“Promise me if there’s a call to share, you will,” I said.
“I’ll determine that if the circumstances arise. Otherwise, that’s for you and me. Also, perhaps, to barter. Money will be useless if the affliction lingers. Take them.” He held out the ring. “The keys to the front door are there, too. You’ll need them.”
“Why?” I asked.
“You are coming home, aren’t you?”
“I’m all right where I am,” I said.
“Take them anyway,” he said, his tone hard, his eyes sad.
After I accepted the ring, he walked downstairs. On the second-floor landing, I noticed several maps and a stack of books outside the spare room. On top was the edition Fewmany had given him of the chronicles from The Mapmaker’s War era. The quest for a link to a noble past continues, I thought. A shiver streaked up my spine. I had no tangible proof that Father had been right all along, but I sensed the names he sought were Ciaran, Aoife’s brother, and that of the boy Ciaran raised as his own.
That afternoon, however, wasn’t the time to reveal what I knew in my blood.
I found Father at the stove when I entered the kitchen. Two plates, two forks, a knife, and a pie lay on the table. Under the ochre bowl was a shortsheet from the ward leaders, calling for volunteers. I moved the bowl across the room, to where my mother had sat near the windows, once curtained, now barred. As I turned, I saw the back door’s ancient bobbin and latch had been replaced with a knob. A huge lock and metal bar held it shut.
As a child, I’d often felt trapped within that house. My mother’s little fungus, keeping to the shadows. With the bars and locks, I felt imprisoned, although Father meant to create a fortress.
He served tea as I cut the rhubarb pie.
“I saw the shortsheet. What will your service be?” I asked.
“There’s an option to contribute to a fund instead. I’ll do that,” Father said.
“The courtyard is barren. Offer the land to grow food.”
“I wouldn’t know how to tend it.”
“I could. I’m helping to build gardens. One could be here,” I said.
He took the plate I pushed toward him. “You were oddly gifted to do that since you were little. The courtyard became such a green, cheerful place once you took interest.”
I filled my mouth with a morsel to avoid a response. The ability was inherent to a degree, I thought, and the courtyard was less pleasant once Fig Tree was cut down.
For a minute, we ate and sipped in silence.
“An acquaintance mentioned you spoke before the Council last month,” he said.
I stared at the blank space where the bowl had been.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.
“No.”
“Rather, something perhaps you should?”
A deep inhale to think, a slow exhale to decide. “That depends on whether I can trust you.”
“How can you say that?”
In that very moment, I knew that what had occurred, because of the symbol, was a matter of both betrayal and fate. Father had used my innocent knowledge for his own selfish desires—to secure Fewmany’s good graces and the boons that brought. Yet, still, what happened between Fewmany and me was inevitable. Had Father not presented me to him as an eleven-year-old girl, I would have been surrendered by some other means.
“Where’s your allegiance now?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Of course you do. What were you thinking when you saw the symbol I’d drawn, cutting my hair, frightening me, but worse, using me for your ends—and his. I had no idea what you wanted from me. I did not lie to you. Mother knew that, didn’t she, although I’m sure she said nothing. And then, to encourage me as you did, the apprenticeship, not a single other girl among my group, before or since, neither you nor him believing I dreamed of it but waiting for me to divulge—what? How? I did dream of the symbol first, only later finding one, still without a clue what it meant.”
The remorse in his eyes didn’t reach his mouth. Anger rushed through me, and as it did, I watched his shame force him to look away.
“What did he promise you if the hoard was found?” I asked.
“Land and a title.”
“He can’t give that to you.”
“The King can.”
“Not this king. The old one is dead.”
“But King Nikolas—you are—”
“His closest friend and confidant.”
“You could sway him.”
“I could—but I won’t.”
Father lowered his head. I took pleasure in the wounding, but I chose not to pierce deeper with the fact Fewmany would never get the hoard and never have the chance to fulfill his promises to Father, or me, or whomever else Fewmany involved in his quest.
“I ask again—with whom is your allegiance? Do I matter more now, Father?”
“You’re all I have,” he said.
I felt a slip within myself. The little girl who once adored him entered the vacant space. “I am, aren’t I?”
When he twisted the ring on his finger, my throat closed.
“What do you have to tell me?” Father asked.
“Do you remember the story you told me about the day I was born?”
“One fine autumn twilight, a pigeon, a dove, and a sparrow entered an open window and flew three times widdershins around a room. They lit upon the wooden sill to chirp and coo about the new black-haired babe lying in a cradle—that was you—and nodded to one another when their conference had ended. Shall I continue?” he asked.
“No. I remember it, too, and that you thought their visit uncanny. Years later, did Mother tell you what I told her—that I could speak to creatures and plants?”
“I recall this.”
“What did she make of it?”
His expression twisted in thought. “You were imaginative, more so than most children. You had an affinity for animals and flowers. For you to have said such a thing isn’t surprising.”
“She claimed not to believe me. Did you believe her disbelief?”
“I don’t recall having a sense one way or another. Parents tell things about their children which are mere anecdotes, nothing more.”
