The Plague Diaries

by Ronlyn Domingue

  Any little ones. Parents so cautious now with the sickness, Tall Miss Acutt wrote.

  No, sister. Think they hide the children, Short Miss Acutt wrote.

  Why? Tall Miss Acutt wrote.

  You’ve seen what some look like, Short Miss Acutt wrote.

  I hope we don’t suffer so when our time comes, Tall Miss Acutt wrote.

  I motioned to Harmyn it was time to leave. She slipped a knotted handkerchief full of silver behind one of the settee’s pillows. We bid our good-byes. Outside the apartment, I grabbed Harmyn’s sleeve to direct her upstairs.

  A light rap, a steady knock, then a rhythmic pounding—and at last Mrs. Elgin opened the door. Clearly, she didn’t want to invite us in, but did. Baskets of clothes were lined up near a long table and an iron. Julia strained to pull herself up from the floor where she was playing a memory game with her brother. He looked up at us with a hopeful expression. The skin under his right eye was swollen and a purplish blue.

  I clenched my teeth as I smiled at Mrs. Elgin. She returned a weak one.

  “May we take Julia and Lucas to play? We’ll have them home before dinner,” Harmyn said.

  She shook her head. She mimed a sore throat and sneezing.

  “The fresh air might do them good. They’ll be no bother,” Harmyn said.

  A subtle vibration purred at my chest, one I knew Mrs. Elgin was meant to feel.

  Mrs. Elgin stood with the children behind her. She looked at us as she nibbled the inside of her lip. The urge to slap her rose so fast, I almost couldn’t stop myself from doing it. Let them out, I wanted to scream at her.

  “Please,” Harmyn said. The vibration grew stronger.

  Mrs. Elgin peered at the children’s faces. She nodded with a sigh. I gestured for them to come along, and they smiled with relief.

  Can they make it all the way to the woods? I asked Harmyn.

  I believe so, she said.

  In her notebook, Julia asked where we were going. I told her it was a surprise, and some distance from home. She nodded and grabbed Lucas’s hand. He tried to pull away. She looked at him sternly and seemed to mouth the words Be good. They walked ahead of me with Harmyn. Lucas held his right shoulder much higher than his left, and his upper arms seemed fixed to his sides. He stomped hard as he walked. Julia seemed smaller, frail, the hunch high on her back drawing her down.

  As we crossed the green, Lucas pointed to the abandoned wall, pulling Julia’s hand to go there. Harmyn stepped in front of them. I watched their eyes open wide as she spoke to them within their thoughts. They followed Harmyn through the woods’ entrance and into the trees.

  Children sat in three groups, and I was certain there were more exploring elsewhere. I was glad to know they felt adventurous and safe to be there. Some of them I didn’t recognize, which meant children were bringing their friends.

  Julia and Lucas stood side by side and looked around. Suddenly, Lucas ran straight ahead, arms flung wide, howling like a wolf. Julia clasped her hands at her heart and started to cry. Before Harmyn or I could step toward her, another girl near her age approached. They exchanged messages in the girl’s notebook. Julia wiped her eyes, waved at us, and followed the girl to two others who played a clapping game under a tree.

  I sat with the youngest children and helped them sort leaves and stones. Harmyn played hide-and-seek with Lucas and several boys.

  After the sorting, I invited the group Julia had joined for a walk. Past the huge rounded rock, past Reach, I led them along the narrow path to the glade. The four girls gasped and clutched whoever’s skirt they could reach, including mine.

  Your house? one girl wrote to me and showed the rest.

  A friend’s, I wrote.

  House in woods BAD, another girl wrote.

  Secret will take care of us, Julia wrote.

  To the cottage we went. They explored outside—the garden, the shed, the pens where the sheep, goats, and hens once lived, and the shady spot where Old Woman had found me as a child. Inside, they sat on the benches, lay on the bed, and studied the shelves. They laughed until they were breathless when the smallest among them climbed into the large cauldron and mimed being cooked alive.

  I led them to the stream as each carried a pail or bowl.

  Walk in water? Julia wrote to me.

