The Plague Diaries

by Ronlyn Domingue

  “What are we supposed to say?” an older boy asked.

  “The darkest secrets of your heart,” she said.

  “Why must we tell them?” a girl asked.

  “Because the time for silence is done and the truth must be revealed,” Harmyn said.

  “What is she doing here? She’s an adult—and she’s not wearing blue,” a child hidden in the crowd said.

  “That’s Secret. She played with us in the woods,” a little voice shouted.

  “And she called these animals to listen to you,” Harmyn said.

  “Won’t the adults look for us?” one asked.

  “I sang them to sleep. No one is coming. You’re safe here,” she said.

  A little girl with a wren perched on her finger approached. “We can tell anything?” she asked.

  “Anything,” Harmyn said. She scaled down the rock’s side and knelt next to her.

  “No matter how terrible?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you listen, too?”

  “I will listen—and believe you.”

  The little girl looked down. “My uncle made me go into the room and touched me in bad ways and he said if I ever told—”

  So began the litany of heartbreaking truths. One at a time, each child sat with Harmyn and the animal who offered its witness. Child after child after child, telling what they had suffered themselves or from the witness of what happened to others. Cruel words, cold glances, benign neglect, bitter hunger, harsh beatings, tragic deaths, quick slaps, heinous violations, and lingering silences. For some, the hurts and horrors had repeated for months and years. For others, terrible shocks occurred only once, but the pain never went away.

  As I listened, time ceased its natural cycle. The sun lagged in its arc. I noticed a cloud swirling around the sun, impossibly red, with a long neck, wings, and tail.

  She who first saw All saw this, too.

  Throughout the day into the cold night, the children and animals huddled together. Wolves and foxes suckled infants, although they had none of their own. Hunting beasts brought their prey, which the children cooked and ate with the reverence of sacrifice.

  They were silent when dawn came again, until Harmyn said from the top of the rock, “Do you feel lighter now?”

  The children looked at one another as if the collective truth was more than they could bear. A long low hum of discontent began to rise.

  “Secret, stand up here with me,” Harmyn said.

  I climbed next to her. As far as I could see, children and animals pressed together as one breathing, feeling, beautiful being.

  Julia, who had spoken hours before, tore from the crowd and stared up at Harmyn.

  “What is it?” Harmyn asked.

  Her body shook as she parted her lips. The word escaped; the question, Why? Her mouth softened again as if to speak but instead she screamed screamed screamed with rage.

  As Julia paused to gather more breath, a wolf and a baby joined the cry. Then the throats of the children and beasts opened and gave way to a raging which threatened to shatter the earth, sky, and all that was between.

  “Scream until the shadows break their hold!” Harmyn shouted. “See what they hide!”

  Harmyn took my hand and leaned into me for support. I anchored my feet against the rock, my legs suddenly strong. I felt the circle of the earth spiral through me and into Harmyn’s palm. I remained still, allowing what had begun, but I trembled with fearful awe.

  “Enter the rage! What does it hide?! Scream!” Harmyn called.

  As the sun continued its ascent, a burst of rays filled the sky. The screams transformed. The children keened with grief, clutching their chests, each other, until the sobs gave way to peals of laughter, clear and bright as bells. They embraced one another and held their middles and rolled in ecstatic fits.

  When Harmyn started to sing, the spiral reversed through me, returning to the earth. As the animals took their leave, the children hummed the melody along with her. They clapped at the song’s end.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “The first turn of a new world,” she said.

  WEEK 25

  ON THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER, almost two weeks before the winter solstice, the children awoke. They staggered into the rooms of those who had watched them and out to the desolate streets. At once, there was much to feel—sorrow for the dead, fear of what was to come for the rest of us, relief for those who recovered.

  Among the children who survived, there was a restless energy about them. This I saw for myself as those who visited the woods before returned to play. They talked among themselves with fervor, ran with exuberance, and seemed to vibrate when sitting still. Even when they comforted each other—all of them had siblings or friends who didn’t awaken—their faces shone with vitality.

