The Plague Diaries

by Ronlyn Domingue

  “You still have it,” I said.

  “It’s always with me.” He searched his coat. “For you. She said to say she apologizes.”

  On his palm stood the carved stag he’d given me, which Harmyn had destroyed during one of her malicious fits the previous winter.

  “That’s not possible. She burned it,” I said.

  The stag, his sailboat, the tulip she gave the young woman, the red poppy she’d given me. Yes, Harmyn possessed Wei’s most profound gift. She could enter the nexus between Now and Then and retrieve a remnant from a past not her own. Beyond the threshold of Nature, she touched the very matter of realms beyond. She had plucked that red poppy from Aoife’s Then, during a moment of peace, in a time of hope.36

  Suddenly, I wanted the burden of everything that had been revealed, unresolved, to fall away. I wanted to feel nothing but the weight of my body, light in my heart. I slipped the stag into my robe’s pocket, then dropped my clothing at my feet.

  “This isn’t what I intended when I invited you here tonight,” he said, glancing at the door but making no move to stop me.

  “I don’t have my herbs, so the pleasure, I’m afraid, will not be consummate.”

  “There will be no complaints.”

  I went to him with the desire of a maiden and the gaunt body of a crone. My fingers released every button on his vest, shirt, and trousers. He stripped on the way to his bed, returned naked with blankets, and tugged me to the floor near the fire. Soon would be a cold season we wouldn’t be able to touch each other. My hands committed his flesh to memory. He twisted my hair at my neck, eased my head back, waited to kiss me. I told him I loved him again and again, the whisper of my words full on his lips. We hurried, then dressed. Near the hearth, he held me as I trembled.

  “I’m so frightened, Nikolas.”

  “I know,” he said.

  In the hall, the pendulum clock struck the first chime of twelve.

  “I must go to my room,” I said. My next breath drew longer than the last. “You’ll see about me, won’t you?”

  “Every day, without fail.”

  My lids strained to stay open. “If I don’t wake up, take care of Harmyn. Look after Father.”

  “I promise,” he said.

  I stood and swayed. He lifted me in his arms. I circled his neck. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  A hinge groaned. A step creaked. I dropped like a feather.

  He kissed me. “Sleep, my beauty,” he said.

  WEEK 28

  From the Plague of Silences Recollection Project Archives, Selected Excerpts

  Diary No. 536. Female, 16

  One of my charges woke up this afternoon. His eyes moved around as if he searched for something. We were told this happened to us, but in the later weeks. Our instructions were to be gentle when they get like this. I said, Hello, Mr. C— and reminded him he was in a shelter, and I’m P—. He didn’t act as if he heard me, but I spoke softly that he’d been resting well and oh, what a lovely snowfall we had last night. Then his arms were grasping in the air and he had the look of someone falling. His eyes closed and his arms dropped. I hope he didn’t have to stay in that dream for long.

  Diary No. 143. Male, 12

  I spend half my days in a laundry keeping the fires fed. Once, I cut nothing other than meat on my plate; now I cut wood. The group leader, one of those people wearing blue, not only lets the girls try their hand at chopping but encourages them. All the girls are encouraged to do new things, but then we boys are, too, as if there’s no difference between us. I hate the laundry and would quit but F— and W— work with me as well. W— said we should consider that doing our service will put us in a good light once all returns to normal. We don’t say so, but we know things will not.

  Diary No. 415. Lord Humphrey Sullyard

  The king shows nary a sign of weakness. His vigor is as mysterious as the plague itself, possibly more so in that by all accounts he suffered as the rest these past months. Tyson-Banks asked at today’s meeting what curative spared him of the sleep, and might we, as his loyal men, receive the boon. The king insists there is no medicine and explained not everyone endures in the same way from phase to phase. Quite on the aside, some wonder if that child in his charge works sorcery. That singing seems a form. How light I feel when I hear her.

  I confess a disappointment I’m not in his seat. King for a season—how could I not pine for it? I remain at his right hand each day and, despite our differences, find I cannot help but respect the sincerity with which our young king conducts himself. His father would have involved us in the war by now. King Aeldrich never would have thought to consult anyone lower than a mayor, or done so, in preparation for this plague. As for the halts on Rothwyke’s wall and similar projects, I fear the king has made difficult work for us once Fewmany returns and his top men have recovered.

  Interview No. 190. Female, age withheld, occupation withheld

  You know my name, so this conversation isn’t anonymous. I signed your agreement, so it is confidential. I believe I can trust you. Besides, what proof is there other than my word?

  Not everyone who died during the sleep died in their sleep. Oh, no. The truth was out, even if the facts weren’t known. It wasn’t spoken in the first phase and couldn’t be heard in the second. In the third, all was silent, a dreaded one, because what might happen after the sleep was over?

  Let me see those numbers again. Rothwyke’s children, 1,159 plague dead. One of those, I know, she didn’t slip away. Our neighbor killed her. Several children on our block had the blot. He caused it for at least six. Her mother had to get rations, and he offered to watch her, and when the mother came home, _______ was gone. Stopped breathing, he said. How do I know this? After I woke up, there was talk, but it wasn’t rumor.

