, where she would assemble a trustworthy crew.
Meanwhile, in a musty, forgotten storeroom in the basement of the palace, a Destaurian guard had unlocked an inconspicuous door. Marco, Makias, Nastasha, and the Arran soldiers followed him down a stone staircase. Their hands gripped the hilts of their blades, ready to draw.
They descended into a dining hall, lit by oil lamps on wall sconces all around. At the center of a broad table stood a monstrosity of a candelabra, its candles still lit but nearly burned down all the way. One soiled plate and cup remained at the head of the table. The smell of a fine cooked breakfast still lingered—meat and eggs for sure.
Nastasha was afraid—afraid of what lurked in the shadows, behind the pillars that supported the arched ceiling, or down the lightless passageways that led off from this room. And she was pleased she still could be afraid, after all that had happened. It meant she was still human after all. She drew her blade, and the others took her cue and drew theirs.
Marco motioned toward a passageway off to everyone’s right. The Arran soldiers led the way, and Nastasha followed. It turned out to be a dead-end corridor with doors leading to four spacious rooms. Nastasha stayed outside in the corridor as the soldiers cleared each room. They then signaled for her to enter the largest of the rooms. When she saw how it was decorated, her jaw dropped.
A magnificent oil chandelier lit the room, its fl
ames rendered bright white, no doubt by a chemical in the oil. A half-dozen couches were bedecked in layers of pillows and cushions in blue, turquoise, sand and pink. Every bit of the wall space was adorned with art: framed paintings, wall hangings, tapestries, items of clothing, pins, plaques, and mounted carvings. Nastasha knew immediately from the ocean themes, and the exquisite quality of the work, that these treasures had been plundered from Celmarea. She wondered who lay claim to the collection, and considered how strange the dynamic between Radovan, the tutor, and Errol must have been over the years, with their differing agendas.
She wished she could seal herself up in this place for months to study all the artifacts here. But they had to move on.
Next, Nastasha and Makias helped to search the kitchen. Nastasha rounded the preparation table and froze when she saw the dead body of a small, old woman snuggled up against the base of the oven. Makias, seeing it too, came close and knelt to have a look. A massive blood patch and a slit in the woman’s gown, just at the chest, showed where a blade had gone into her. The warm oven had singed her tunic.
“Who is she?” Nastasha whispered.
“The cook?” Makias offered, closing the woman’s eyes and laying her flat.
“Perhaps Errol killed her on his way out.”
Finding nothing further unusual about the kitchen or the adjacent pantries, they dragged the dead woman away from the oven and draped a tablecloth over her, and they all moved on to the next area, where they found a small library. Most of the books were written in the coastal script, but a few were written in Celmarean. From the library, a set of stairs led down into a narrow, unlit, passage. “That may be the secret exit,” Nastasha suggested.
“How many back doors does this palace have?” Marco remarked. He asked the soldiers to accompany him. To Nastasha, Makias, and the Destaurian guard he said: “We’ll see where it leads. You three stay here. If we’re not back soon, get more help.”
“Understood,” said Nastasha.
Makias started leafing through the Celmarean books and sorting them in stacks on the reading table. He showed particular interest in one with a white cover.
“There’s a trove of Celmarean art in the sitting room,” Nastasha said.
“You’re serious?” Makias said.
“I’d show you, but we should wait for the others to return.”
“I was a student of art from a young age,” Makias told her. “My master was killed in the war. Perhaps some of his works have survived.”
“What are the books here about?” she asked.
“It’s an assortment,” Makias said. “History, nature, architecture…”
Nastasha opened one of the books. The script seemed to be embedded in the page, instead of written on it. And the pages didn’t seem like they were paper at all. They were heavier and smoother. “Is this even paper?” she asked.
“No,” Makias said. “We wouldn’t use paper for any knowledge we wanted to preserve. Celmareans design things for tens of thousands of years of use. This is a composite material made according to an ancient recipe. It doesn’t yellow. It doesn’t crease. It won’t rip.”
“And I assume you use highly-advanced ancient writing sticks and ancient ink?” she said.
“I suppose you could call them that.”
“What’s that one you have there?”
He handed the white-bound book to her. “This one is an incredible find,” he said. “It needs to come along with us.”
She opened it to the middle. Vivid illustrations of fish in their ocean habitats seemed to leap off the page. There were comments beside each one. She turned the pages. Not just fish, but all sorts of sea creatures were depicted. It looked to be some sort of field guide to sea life. The detail of the artwork, and the precision of the lettering, moved her deeply. “It’s a field guide?”
“In a way,” Makias said. “The generation before mine liked to create books like this as personal journals of what they had witnessed in the sea, on the beach, and in the forest. There are also catalogues of coral, leaves, rocks—even one for the various types of rain. Some mainlanders believe we put a lower priority on the search for knowledge. That’s not true at all.”