  As a respite from our worries, the Guardians—not yet identified as such, but they were responsible—arranged for celebrations across town. The afternoon of the eleventh of December, thousands joined for food, drink, and revelry.

  Because of his meeting schedule, Nikolas couldn’t be with us. Father and I escorted Harmyn and Julia to the Area 4 festivities, of which Margana’s shop was part. Children who knew us from the woods ran up in greeting, then dashed off to watch jugglers and acrobats. On a dais, musicians played as the children danced. Along with the adults, they stuffed their faces with savory pies and sweet cakes.

  Margana stood near her shop’s door. Against the wall were baskets of clothing, fabric swatches, ribbons, and belts to create makeshift costumes. Harmyn and Julia rushed over with their friends. I noticed Solden Gray, hesitant to join in. A moment later, a girl his age led him to the group, which he approached with a shy grin on his face. I turned to look for Leo. When our eyes met, we waved, relieved to see each other, but didn’t move from our places. I sensed we were both too worn to scrawl a conversation.

  A hand brushed my arm. I flinched in pain, not surprise.

  Margana held out her notebook. My scraps are in good use, she’d written.

  How kind to treat everyone, especially the children, I wrote.

  It is our way, she wrote.

  How do you feel? she wrote.

  I’m ready to sleep. Too much pain these last weeks, I wrote.

  She held my hand as she looked into my eyes. Be strong, she seemed to say. When she released me, she wrote, I’ll be so glad to speak to you again.

  I nodded. When I glanced up, I saw my father with Harmyn and Julia. He wore a hat with four dangling points with bells on each end. He had never looked so silly, and I burst into a belly laugh along with the children.

  Once the full moon was high and the cold almost unbearable, the crowds began to return home. Harmyn asked if Father could take her back to the castle while I escorted Julia to the walk-up. I asked what was wrong.

  I don’t know, Harmyn said. For a few days, I thought I was feeling a change in the children, but that’s not it. She held Father’s sleeve as they stepped away.

  At the Elgins’ door, I dreaded to leave Julia, which she intuited, because she kissed me on the cheek and squeezed my hand.

  By the time I returned to the castle, it was almost nine o’clock. In the parlor, Nikolas was stretched out on a settee near the fire. He held a glass of gin, the first time I’d seen that, and he looked more relaxed than he had in months. The week prior, Harmyn ceased their nightly ordeal and said Nikolas would be well through the plague’s end. His body bore no sign of the plague’s ravages, and he could hear again. When I eased next to him, he offered a sip of his drink, which I tried, wincing at the taste. He held out his notebook with a message that Father and Harmyn had retired and Harmyn seemed quite anxious.

  I glanced toward the parlor’s entrance. Hugh was gone. Skipped to the water closet, I thought. Exhausted, I leaned into Nikolas. He draped his arm around my shoulder. I closed my eyes.

  Suddenly, he slipped away. The fire glowed as embers, there was a bright light, and a note at Nikolas’s fingertips. H
armyn stood by with a lamp and her hand on Hugh, who cried as he knelt in front of Nikolas.

  On his official stationery, Nikolas scrawled a letter with his full signature. He gave it to Hugh and gripped his arm. Hugh bolted from the parlor.

  I looked to Nikolas, then Harmyn. My ears popped open.

  “His wife is due to give birth in two months. Nikolas gave him a letter to fetch the physician, but there’s no use,” Harmyn said.

  “If the labor is delayed, that might not be so,” I said.

  “She’s not the only one. Every woman who is pregnant is sick, too,” Harmyn said.

  “Why?” Nikolas asked.

  “Because Nature has a cruel wisdom,” I said, without a doubt of its truth.

  Seconds later, I rushed to the nearest water closet. I vomited until my gut was empty but continued to heave. Nikolas burst in and crouched at my side. I knew what he was thinking. My cycles had come as usual; I’d drunk my teas without fail. I shook my head. He sighed with relief.

  The knot at my navel wrenched violently. I showed no hint of pain as my belly began to cramp. “A dreadful shock. I’m going to my room. Find Harmyn and check on your servants and staff,” I said.