  More adult deaths than children, I see, statistically quite a few more. Two of those for certain, not from the plague. Oh, no. That neighbor I mentioned, someone made certain he slept for good. And the other, well, from what I saw in my dreams, I knew what I had to do when I awoke. What I did might not have been just, but it was righteous. Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can kill your spirit. He would never make Mother and me feel so small again. She was asleep next to him, half the person she’d been, she’d shrunk so much, and I did it there. He didn’t struggle. I didn’t leave a mark.

  The first weeks of the sleep,

  oh, my beautiful impossible dreams,

  full of magic and wonder—

  Journeys by sea upon a boat made of feathers,

  by air in a bed lifted by balloons,

  on land carried by animals, grand and fierce.

  I met fascinating people and

  collected many beautiful things,

  which fit in a purse as small as my hand.

  From these splendid travels,

  I returned to a time before,

  to moments of contentment and joy—

  I leaned against Father as he read a new tale,

  harvested the garden with Old Woman,

  walked among the trees with Nikolas,

  listened to the stories of creatures and plants.

  And when my visit to that Then was done, I entered other Thens,

  made of the warp of memory and the weft of imagination,

  where I was myself, with what could have been—

  I ran from the hollow tree when Mother called, to her

  wide smile and open arms. She carried me to join our

  dark-haired family dancing in the woods. I heard no

  story from a bee who told of the dead girl, the wound,

  and the wolf, neither Mother nor I stung.

  The night of the summer ball at the castle, my parents left

  me at home with Auntie, and when I started at my new

  school in autumn, the prince was a boy I knew by name and

  sight, but I would never be sure he knew the same of me.

  I played with my older brothers
, Duncan by six years,

  Riley by four. Duncan, black hair and eyes, serious,

  brooding, who liked to take things apart; Riley, brown

  hair, blue eyes, funny, brilliant, who played the violin as

  if he were born to do so. Strong Duncan carried me on

  his shoulders; protective Riley kept me near his side.

  I dreamed of a symbol—circle, triangle, square—but

  felt no urge to draw it, and later, at a performance hall,

  my father introduced me to Mr. Lesmore Bellwether, an

  acquaintance, who regarded me with amber eyes

  and disinterest.

  THE FIRST TIME I STIRRED awake, I surfaced from an oily darkness. For several moments, I couldn’t remember where I was. When I did, I glanced toward Father’s shape, wondering where his dreams led him.

  Thirst parched my tongue. I strained to whisper Water several times before someone hurried to my side. A young man held a cup to my lips. He said his name was Tucker, that I’d been restful, and it was now the fifteenth of January. As I waved him away, I counted I’d been asleep twenty-five days.

  “Would you like a change of gown? I’ll call the women to tend you,” he said.

  “No, thank you. Has my father been well?”

  “Aside from quaking fits now and again, yes. He’s more wakeful than the rest of you, but with no distress.”

  Tucker washed my hands with a warm cloth. The cuffs of his blue shirt were damp. As he wiped my face, my left cheek stung as if he’d hit me. I leaned away.

  “I’m sorry. I tried to be careful,” he said.

  “I still have the bruise,” I said.

  “Remember, the children had their afflictions well into the sleep, too. No cause for alarm.”

  “I want to see Nikolas. And Harmyn.”

  “I’ll have someone fetch them, but you might fall asleep again before they arrive.” He walked off. A bell chimed soon after. I heard him speaking in the hall. When he returned, I looked around the room. There were twelve beds, three empty.

  “We have more people in the room,” I said.

  “We had to do this. The adults need more attention than the children did in the early weeks. They’re more prone to fits, and they have more frequent periods of wakefulness. The ones without hired help or family have been moved to the shelters, for their safety. Do you want to hear of recent news?” Tucker asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Very well,” he said as he settled on a chair near the fire with a longsheet. “You might like to know, the King visits at least twice a day, and Harmyn sits with you and your father every night. There have been friends, too, Julia, and Mrs. Frigget, and Miss Bendar.”

  “That is comforting. Thank you,” I said.

  I thought to write Julia, Charlotte, and Margana brief letters, but I felt too tired. As I waited, I listened to a clock’s tick, stared out of the window, and moved what parts of me I could, both arms, my eyes, and the toes of my right foot.

  The door clicked open.

  “Good morning, Tucker.”

  “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

  I cut my eyes to watch Nikolas cross the room.

  “May I have a private word with Miss Riven?”

  “Of course.”

  Nikolas sat next to my hip. “Hello, Love,” he said.

  I grabbed the V of his green damask vest and hugged him tight.

  “The caregivers tell me you haven’t been fretful,” he said. He set me back on the pillows and clasped my hand. “Good dreams or bad?”

  “Good enough. How are you? You’re not sick,” I said.

  “Much to everyone’s surprise, even my own. I cannot convey the relief I feel to be clearheaded again. And how strange it is to be fully aware of what’s happening now, to feel a different sort of quiet, like an anticipation, but also—” His eyes filled with tears.