  We removed our boots. I stood with the water slipping past my calves as they leapt on the rocks and braced against the rush on their legs. When one found a frog and dared to pick it up, I was impressed the others looked on without disgust. Their joy in discovery made me almost as happy as I’d been when I explored at their age. In that instant, I wished Nikolas had been with me to witness and remember as well.

  The girls called out when they spied a fox. They turned to me and pointed toward the opposite bank. I asked the fox to sit so they might admire her and commit her red fur, black paws, and white-tipped tail to memory. She yipped for good measure, but they couldn’t hear her. That absence made me heartsick. Not once in the girls’ time that day did they listen to birdsong, wind rush, or stream burble.

  I plopped down on the damp ground, dipped my hands in the water, and patted my face to hide my tears. What have I done? Look at them, I thought. The girls were laughing, but all I could see were their contorted bodies and wounds. Again, the conflict spiraled within me. If releasing the vials was a matter of fate, why had I been chosen? If it had been one of free will, why did I consent? Regardless of whether it was both/and or either/or, my actions had caused pain and strife, which would only worsen. I thought of the prophecy which foretold these events. What a poisonous legacy I bore. I remembered what I’d been told in the realm, “Whatever you choose, your world will never be the same again.” Yes, with children as the sacrifice.

  When I led the girls back into the trees, Julia linked her arm in mine. She held out her notebook with the words Thank you, Secret. I’ve never been to the woods before and this was beautiful.

  We found Harmyn and Lucas building a tower of sticks. He looked at me and grinned wide enough to show his missing teeth. His eye was no longer swollen, and the color had dulled to nothing more than a dim shadow. Harmyn had healed the bruise with her miraculous touch.

  Julia and Lucas waved good-bye to their new friends.

  As we led them home, Harmyn told me she’d noticed a change in the children that day. “In their bodies,” she said, “tiny flecks appear and vanish like pinpricks of light. There’s something within the darkness. More than shadows are there now.”

  At their door, Mr. Elgin answered our knock. The children’s father touched their heads as he mouthed, Thank you. Hidden, the lock turned. The bar slipped into place.

  Dear Secret,

  These days, we all must determine how to fill our quiet hours, and you’ve taken on a project well suited, haven’t you? Of course reading through your mother’s diaries would provoke questions. I am glad to oblige.

  I had been in my position two years when your mother joined us. Cuthbert and Rowland had decided to tolerate me, at last, although they grieved the loss of their prior manager, who according to rumors, desiccated bit by bit until they found his venerable husk slumped over his desk. I intend not to repeat his fate.

  Yes, when I told you we envied her, I was sincere. Your mother had a reputation not only because she was a woman doing the work of men, better than most men, but also because she was among the most rarified in our field. If you choose to study ancient languages at any high academy, I expect you’ll hear your mother’s name mentioned as the one who deciphered Pelensian Form A, or alternatively, as one who claimed to, as most credit Professor Ozol Yakup. There are, too, apocryphal stories of her ability to know where obscure languages are still spoken though she never visited these places.

  Tales like this, legends really, are why men like Rowland intimated she was a witch. I confess, rational man of our age that I am, I found it difficult to believe one mind could hold all hers did. Rowland was also convinced she heard voices. When I asked her about he
r ability, her remark that it was like hearing screams which never cease—well, that gave me pause, but only a pause. I’m sure she meant what she said in a figurative way.

  Please don’t bear too great a grudge against our old pungent friend. Rowland matched your mother in ambition but never in talent. When Fewmany retained her—and how he crowed that “acquisition”—Rowland never recovered from his diminishment of favor. The pet projects upon which those two conferred happened no more; rather the projects emerged without Rowland’s involvement. Fewmany made no secret that he wanted the best man he could find for any job. To Rowland’s dismay and horror, the best man was not he, and worse yet, a woman.

  During the years she worked for Fewmany Incorporated, I visited with her rarely. We communicated by letter at her insistence. Fewmany accommodated her wish to work from home. I recall she required this, otherwise she wouldn’t have worked for him. You asked about her demeanor among us, and I will be truthful and say she was not so much cold as guarded. Beyond good morning and good day, what weather we’re having, there was no small talk. I confess, and please know I mean no disrespect or insult, but those who know your amiable father puzzled over the match.