  I walked away upright, although I wanted to crumple. In my room in a cold sweat, I alternated between sitting and pacing. The agony intensified. I didn’t ask for help. Whatever rupture was about to occur, no one could stop it. I wanted no witness, especially not Nikolas, who had endured enough on his own and didn’t need to see more of mine.

  The clock on my night table ticked to midnight. On my bed, I crouched on my hands and knees. My mind slipped loose, and I was aware of

  —young and wide-eyed, Bren. Next to him,

  a physician. Between them, a table covered with metal

  tools. I refused those men who urged me to my back, to

  submit to their prying eyes and fingers. I crouched on the

  floor, knees, palms speckled with dirt—

  Then I was held under pressure, in blackness.

  I pushed my abdomen against a terrible throb—

  a clot that failed to knot—

  On all fours I screamed with rage and strained with wrath—

  On my back, my limbs fell wide as the throb tried

  one last time to bind, but I breathed—I breathed—

  I was both before the cut, then—

  I was separate and afraid. I cried. Whispers reached

  my ear. Hush, baby. I wailed. Calme-toi, bébé. I screamed.

  Usu mchanga. I howled. I heard a noise and turned to

  suckle the shhh until it rose to a chilling hiss, the sound of

  the throb. A hard node where the blood could no longer

  enter seized to hold my tongue silent.

  For seven years after, I could not, would not, speak.

  A small hand pressed over the queen bee’s stings. I opened my eyes.

  “Inside, I always knew,” I said to Harmyn, “she never wanted me. My blue brothers. Noose and Knot. Duncan and Riley. Better I’d been born dead like them. Better I’d not been at all.”

  The child wiped the tears from my face.

  “Why did I survive? Why must I know this truth without a doubt?” I asked.

  She climbed on the bed, lay on my stomach, and curled in like a snail. I rested my palm on Harmyn’s head as I felt a hum from my navel to my throat, which cleansed the wound that wept there but did not heal the damage done.

  WEEK 27

  THE DAY BEFORE THE WINTER solstice, Nikolas, Father, and I rose at dawn to be with Harmyn. She opened Father’s and my ears, led us to the castle’s outer wall, and instructed the guards to let us through the gate. At the first chime of Harmyn’s bell, the legion of children crowded near the entrance sat on the ground, ringing their own. Few adults were among them. When Harmyn began to sing, the young ones joined her, their projection clear, the union of their voices transcendent. They had been deaf, then asleep, for months, but they knew every note and word.

  As I listened, I welcomed a respite from pain. The second phase had debilitated me. After the night the unborn bled away and the truth of my birth became conscious, I could barely hold against the force drawing me into darkness. Like so many others, I tried to keep a brave face although I felt as if I were dying inside.

  I refused the tears which came as she led the children in a song I knew, translated into our language, but not from our time.

  Innocent, remind us what is pure.

  Innocent, remind us what is true.

  Innocent, awake from the great sleep.

  Behold what waits for you.35

  This was a Guardians’ song of welcome for their newborns. Centuries before, Aoife heard this joyful sound when she visited the settlement to warn them of a possible war, when she labored with Wei, and as Wei sang it with her dying father.

  When they finished, Harmyn shook the bell over her head. The children rose to their feet and took candles from their pockets. Harmyn gave Nikolas a candle and vesta.

  “Light it, and touch the wicks in reach,” she said. “These candles will burn in their windows through the long night. Tomorrow morning, a very new day will begin.”

  With ease, Nikolas bent on one knee and offered the flame to the nearest children. He watched them turn to each other, sharing the fire. A little girl in a patched coat whispered to him, then kissed him on the cheek. He extended his palm, which she accepted, and he kissed her mittened hand.

  When the crowd began to thin, Harmyn gestured for us to return to the castle. The distant noises on both sides of the wall fell silent to my ears.

  After lunch, Harmyn and I went to Warrick for one last visit. Mr. Elgin let me in without meeting my eye, and Mrs. Elgin sat at the window wrapped in a blanket. Julia wrote in her notebook that a family had been assigned to my old apartment and three volunteers, who would take care of everyone in the building, were in Woodmans’. I asked if she wanted to go to the castle to be with Harmyn, but she insisted she stay. She and several children from the block were going to live in Jane and Dora’s apartment and help how they could while the adults slept. She said she missed her brother, and she was worried about the adults, but she was glad she could play again and take care of Sir Pounce. Harmyn promised she would visit often.