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  “It’s so peaceful, Secret. Remember when Aoife told how she felt when she first visited the Guardians—that peace she couldn’t explain? Then when she found her new home, how they lived and ordered their days, everyone taking part in work and play, how the children were cherished among them?”37

  I stroked the scar under his thumb. “I remember.”

  “Right now, we have a sense of what that’s like. This isn’t simply the absence of strife, or the ordinary balance of how we all get along, or pretend to. You can see it in the children. The plague changed them.”

  “You’re the first adult to survive. How are you changed?”

  “I accept my true nature, as I couldn’t before. Harmyn led me to see it, but it was my choice to claim it, as a person, and as a king,” he said.

  “So it must be for the children, too,” I said.

  I wanted to know more, but my head lolled against the pillow. “I’m being pulled in. Tell Harmyn I’ll speak to her—”

  The sleep’s nightmares, unlike any we had before or since.

  Remember them, survivors? Uncanny as imagination, if it was that;

  plain as memory, if it was so.

  Revealed there, in those shadows,

  were the truths of broken hearts and greatest fears.

  Bound by rope, I struggled on the dining table as Father

  carved my raw thigh with the scissors and served my

  meat in the ochre bowl to Fewmany, who ravenously ate,

  asking for more.

  In corners, I sat alone time and again; swarmed by

  beetles and ants, emaciated until I turned to dust;

  kept occupied by building the same tower with the

  same ten blocks; buried under a pile of musty books.

  I crouched in a cage made of Fig Tree’s dead limbs. My

  mother dragged a dying doe to its door. Around Mother’s

  neck were strung a fledgling swallow and a fluffy kit.

  She forced me to watch as she flayed, gutted, and stewed

  them, then watched me starve as I refused to eat.

  Again and again and again, the stinking ogress

  stalked, menaced, and penned me—and each time I

  got away, she chased me into the dark woods,

  where I ran and ran and ran.

  I wore a red silk gown, fitted to my flesh as a second skin,

  with a cowl and cuffs trimmed in fox fur and a train so long

  I saw no end. I wed a man who stood in shadow and

  accepted his ring, gold with a jewel the size and hue of a

  drop of blood. There was dancing and wine and a feast,

  then a carriage ride into a deep valley through a night of

  stars and new moon. By the light of a single candle, I went

  to a room at the top of a spiral stair, to a bed clothed in

  white. I found delight in the thought, I’ll leave no stain.

  As I hummed, I shed the gown, slipped across the sheets,

  and coiled under my silver hair. He entered in the dark with

  hands made of fire. Come to me, I told him, and I felt his

  heat. Touch me, I bade him, and I didn’t burn. Love me,

  I begged him, and then I did. The pillows burst into flame.

  I stared into my husband’s amber eyes and kissed his

  mouth and bit his lolling tongue. I forced him to his furry

  back as the headboard blazed. The light shone on the

  dragon’s head, red as poppies and pomegranates, mounted

  above us. Smoke curled from its dead snout, and in the

  plumes, I saw the world we’d made beyond our bed

  —scorched, barren, laid bare; earth, sky, and sea.

  OUT OF STILLNESS, I AWOKE to find Harmyn sitting next to me. Nearby, Father snored in whiffles. The lamp nearby burned bright.

  “Nikolas didn’t ask me to do this, but tonight marks a year since his parents died. There’s no one else he’d prefer to keep him company,” she said.

  “I haven’t the st
rength for this. The sleep is a slow black drowning,” I said.

  “Do you want to see him, if I can help you feel better?”

  A puff of a laugh escaped me. “Yes. Do what you can.”

  She held my wrist. A current streamed into my limbs. I stretched, welcoming the movement. I sat up and looked at her. The lines of her face were stronger, comely more than pretty. Between the gap in her robe, her chest seemed fuller. Her light hair had been cut level with her chin.

  “How are you, Harmyn?” I could see dark circles under her eyes.

  She smiled. “Well enough.”

  “Are you still singing? What do you do while we sleep?”

  “I must sing, as much for myself now as for everyone else,” Harmyn said. “I’m not on the wall anymore, though. I walk through the streets and visit the shelters. I go to the woods, too, where so many children go to play now, even more than before. You’d be proud of them, being mindful of the plants and animals, teaching the new ones what you taught the first. And sometimes I visit Margana’s shop and take Julia with me. Speaking of, she’s well and happy with her housemates. The neighbors, nothing unusual among them, although Mr. Elgin has had some violent fits.”

  “Father?”

  “No need to worry.”

  “Nikolas? Are you two on good terms?”

  “Yes. We’re positively combative at chess, and he’s taught me to ride, which I’m good at now. Sometimes, we race on the green and take rides in the woods. We visit town together, without advisers, to see about things. And the talks we’ve had. He’s a profound thinker, isn’t he?”

  “A pragmatic philosopher, as long as I’ve known him,” I said.

  I asked for the luxury of a bath, which Harmyn drew for me. I felt strong enough to tend myself, but she sat outside in case I needed someone. As I soaked, I stared at my still-withered body and noticed the nails on my fingers and toes had not grown. Despite the cold, I washed my hair, feeling the same length as before. Through the door’s crack, Harmyn dropped a clean gown and thick robe.