On the beach white-flecked foam came and went, hissing on the sand. A white bird flew swift across the waves and the evening wind smelt of brine. I breathed in and out; out and in. Felt my heart beating, my toes digging into the cold sand, the wash of the waves. Finally, when my breath matched the timing of the breakers, I felt calm return.
“You are ready?” Phileas whispered.
I straightened my shoulders. “I think so. Yes.”
I felt them all: Phileas, Adianna, Wynne, Suzanna, Rob. Each had loved and lost, all were part of the land. I thought of the others, who were no longer with me: N’Tombe, Will, Jed, even TeSin. And now the Kamaye were no more, and my homeland could return, provided we could find the way.
I pulled the Guardians about me, wrapped them to myself. I did not change shape; I was just me, Dana, but I was more than me, I was them as well. I lifted the token in front of me, and called with my heart, as Sal had said.
“Please,” I called. “Oh please!”
At first nothing happened. The waves rose and broke, the stars glittered in the darkening sky. I squeezed my eyes tight, focused on the token.
“It is I, Dana.” My voice seemed to disappear, washed away by the surf. “Hear me! Listen to me.”
But my words were frail things. They meant nothing.
Sal’s smoke-tinged voice whispered, “When you think of your homeland, what is the image that leaps to your mind?”
I shut my eyes. “My bedchamber.”
“Describe it.”
I told her of my room: my bed with its thick hangings and mysterious carving. My fingers twitched as I recounted the fantastical beasts hidden in the dark wood. I told her how N’tombe had forced the window open, much to Nurse’s disgust, and sent the books a-flying.
“Your Nurse,” Sal chuckled. “What does she look like? No, don’t tell me. Show me. Come, Princess, you can do this.”
Hesitantly I built an image of Nurse in my mind: a small person, wide as she was tall, bossy and assertive and sure of her own importance. And kind and brave, with a warm smile and a passionate pride in me; in all the children she cared for. “She loved me,” I whispered. “She loved me.” Tears filled my eyes, rolled down my cheeks. I wiped them away impatiently. “I wish …”
“What do you wish?” she said gently.
“That I could see her again.” I looked about, at the waves, and the cold stars overhead. “That I could say, thank you.”
“Is that all you would say?”
“No,” I sniffed. “I would tell her that I loved her. I never told her that. And now, it’s too late. And I wish I had.”
“Love,” Sal murmured. “Love.”
Above me, the sky seemed to split. Silver-rimmed clouds crossed the moon’s face. Sand blasted along the beach. Dimly, I felt the blown grains abrade my skin.
I thought of the token, and the ferryman, and those that I loved: Nurse, my father, my brothers, yes, and my mother also. In the sky, there! Was that a crack?
“Please,” I shouted loudly. “Oh, please!”
I remembered: beacons on the northern cliffs; small towns, the wild marshes. The ferryman’s hut. Abruptly the clouds parted and I saw stars, cold and clear. For a moment the world seemed suspended, calm.
Then with a rush, the wind returned; trees bowed, sand lifted. Out in the sea, breakers foamed green-white. The noise was deafening. Clouds began to race, faster and faster and toward the horizon, lightning flickered. A storm was building.
Sal’s lips brushed my forehead. “Love is always the answer.”
I slipped the soul beads from my wrist, held them high.
“Come home!” I yelled into the storm. “Return!”
Thunder growled. I staggered against the wind, and then came a blast of lightning, so white it burned the eyes. Again and again, it struck, but through it all I kept my arm raised.
“It is time!” I shouted again.
Far away, Sal chanted. Her voice mingled with the wind:
“Time passes, time passes, and comes to an end
It travels too fast, it parts us from friends
Time moves us, time smooths us
Bends all to its will
Time woos us; it uses us
Yet we stay with it still.”
* * *
“We come!” called the Guardians, in an enormous chorus.
Lightning flashed, bone white. My arm burned with cold fire. The world twisted.
The sea, the beach, even the storm disappeared, and I stood in a dark cave beside a calm pool. A blue-white glow lit the scene. Catching my breath, I nearly fell into the silence, but my hands brushed the rock wall, and I caught my balance just in time. Blinking, I looked about me. I was not alone. There stood:
Alden;
Owein;
My father;
Rosa; and
The ferryman
All still, all silent. Like statues, or actors, waiting for the curtain to rise.
* * *
The ruby about Rosa’s neck flared like fire. But it was not the ruby that drew the eye; it was the globe of glass in her hands. Motes of flickering silver bathed her hands in cold blue light. They twirled about, moving fast and still faster, bathing us all in a silver-blue globe. As I watched, the globe seemed to tremble, shaking like a living thing then, before I could move, it slipped from her hand.
It fell slowly, slowly, trailing blue-white fire. Then Crash! the glass hit the rock and fractured into a thousand silver pieces. The world shook violently. From the ruined globe came a beam of light. It shone brighter than the sun, so bright I had to cover my face. Above, the sky seemed to fracture: the Milky Way tore apart, scattering stars.
Like a butterfly struggling free of its chrysalis, the dark cave seemed to spin and tilt.
I hurtled through the sky, into the splintering stars.
“Dana! Dana!” My father’s voice. “Dana, wake up!”
I opened my eyes. I was in my bed, and it was morning.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Return
I was home.
While it felt wonderful to have a soft, warm bed and ample food (plus, to be no longer in danger of being locked up), I felt strangely restless. I missed N’Tombe’s calm good sense; weirdly, I missed the open road. But mostly, I missed Will. Often I woke with my pillow wet; in my sleep, it seemed I cried. Some mornings I felt ill and I was tired, so tired. My dreams were of fire, heat, and death.
