The SoulNecklace Stories

by R. L. Stedman

  “What? How?”

  “I saw it.” She didn’t elaborate.

  “In a dream?”

  “Yes.” She picked at the top of the blanket. “In a dream.”

  “Did you see anything else?”

  She sat up, pulled the blanket across her chest. “I saw … Will, I can’t stay here for long.”

  “What? Why not? Dana. What did you see?”

  “My father. My brother. The castle. Will, I have to go.”

  “Go where?”

  She shook her head, not saying, then grinning, poked him between the eyes. “I saw you, too. In my dreams.”

  He grabbed her finger, squeezed it tight.

  “Ow!” Dana tried to pull away, but, catching her wrist, Will pulled her close.

  Gods, her skin. The scent of her, the feeling of his flesh against hers, left him dizzy. “Come on. Tell me!” He shook her hand. “What did you see?”

  She held up her other palm. “All right! You win! I saw you.”

  “Me?” He sat back, feeling pleased she’d been watching, and annoyed that she’d been spying. Make up your mind, Will Baker. Can’t be both good and bad.

  “You were on a boat,” she said quickly. “You had a blindfold about your eyes.”

  “You saw that?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

  He let go her wrist. She rubbed at the red marks of his fingers.

  “Dana! I’m sorry.”

  She waved him away. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She glared at him. “Stop it! I said it’s fine. Anyway, you didn’t tell me.”

  “Didn’t tell you what?”

  “The boat. The blindfold. What were you doing? Playing tag on a boat?” She shook her head. “You’re a bit old for that, aren’t you? Besides, what if you’d gone over the edge?” She lifted up her hand, then let it fall.

  “I was learning to fight.”

  “But …” She blinked. “Why? Will, you know how to fight.”

  “This was different.”

  “Different? How?”

  “The world,” he said hesitantly. How to describe the indescribable? “Dana. The things we see about us? Everyone thinks that’s all there is to know. If you can’t see it, it’s not real. That’s what we’ve been told, since, I don’t know, forever. But all the people that say that – they’re wrong. The world, the things about us that we see? They’re not everything.” He took a deep breath. “Dana, there’s more. So much more.”

  She settled back against him and nodded, as though she understood. Which she did, of course; that was how she fought. She saw the unseen too. Probably she saw it better than he. “I know.”

  They sat silent for a moment.

  “Kiss me,” she said suddenly, and he did.

  This is a hidden time, a moment stolen from the world. Neither ask why they are together, or even where they are. They have the mattress, the blanket and this quiet small room. There is water in the jug. So they have everything they need. That, and each other.

  Time passes, or does not pass. Really, it is hard to tell. Sometimes Will thinks it must be dark outside, for no light shines through the gap at the base of the door. And sometimes, half dazed, half asleep, he thinks it must be daylight, for the light through the crack is so bright that he has to shade his eyes.

  And then Dana stirs against him, and he feels her body against his, and coherent thought vanishes.

  Looking back, he feels only wonder that they had this time together.

  Of course, it had to end. She kissed him sadly, softly. Will blinked awake – he’d been dozing, slipping gradually into sleep. He’d been dreaming of a boat, of waves washing, of the floor moving beneath him. The waves had been salty. He wiped his lips; they were wet, and when he licked them, he tasted salt.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I have to leave.”

  Will pressed a finger against her lips. He’d known. He’d always known. “We have this time to remember.”

  Her eyes were gray-green as the sea. A tear ran down her cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I love you,” he said gently.

  She kissed his palm. “I love you, too.”

  She looked at him, a long, long look that he remembered all his life: sadness and longing and purposefulness. Then she took a deep breath and stood up. Dropped the blanket on top of him.

  Will closed his eyes. “Don’t go.”

  “I must.”

  “Then take me with you.”

  She shook her head. “You cannot follow.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, “and then again, perhaps not.”

  She squared her shoulders. “Home,” she whispered. “I am going home.” She touched his head gently, a benediction.

  She walked to the door, looked over her shoulder at him. Tears on her cheek. Lifted the latch, and light, blinding, flooded into the room. For a brief moment she stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light: beautiful, naked, young.

  No! Will jumped to his feet, reached out for her. He was too slow.

  Dana stepped to one side. Her figure blurred; wings grew from her shoulders, her neck stretched, elongating. Her face spread wide, but her green eyes were the same as ever. Wings beat, swish, swish, like a heart, and as he watched Dana, or whatever she had become, leaped into the light. A down-draft on his face; heat and smoke and fire.

  Goodbye, she whispered.

  The light vanished.

  Will woke. He was alone, and his bed was cold. But the blanket and his body smelt of her. Slowly he got to his feet and tugged open the door. Had she been there, really? Or was it just a dream?

  The air smelt of death and smoke. The wind whipped about his legs, blew his hair into his eyes. High in the night sky, surrounded by starlight, sailed the moon. He blinked at it.