  Downstairs, in the Misses Acutt’s parlor, two beds were near the fireplace. In one, Jane and Dora sat reading longsheets with Sir near their feet. The two sisters were on the settee, the tall one holding a skein of yarn, the other knitting. I went to the bed, and the three of us gathered our hands in a firm knot. I stroked the cat, who answered with a tremendous purr. When I walked to the Misses, I leaned over to kiss their downy cheeks. They patted my hands as if to assure me all would be well.

  That afternoon, in the castle’s library, Father surprised Harmyn with a butter cake and three small gifts. At some point, he’d asked Harmyn the month of her birth—December—and how old she’d be—thirteen. Because we’ll soon be asleep, he wrote, we must celebrate now. She hugged him so long, he started to laugh.

  I had a surprise for Father, too. In a cabinet, to which I gave him a key, was Aoife’s original manuscript and one copy of its translation, which I’d completed through several nights I avoided sleep. I gave him a letter.

  Dear Father,

  In this text, you will learn about the mapmaker who was blamed for starting the war. Aoife had a different view of events, and you’ll understand why the chronicles were rewritten as you read her autobiography. If you’ve noticed people among us wearing a certain shade of blue, they are the Guardians. Despite what occurred in this land a thousand years ago, they’ve agreed to help us in our time of need.

  When you read about the Voices, especially Wei, Aoife’s daughter, you will better understand what my mother was and what Harmyn is.

  Most significantly, there is an answer you’ve long sought. Pay attention to Ciaran. I’ll say no more than that.

  The dragon mentioned; she is real. She is no menace. When we a
waken, I’ll tell you myths unlike the ones you told me.

  Your daughter,

  Secret

  Father drew me to his hunched shoulders and wouldn’t let me pull away. He feared, I knew, he might never get to hold me again.

  That evening, dinner was in the Great Hall. Everyone from Nikolas and his advisers to the servants and their families and all volunteers joined for the meal. Although most of us wouldn’t eat again for months, few had an appetite. There was wine, however, a small glass for each. Nikolas climbed up on the head table, invited everyone to stand, and raised a toast to our health and the future of Ailliath.

  That night, Nikolas had a late meeting with Lord Sullyard, who, Nikolas sensed, looked forward to taking the throne and was clueless he would not. I didn’t want to go to my room yet, which I shared with Father, Harmyn, and several volunteers. Instead, I walked the castle grounds. In the stables, I pet the horses and cuddled my favorite mouser, the elderly gray fellow with the white chin. When I returned to the residence, I went to get a gown, robe, and slippers from my trunk and changed in the water closet. I entered the quiet room again to put my clothes away and to wait to see Nikolas one last time. Father was already asleep. The volunteers dozed on their pallets. Propped up in bed, Harmyn chewed the edge of her amulet and read a book on her lap.

  You seem calm, I said as I sat next to her.

  I am. The children are well again. I know what to expect the next three months. And I won’t be so lonely now that Julia and my friends are awake, she said.

  How did the children know those songs today?

  From their sleep. She glanced at a nearby clock. If you’re going to visit him, be back before the stroke of midnight.

  A fairy-tale warning? I said.

  She smirked. Then you know to heed it.

  As I stood to leave, the composure I’d held finally cracked. I swallowed a cry. The shadows I’ve felt these last months. They will be worse now, won’t they?

  Some will. Some won’t. No matter what, you won’t be alone. I promise.

  I nodded and left the room to go to Nikolas’s. My ears popped. The guard stepped aside as I knocked. Nikolas let me in and shut the door. When he approached me, I wrapped my arms around him. He held me tight. I thought of the good-bye which wrenched us apart that summer three and a half years before—before Fewmany, the manuscript, the quest—and then of the night before the plague sickened us. Nikolas kissed the center of the queen’s stings. He reached into his trouser pocket then, between his fingers, held the ancient coin minted with the stag.