  I’m afraid I’ve not been as helpful as you might have wished. I regret she and I weren’t better acquainted. Although her diaries are written in languages you don’t know, I hope you won’t dispose of them. Matters of confidentiality and privacy aside, she was one of the greatest minds among us wordtinkers. It would be a travesty to not archive her work.

  As to the plague, I’m glad to know you haven’t suffered terribly, unlike many among us. My wife and I endure throats and tongues sore like a bruise. Solden lost his hearing, which saddens him because he enjoys music. He also has the sanguine blot and complains of a weight on his shoulders. Some days, he seems withdrawn and exhausted, but otherwise, he’s an active boy. We’re fortunate we’ve not had the difficulties of some of our neighbors’ children, tantrums and destructiveness. He has, however, had those strange fits in which one stares into the distance and doesn’t move.

  If anyone has heard from Fewmany, he hasn’t divulged the contact. This is unprecedented.

  Do let me know if there is anything else I can address for you.

  Sincerely,

  Leo

  WEEK 12

  THE STOLEN MOMENTS WITH NIKOLAS had become more desperate than exciting. Although I asked him to take me again to his room, somewhat joking when I said he was old enough to have a lover, he refused. His desire for me wasn’t in question, but the extent hadn’t been tested because he feared being caught for my sake, and his own. He liked that he was held in a virtuous light.

  Regardless, I wanted a night alone with him.

  I thought of the masquerade ball and the yearning which laced my blood and I could not sate. I had no regrets about what I’d almost done with the masked hunter. My actions revealed my true nature, beyond what I’d been taught to believe and believed about myself. I wasn’t as innocent as I assumed. When the hunter kissed me, when Nikolas kissed me under Reach, when I closed his bedroom door the night before the plague sickened us, my body responded before my mind could deny what I felt.

  My body knew the truth.

  To have what I wanted required a plan. Father gladly agreed to keep Harmyn for a night. He didn’t ask why, and if Father had any suspicions, he revealed no hint. Of all the guards in Nikolas’s service, Hugh was the one he trusted most. I chose an evening when Hugh would be protecting his door, whether Nikolas was behind it or not.

  At the start of the day, I left a sealed letter on Nikolas’s desk. While Harmyn and the children played in the woods, I tidied the cottage, studied the instructions in Old Woman’s plant lore book, and foraged what I could instead of using what she’d tinctured and dried.

  That afternoon, I returned to the castle to help Harmyn pack her satchel and to add items to my own. I told her the truth—that I was going to the woods overnight—but made no mention of Nikolas. As we rode on the same horse to Father’s house, she said, It’s no secret what’s between you and Nikolas, not to me.

  You understand why it must be, I said.

  I do, and one day, you won’t have to hide, she said.

  Once Harmyn was with Father, I crossed through town toward the woods. As the insects joined in their summer evensong, I stood at the cottage’s threshold, my bare toes pressed into the earth. Bats darted across the sky on their hunt. On the table were bottles of vinegar, oil, and honey, a salad fresh from the garden, and bread from one of the boxes. The bed was made. Thoughts attempted to intrude, admonish—what was I thinking, raised a proper young woman, what if someone found out, this was undue, he was the king. I had sought approval for so long, for so much, and this time, I allowed no judge other than my own heart.

  The sun continued its descent. I lit candles on the table and sat down, anxious.

  Then I heard the hoofbeats. I walked outside to greet him. Nikolas reined his horse, extended his arm to me, and presented a wildflower bouquet and a pheasant’s plume. I smiled, feeling the echo of the boy I’d always loved in the gesture. He released the horse to graze near mine and followed me inside.

  He dropped a satchel on the ground, wriggled out of his coat and vest, tossed his cravat aside, and rolled his shirtsleeves. I watched him pull off his boots and set them near the door.

  He is at home. With me, I thought.

  I placed the flowers in water as he took cheese and honey-almond candy from his satchel. From his coat pocket, he removed a notebook and pencil. He laid my letter flat on the table.

  Come to me in the place I found my voice,

  where I will be through the night.

  Yours, Secret

  He scratched a few words and pushed them toward me. Invitation I couldn’t refuse, though I evade regal duty to do so.