  “There you are.” N’Tombe’s voice made him jump. “Will Baker, what have you done with your clothes?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lessons

  I left Will curled up on the bed, dreaming. His eyelids flickered, and he smiled in his sleep. I wanted to stay the rest of my life by his side, but even when we were lost in each other’s arms, I knew I had to leave. Always, I am leaving. So I closed the door quietly and stepped into the day.

  Standing on the hill, the view caught the eye. Far to the west, snow-topped mountains. Below lay the ruined city, broken roofs open to the sky. Smoke spread in a fine silver haze across the plain; hammers chip-chipped against stone. The rebuild was beginning.

  Nearby was a wooden platform, and on it stood N’Tombe. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looked out across the plain. “TeSin will be emperor.”

  “TeSin? The man I …?”

  “The man you fought. Yes.”

  “I was going to say: the man I healed.”

  She smiled. “Him too.” She felt in her cloak. “I have something for you. Here.” She put something into my palm. It was light, almost weightless, and rough to my fingertips. It looked a little like an alder seed, carved into furrows and ridges. When I peered at it closely I could make out thorned rose stems, and half-hidden, an open rose flower within the stems.

  “A token,” I said wonderingly. “Where did you find it?”

  “The ferryman said it might be needed.”

  “The ferryman? He’s in my dreams.”

  “He was the first of the Guardians.” She raised her eyebrows at my surprise. “I thought you knew. She folded my fingers over the precious token. “There’s a saying. Call with the heart, and the ferryman will come. Take it, child. If anyone can call the ferryman, it will be you. And if anyone can return the kingdom, it is the ferryman.”

  “N’Tombe?” I said, “My dreams are strange.”

  She nodded. “Of course. The Kingdom of the Rose,” she said matter-of-factly, “is slipping away. Each day takes it further. It is a land adrift: a place without an anchor. You know this, child. This is what you dream about.”

  �
��Will you come with me?”

  She shook her head. In the distance, far across the plains, the mountains seemed to float above the haze. “In some ways I would like to stay. But my aunt needs me, just as your land needs you.” She smiled sadly. “So. Here we are, bound to separate paths.”

  I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “So this is goodbye.” Go well, N’Tombe.

  She stroked my hair. Her eyes widened. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, she began to laugh. And you child. That is how I remember her, always; standing in the sunlight and smiling.

  I kissed the top of her head. “I love you, you know.”

  She held my arm tightly. “And I you.”

  “Fare well, N’Tombe.”

  “Fare you well, Princess.”

  I hugged her again, and stepped onto the railing. Stretching my arms wide, I embraced the wind. My feet gripped the rail, and below me was only air.

  Where are you? I threw the thought into the abyss.

  The Guardians replied: We are here. We are always here.

  I fell forward into space. And they became me, and I became them, and together we were one. We flew into the blue, blue sky.

  Part Two

  Return

  Inside a globe, a family turns

  Across a marsh, cold fire burns

  Water smothers, pierces skin

  And finally, my song begins.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sal

  We flew high and fast. The land seemed to move beneath us; mountains passing into hills and hills becoming plains until finally we reached the sea.

  Each night I dreamed of the ferryman, or of Rosa or my father. In my dreams I toured the castle. I sat in my room, walked through my father’s study, and ran through unending light in my mother’s solar. I saw the kitchens, the workers toiling in the fields. Sometimes I saw my brothers; once I heard Nurse arguing with a chambermaid.

  I flew over the waves, keeping land to my left, until there was only open water. The nearer I flew to where the Kingdom of the Rose had once been, the more remote it felt. As N’tombe said, it was slipping away.

  Finally, I reached land again. Now I flew above green rolling pastures, until I reached a half-familiar place. Abervale, recognizable from Will’s stories. There was the chandlery, where Will had met TeSin and tried to kill him. I flew over the castle of Ma Evans. The narrow tower seemed to be almost built into the waves; as Will had said, it was most formidably defended. Will thought that Jed was living there but I doubted he would want to meet me in this shape. Anyway, I didn’t need to see him. I wasn’t lonely. I had plenty of company inside my head.

  The following day I reached the escarpment, the place where so many men fell to their deaths. At the top of the cliffs I stopped and peered down at the river that fell in a great waterfall. Far below was the forest and in the distance, the sea. How small we are: how fragile.

  I rested there for a time, gathering my strength. I do not know what I ate; I suppose, like the animals of the forest, I hunted. I drank from the river, but I do not remember the form I drank in, and I do not remember my reflection. For that, I am grateful.

  When the moon was waning I leapt into the sky. I circled the escarpment, and flew through the chill drops of the waterfall. Refreshed, I spread my wings and climbed high, high, until, to the west, I saw snow-capped peaks and the wild moor. The wind streamed past me, and the stars shone down, and I felt I could touch the sky.

  I continued on, until finally I reached the edge of the moorlands. Circling slowly, I found the river, and followed it until I saw a ruined watchtower on a ridge. There, below lay the willowbrake that marked the Crossing, the place where travelers met to exchange information, and if they had a token, might be guided by the ferryman across the straits to the Kingdom of the Rose. Except the straits were no more; from the shore I could see only the distant horizon. My island home had vanished.