“I’ve…always heard there’s more of a focus on what is felt,” Nastasha said. “On understanding the will of the divine spirit.”
“We see the divine spirit’s will in the way the natural world functions,” Makias said. “Areu drives us to understand the physical, the chemical, the creatures, the body, the stars, the soil. Our appreciation…our quest for knowledge is not so different from your own.”
“I always thought it was,” Nastasha said.
“I suppose the main difference between the islanders and the mainlanders, is that while your brains choose to limit your perception of the world, ours don’t.”
“What do you mean we’ve chosen to limit our perception?” she asked.
“I mean your brain is capable of seeing and doing everything mine can. Everything Alessa’s can.”
“Are you saying I can read minds? Visit other times and places with my spirit?”
“All that and more,” Makias said.
“But I’ve never been able to…” she started to say. But had she? She was sure she had heard the thoughts of others a few times.
“It’s only fear holding you back,” he said. “Fear of what you might learn.”
She wanted to believe him. “But we Arrans don’t go through Kalmise like you do. Isn’t it your subcellular coding, passed down through your parents, that causes your mind to open up to these other realms? I thought I was limited by my biology, not by fear.”
“It’s fear that stops you. We struggle with the fear as well, but we have made more progress against it,” Makias replied.
“I very much want to believe you. To see beyond what my senses tell me. That would be like a dream coming true for me.”
“You say you are limited by your biology,” he told her. “But your biology is the servant of your mind—not the other way around.”
“You mean I can change my biology with my thoughts?” Nastasha asked.
“You can change the whole world with your thoughts. Menders know this. Celmareans know this. And now you know this. Do you want to change yourself? Do you want to change the world? You can. What would you change?”
He’d given her a lot to think about. If she believed what Makias was telling her, if she truly could become like a Celmarean without sharing their blood, she had to know how. But was it truly only fear holding her back?
“Teach me how to read Celmarean,” she said.
“Right now?”
“Well, we have a few minutes, and these books. Teach me, please.”
They sat down together at the reading table, and Nastasha learned the Celmarean syllabary and twenty new words. She found Makias pleasant and easy to learn from. And just as unexpectedly as a lover had appeared in her life, perhaps a mentor had as well.
“When I look at you, I see Elaina. But you’re not her—she’s gone,” Jaimin said.
“I’m very sorry,” Eleonora said to Jaimin. “If there’s any way I can help bring her back I will.” Eleonora was just as stunned by Elaina’s death—she too had found a person who might just be able to truly understand her. “Look, we should try meditating again,” she said.
“I should let you get back to your child,” Jaimin said.
“Ia is in good hands,” Eleonora said. “If this can work as you say, I will try once more.” She closed her eyes and drifted off.
Jaimin got up from his chair and knelt on the floor facing Elaina’s body. He set one hand on her face, and the other on her hand. Shifting his consciousness, he entered her body like only a mender could.
Even more so than doctors, menders had a deep knowledge and respect for the bones, organs, muscles and tissue that helped to constitute a person, and the physiology that made the parts work together. After all, except where their knives opened the way, doctors mainly got to see thei
r patients from the outside. A non-mender couldn’t possibly imagine what it was like to know and appreciate the working liver, spleen, or small intestine of a close friend or lover. To some patients the practice was utterly creepy. However, skilled menders were discrete and rarely spoke about what they experienced while beneath the skin. In Jaimin’s desperation for answers, he searched every corner of Elaina’s body.
The first thing he noticed was that her cells were all still alive, warm, and vibrating with energy. But it wasn’t through the usual mechanism of mitochondria converting sugar to power. Oxygen was no longer flowing: her heart was still, and blood wasn’t making its circle through her system. Surely it was the divine spirit alone that was keeping her alive. For this he was grateful, but in the recent case where the girl called Aura was killed in a bombing, once her ties to this world were severed, her body had vanished entirely. How could he convince the divine spirit to allow him enough time to find Elaina’s soul? What did he need to do?
Elaina’s insides were as strong and healthy as the soul they had supported. Her brain and skull showed no signs of the bruising she’d suffered in her battle with her housemate, Tran. Her breasts, back, lungs, liver, and digestive organs were flawless compared to what he had seen in others. Her uterus was perfect, and this made Jaimin recall his grandmother’s prophecy that his children would be many.
The only other way for his grandmother’s prediction to come true would be for him to marry someone else, which he considered impossible. Besides, he told himself, when his grandmother had mentioned his “many children,” it was specifically to reassure Jaimin that nothing would happen to Elaina. This gave him some hope.
He beseeched the divine spirit: What do I need to do to bring her back? Where do I need to go? Suddenly, he felt his intuition telling him he needed to instead look within himself. And this seemed a much harder task. Something within him needed to happen? But how could he know what that was?
While dwelling on this dilemma, he continued his survey of Elaina’s body, taking in the beauty of her hidden folds, sinews, and structures as only a mender could. I’ll watch over your body until you return, he told her.
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