  What did you tell Hugh? I wrote.

  Needed respite.

  Does he know where you are?

  Drew map. Swore not to disturb me unless there’s trouble.

  I crossed my arms and tilted my head.

  Said he won’t betray me, Nikolas wrote.

  Always liked Hugh, I wrote.

  You have a beguiling influence, Nikolas wrote.

  As I turned my response toward him, I sensed Fewmany’s specter. I banished it before it lingered too long, reminding me of how I learned certain truths about myself.

  Only for the willing, I’d written.

  Nikolas laughed without sound, its absence stark. Sorry I was late. Told you about meeting planned in Ilsace, now confirmed I’m leaving tomorrow with advisers. Will meet reps from I, Giphia, & Thrigin to discuss war.

  There will be no talk of that tonight, my love, I wrote.

  As we sat outside for dinner, a flight of swallows took its last dash south before the light slipped away. We peered into the patterns of the stars and stared into the trees where owls hooted.

  There were no letters, reports, or longsheets among us, no notebook open for a conversation in broken sentences about the problems in Rothwyke, Ailliath, and kingdoms beyond. As it had been on the quest, I was content with my best friend and the silence.

  I lifted my chin to a breeze, then turned when I sensed his stare. A column of fire ignited through the core of my body. My breath was shallow, fast, barely enough.

  When I stood, I reached my hand to him. He clutched my palm, rose up, and followed me inside. He swept his hands down my back and gripped my waist. I spun toward him, caressed the stubble on his jaw, and gasped when he kissed me.

  I pushed him away. He stroked my arms as I loosened the buttons of his shirt and the first on his trousers. I brushed the suspenders away and pulled the shirt over his head. He shivered as my nails scratched across his back. Nikolas reached for the buttons of my dress, but I caught his wrists and guided him to sit on the bed. The stars and waxing moon shone through the windows and open door. The candles remained lit. I began to undress, my eyes on his while his gaze roamed.

  He
gripped the sheets at his sides. His anticipation delighted me. Revealing myself openly was an act of spontaneity, trust, even power, my own, meant to please myself, and him.

  Naked, I approached him. My fingers slipped through his gold hair as he held my waist and kissed a circle around my navel. Blood rushed into the well of my hips. My eyes closed as I searched for a word, finding euphoric.

  He stood and let his trousers fall away. My silver braid unraveled in his hands. He caught me in his arms, lifted me off my feet, and laid me on the bed’s center. My limbs vined around him, embracing him so long and so close, I lost sense of our boundaries. When he kissed my throat, neck, mouth, I reached for him, the thrum of his blood contained by such thin flesh. He shifted his hips aside, breaking my hold, and looked me in the eye. His expression was so serious, I laughed and swiped a tickle against his ribs.

  He curled inward as if I’d hurt him. I touched the same place again, gently, and he flinched. He kissed my cheek where the soreness lingered without a mark. Our eyes met, then our hands in a guiding gesture. In time, our bodies merged in divine union.

  We entwined and drowsed, twice and again, discovering a synchronicity between us, a balance between force and surrender. At last we slept without dreams, drunk on love. I awoke to birdsong, his head on my shoulder, twisted sheets. For a while, I pretended the world was as simple as it had been that night and morning, nothing but the present. Flowers, a modest meal, a strong tender man, the moon giving birth to the sun.

  WEEK 13

  WITHOUT FAIL, HARMYN SANG EVERY morning. The crowds outside the castle’s wall had swelled into the hundreds. People of all ages, all stations, stood together. Few wore Tell-a-Bells anymore—the habit proved hard to break—but almost everyone had a bell in his or her hand. The people rang them as Harmyn stepped up to the battlement waving her own bell. When she stopped, they did, too.

  Harmyn sang for half an hour, rarely more or less. Those beyond the range of her voice felt soft whirs in their chests, like a cat’s purr, but each person who could hear her experienced a spiraling rush which spread through the limbs and head. As they listened, or simply stood, some pressed their hands at their hearts; some stared at their palms; others kept their eyes shut. Almost everyone sang with her, even though most adults couldn’t speak and the children couldn’t hear.