  Spreading my wings, I glided through the night until the sun rose and turned the sky pink. Clouds grew; the wind was cold. Rain fell, and still I flew above the open sea. Finally, as the westering sun began to throw long shadows, I turned around and, with the wind at my back, reached the land just as the sun set. I settled in a shower of sand on the beach, and lifted my face to the moon. I felt desperately sad. As N’tombe had said, the kingdom had disappeared; gone far, far away.

  I was not sure I could bring it back.

  * * *

  Next day I woke as me, as Dana. I wore a short tunic and my legs and arms were bare. It felt strange to have feet again.

  Feeling light-headed and strangely empty, I walked into the Crossing. Once, this place had been full of brightly colored caravans, crowded with entertainers. Now, there wasn’t much to look at, just a clearing under willows, where the grass grew long and the ancient tree trunks provided shelter. The place was so quiet; only the wash of the distant waves and the trembling willow leaves could be heard.

  Passing around a wide tree trunk, I realized the place wasn’t empty after all. A dull-colored caravan, half-hidden by low branches, was still here. On the steps sat an old woman huddled into a blanket, and an equally ancient cart horse grazed behind her. She was smoking a pipe and the pipe smoke wreathed about her face like a frame.

  “Your eyes are full of sky.” Her wrinkled skin carved creases in her face, and her chin had a curious tattoo: blue-black and strangely carved. Her eyes were bright and alert. “Have you come far?”

  I nodded. “I think so.”

  She motioned to the caravan step. “Then sit. Tell Sal about your travels.” She smiled through smoke-blackened teeth.

  The sun lifted above the trees, lit the clearing and spread our shadows long. Inside my head, the Guardians stirred.

  Knocking her pipe against the step, the old woman addressed the ground:

  “Time passes, time dances, with all of our friends

  Time tangles, time wrangles and comes to an end

  No stopping no hopping, it writhes and it bends

  Time passes, time dances and comes to an end.”

  “She knows something,” Adianna muttered.

  The old woman continued:

  “Time laughs at us, frowns at us

  No future but ours

  There’s no hope but our hope

  and counting the stars.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  She sucked on her pipe, and coughed smoke at me. It smelt of flowers and damp earth.

  “Death comes to us all,” she said, “but some may chose the time of their passing. Many years ago, my grandson was stolen from me. Men took him far away, to a land of foreign gods and hard-eyed men. They killed him; murdered him on a stone altar, like a beast.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “’Tis not your fault, dearie.” She sighed. “But when I protested they laughed, and said I should be grateful that he had been so honored. But I was not grateful, not grateful at all.”

  I thought of the story TeSin had told; of the boy who had been killed before me, a century ago, and of his grandmother, who had been tortured to death, but who, with her dying breath had cursed the Emperor.

  “Many years ago,” said the old woman, “I found a green stone on a lonely shore. It found its way to a blind man.”

  “Master Yang,” I said wonderingly.

  She nodded

  “The Emperor is dead, grandmother.”

  She patted my hand. “I know, girl. I know. My grief remains, but now my grandson is avenged. I came to thank you.” Her eyes were bright. “I, Sal, owe you a favor. You need to do something very difficult. You need to call across the worlds.”

  “You owe me nothing, grandmother.”

  “Hark at her, so hasty. Would you turn away help when it is offered?”

  “Can you help me?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps. What you seek is far away; and yet it is close by too, if you can just find it.” When I sighed, she patted my hand. “Very well, girl. You need three things: Sacrifice, love,
and great need. Oh yes,” she added, as though it was an after-thought, “and a token. Do you have a token, Princess?”

  I was pulling it from my pocket when I realized what she had called me. “You know who I am?”

  She looked amused. “Oh, come now, Princess. Credit old Sal with a little sense.” She poked my shoulder with a sharp, grubby, fingernail. “Go to the beach,” she said. “And call. With all your head, and all your heart. And Princess,” she added, as I got down from the steps, “You were in love. Do not forget.”

  I looked at this strange old woman with the tattooed chin and the sad eyes. “I have not forgotten,” I said quietly. “And I am still in love.”

  She smiled through blackened teeth. “Then there is hope.”

  Abruptly, the sun dipped below the level of the trees, and the clearing was cast into the purple shade of evening. The Crossing was empty; of Sal and her caravan not a trace remained. It was as if she’d never been.

  I heard her soft whisper:

  “So lie back my darling;

  I’m dealing the cards

  Time passes, time dances

  but never goes far.”

  * * *

  Pushing through the bracken, I emerged onto grass-covered dunes. The western sky glowed from the sunset, but to the east the stars were shining bright. Venus; the star of evening. I always thought of Will when I saw that star. I jumped down the slope of the dune onto the beach. The breeze was chill, and I wished I had Sal’s blanket; I did not, of course. There was only me. There had always only been me.

  And us, Wynne whispered.

  That was some comfort.

  I felt sick with nerves. Could I do this? Could I really call across the worlds? When I pulled the token from its hiding place in my belt, my hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the thing. It should be Rosa; it should be N’Tombe. They were older, wiser. They would know what to do.