“That wasn’t. I don’t believe it was trivial to her. If it were, she would have said nothing to you. She warned me not to confuse what was real with what wasn’t. I was very careful after that not to reveal myself at all,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I communicate with creatures and plants. Birds, squirrels, toads, ants, fish. Trees, ferns, flowers. Anything. I know what they think and feel, what they remember, with no more effort than it takes to talk to a person.”
“Since when?”
“It happened the first time when I visited my grandmother. I was almost four. Thereafter, I had to learn to manage what came.”
“So, the courtyard . . . the birds . . . that fig tree.”
“My haven among friends.”
“The Council meeting?”
“I gave the warning about the plague. I observed the plants first, then the animals. To the latter, anyone could see they were sick those three weeks, and not one adviser could dispute that. It was my duty to use this knowledge so we could prepare,” I said.
“How did the King react when you told him?”
“Nikolas has always known the truth about me,” I said. “He insisted I speak to the Council, although I didn’t want to because of the suspicion I’d face. Once upon a time, women like Mother and me were burned at the stake. Better that than to suffer for our strangeness, perhaps. And you—has your weird daughter made things difficult for you now?”
Fear glazed his eyes, but I sensed it was for me, not for him.
“My reputation isn’t at issue,” he said. When he touched his cup, it rattled against the table so hard, some of the tea splashed out.
Unbidden, I remembered that dinner after the fever, when she knocked the sal
t cellar, telling me, “Mind what is spilled, girl, and watch it doesn’t spread.”
“You’re shaking,” I said.
“The shock of the secret you kept. I wish I had known,” Father said.
“It would have made no difference if you had,” I said. “There is something else.”
I told him that several years before, I’d met a young orphan, one who seemed neglected, but there was nothing I could do about it. When I returned from my recent journey, I encountered the child again. By then, I’d read the arcane manuscript. Harmyn, too, was a Voice, lost in the world, like my mother. I had taken responsibility for her, helping as best I could.
On purpose, I left out many other details, ones I’d have to reveal in time.
“Why would you take a child into your charge? You’re hardly old enough to bear one. What means do you have?”
“I’ll manage. This isn’t an ordinary child, Father. She needed someone who would respect her gifts.”
“How old is she?”
“Twelve. Would you like to meet her?”
“That seems reasonable, don’t you think?”
“Wait here.” I went to the front door. Harmyn sat on the front steps petting a stray dog. “Come in.”
When we waked in, Father stood in the parlor. Harmyn approached him with an outstretched hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Riven.”
He stared, bewildered.
“She minded her manners. Could you do the same?” I asked.
“Your eyes,” he said.
“It’s a color Voices have. Zavet did, too,” Harmyn said.
He approached her, knelt, and clutched her shoulders. I almost intervened, afraid for an instant he’d hurt her. He began to cry.
“I’ve seen you before, wandering the streets, and singing. Like nothing I’ve ever heard.” Suddenly, he took her in his arms. The child circled his neck as he sobbed. I had seen him broken like this only once, after my mother died. I wondered if I’d made a mistake bringing Harmyn to him. If I had, in fact, been unwittingly cruel, to force him to look into the eyes of what he’d lost. I took a breath, held it, and stepped toward them.
I touched his back. I felt him shiver, but it wasn’t from emotion. Harmyn was humming to ease whatever pain had ripped out of him.
He slumped with his palms on the ground, then stood with his back to us. He blew into a handkerchief.
“I apologize. I’m not sure what happened,” he said.
“It’ll all right. Harmyn tends to have an effect on people,” I said.
He squared his coat. “We should get better acquainted. Do you like rhubarb pie?”
“I do,” Harmyn said, following him around the corner.
ROTHWYKE DAILY MERCURY.
26 May /38. Page 2, Column 5
ACCIDENT TAKES SIX—Yesterday, at half past two o’clock, a calamity occurred at the northwest section of the wall. Witnesses report a crane used to move the stones began to sway, and a cracking sound was heard before the suspended load dropped. The weight and momentum loosened several stones which had been recently laid, and three fell upon the unwitting, imperiled victims. Among the dead are five journeymen and one apprentice. Mr. Vinter, the foreman, has supervised several projects of this kind and indicated all due measures had been taken to ensure the crew’s safety. He stated the crane’s defect will be assessed and all other equipment evaluated with doubled rigor; until that is complete, construction is suspended. Fewmany Incorporated has expressed condolences to the families, with a redress officer assigned to their attendance.
WEEKLY POST.
31 May /38. Page 1, Column 2
SIX CRUSHED TO DEATH; CAUSE IN DISPUTE; HALT ORDERED—The recent death of six men, killed by falling stones from the yet-complete wall in the northwest quadrant, prompted further inquiry into the circumstances. Initial accounts described a failure of one crane, from which a stone fell, and subsequently knocked three stones of a similar size and weight from their placements, resulting in the men’s demise. The crane did fail, but the cause of its collapse is in question. A source revealed occasional geologic tremors have not ceased since, though this has been refuted elsewhere, and where the crane stood, a deep rut in the soil is visible, which the source asserts was not created by the equipment’s movement or placement.
Two days after the fatal incident, King Nikolas issued an order for all construction to stop until further notice, citing a “reasonable concern” that the geological instability affecting multiple wards in Rothwyke extends to the green as well. We are all aware of the state of our streets and sewers, and notably the New Wheel development.
The wall project entered its third year in April. Less than one-tenth of the project is estimated to be complete. Fewmany Incorporated, retained by the kingdom of Ailliath, has previously stated the fortification would be in place within four years.
3 JUNE /38
ON THE DAY OLD WOMAN returned to her village, she packed a change of clothes, her favorite cup, and a tuft of Cyril’s fur. She kissed the two goats and remaining hens—she’d sold the sheep and other animals because we knew we couldn’t care for them as she did—and stared long at her cottage.
“Protect them, little house,” she said.
Harmyn carried our friend’s bundle. We held her arms as we stepped into the woods. On Cyril’s grave, Old Woman laid flowers. On Reach, who had dead leaves clinging to his branches, she placed a reverent touch. She led us to another tree I remembered well—the half-hollow one with a hole at its base, where a spiral stair of stone led to a tunnel connecting the woods and town. Roots twisted around the hole, leaving only a small place to stand within the tree.
“We’ve arrived at my shortcut,” Old Woman said.
The Guardians, as it turned out, knew the secret of the hollows and used them with respect. Instead of traveling hundreds of miles to her home village, Old Woman would walk a few steps, with an animal leading the way.
A moment later, a fox appeared and sat next to the tree.
“My escort is here,” Old Woman said. She turned to Harmyn. They whispered to each other, then embraced.
I struggled to suppress my tears. I told myself, yet again, she wouldn’t be that far, not really. She’d be safe with her people; they could care for her if she got sick with the plague; she wouldn’t be responsible for caring for me once I did. I could endure what was about to happen without her calm counsel.
When Old Woman tried to release her, Harmyn held tighter. “We’ll see each other again, child.”
Harmyn pressed her lips shut and rubbed her wet eyes.
Old Woman wrapped me in her arms. I felt small again, the child in the shadows, hiding and listening to her stories of a dragon, a dwarf, a woman-wisp, and an orphan. Mystery, I knew then, as much as myth.
“What a mighty woman you’ve become, little dreaming mushroom,” she said.
At the mention of her long-ago nickname for me, I burst into tears, sputtering words of regret and adoration.
“It has been my honor,” she said as she kissed my cheeks. “Have courage. Mind Harmyn with love, and yourself.”
The fox yipped. Old Woman took her bundle, kissed us one more time, and followed the fox into the hollow.
A blink and a blur and she vanished.
Through the rest of the day, Harmyn and I tended chores. At twilight, Nikolas arrived with new books, provisions, and dinner. He told us more about the wall’s collapse. There were lawyers involved now, the kingdom charged to be in violation of the contract. Then he informed us about the recent preparations in town.
Once that conversation ended, I read as they played chess. Harmyn cheered when she beat him for the first time. Impressed as Nikolas was by her quick learning, he admitted his pride was wounded. After their last match, he said he had an important matter to discuss with us. He wanted us to move to the castle, where Harmyn and I would have a wing to ourselves with each a private room.
“We don’t know what will be required of Harmyn onc
e the plague strikes, or of you,” he said.
I didn’t say so, but I believed my part to be done, save caring for Harmyn, which struck me then as an ironic responsibility. No longer an archivist, I was now the keeper of a child, and I wasn’t confident I’d have the skill for it.
“I’d rest far easier knowing you were both in town. Further, if the third phase is as acute for us as it was for the animals, Harmyn can’t care for you alone,” he said.
“Not to worry. It won’t be so terrible. I’ll sleep like the girl who pricked her finger on the spindle,” I said lightly.
“You’ll recall that kingdom slept, too, under the curse, but in this version, your prince will slumber helpless as the rest of them,” he said.
“How would you explain Harmyn’s or my presence, no relation by blood or marriage, only guests? Not to mention, it’s known I spoke to the Council. Perhaps it’s best I maintain distance,” I said.
“It’s probably better if you are there. Advisers will see you’re sick, too, quelling those suspicions you’re so worried about. As to the explanation, I’ll say Harmyn is a guest of the kingdom, a talented singer from one of our small towns, and she’s in your charge. You’re a distant relative who happens to be a longtime friend from our school days,” he said.
“That’s absurd. There’d be no reason for both of us to stay at the castle, and she hasn’t sung a note since we took her in,” I said.
“You haven’t heard me. I’ve been practicing alone in town,” Harmyn said.
“So, she has been, and if the reason I suggested doesn’t suffice, give me another one. The basic fact is, I want to protect you,” he said.
“I don’t need your protection,” I said.
“True, but is it so difficult to admit you want it?” he asked.
“He’s right,” Harmyn said.
“About what?” I asked.
“That you don’t know what’s about to happen. I can’t tend you by myself. And he’s offering us something we’ve rarely had.”
“There are adult considerations involved,” I said.
The Plague Diaries Page 28