The sun rose and set as before and folk went about their business much as they always had. No one seemed to have even noticed an entire island had moved. But as the weeks wore on, I began to notice subtle changes. Folk were subdued and less quick to take offense. Most telling were my brothers: Alden and Owein encountered each other daily, yet (and this was truly miraculous) they never fought. Not so much as an angry glare or a cross word. Just a nod and sometimes, a smile.
Phileas, Adianna, Wynne and the others had gone and the tattoo of roses about my wrist was fading. I did not try to contact them; what would be the point? Probably they had fled back to Rosa, and were telling her everything about me. After all, they had lived inside my mind; there was little they would not know.
I spent my time training. With blades in my hand and a target in sight, my mind quieted and I was able to think only of the moment. The practice arena in the small pleasure wood was covered in wind-blown leaves, so I used the guards’ training arena. They didn’t seem to mind; oftentimes I glanced from the target to see smiling faces watching.
Nurse was not impressed. “Now you’re home, Lady,” she grumbled, “you could at least dress like a Christian.” She meant I should get rid of my trousers and return to the confines of a skirt.
I made a face at her.
“Although,” she added smugly, “you might have trouble fitting into such clothing.”
Nurse was convinced that I had put on weight. But instead of arguing, as I would previously have done, I turned on my heel and walked away. I could never get enough of op
ening the door to my bedchamber and stepping through. Going wherever I wanted, at a time of my choosing.
* * *
There was one exception to the sameness of the place; my mother. Unlike the rest of the kingdom, she had utterly transformed. She no longer spent hours at her mirror; instead, she spent her time in my father’s study, glasses perched at the end of her nose, studying rows of numbers.
“I do the ledgers,” she said, when I asked. “Calculate the price of wheat and so on.”
“You?” I tried not to sound surprised. “Why?”
“Someone had to. Your father and your brothers were no use at all. They kept stealing down to the cellars. The instant my back was turned, off they would head. On their return they stunk of mud, and all they did was sleep. Goodness knows what they were up to down there. I had to think of the harvest, or the entire kingdom would have starved.”
“But – you’ve never shown any interest before.”
“I never had to before.” She half-smiled. “Don’t look so surprised, Dana. As a child I was always good at numbers.” She picked at a gold thread on her skirt. “Besides, it suits Leovane. Your father hates the bookwork. He much prefers supervising the barons.” She smiled at me, eyes bright. “He’s quite sweet, really. Dresses up like a farmer, talks about the crops with the workers. He walks about the fields and thinks no one knows who he is. They all do, of course. But they pretend.”
“While you,” I tried to keep the amazement from my voice, “do the accounts.”
Yes, the castle mightn’t have changed but my mother certainly had.
I’d always liked my father’s study. Perhaps this was why I took to visiting her in the evenings, or perhaps it was just easier to talk to Mother without the audience of her women. Those ladies-in-waiting had changed little; they were still as fond of gossip and giggles as they’d always been.
Tonight I sat sideways in an armchair, swinging my legs over the armrest. The western sky was turning pink with sunset and faint in the distance, I heard the harvesters call:
“Leave your crops brothers,
Set down your tools,
Sun is sinking,
Day is done,
Time to rest.”
A maid came into the room with the lamp. The lamplight dipped and swayed, and for a moment I felt the room moving beneath me.
“Dana? Are you well?”
“I’m fine.” My mouth was dry; my throat ached. “I felt dizzy for a moment, that’s all.”
“Have you eaten?”
I made a face.
“You need to eat.” Mother turned to the maid.
“No, don’t worry,” I said to the curtseying girl. “I’ll get it myself.” I liked the kitchens. They reminded me of Will.
“You’ve changed,” Mother said thoughtfully.
“So have you.”
She smiled. “True.” Placing her half-moon glasses on her nose, Mother seemed suddenly much, much cleverer. She winked at me, as though she understood my thoughts, and added: “Shut the door on your way out, dear. There’s a terrible draft.”
* * *
Slowly the seasons changed. The leaves turned fire-red and fell. The days were chill and the nights grew long. Curled into a chair beside the fire, I embarked on a project: a diary of my adventures. Of our adventures. When the weather was too wet for training I wrote down the things Will had told me. At first my diary was a haphazard recount, jumbles of adventures and strange sights, but gradually the narrative grew clearer. I wrote first my memories, interweaving them with things Will had told me, until I felt he was beside me, telling me what to write. Sometimes we argued over a turn of phrase. How foolish to argue with a memory! But it felt good to set things down on paper. Some things I had been carrying too long. Converting memories to words was a relief.
By mid-winter I had my days organized; training all morning and writing in the afternoon. By setting small tasks and completing them I felt I was in control. In charge of my life. At the time, I didn’t realize that such behavior was the mark of a prisoner. For all control is illusion. Routines are fragile; they are easily broken.
* * *
I had been at home for nearly three months. Thus far, I had avoided Nurse’s command to wear skirts, gained a number of sparring partners, and remained (or so I hoped) largely unobserved. I did not want a great celebration for my return; please, no fireworks. No banquets. And definitely no balls. I did not feel like celebrating. I felt like mourning.
I saw little of my father and my brothers. Busy with a construction project, they were rarely present.
“What are they doing?” I asked Mother
She sniffed. “Extending the wine cellars.”
I stared at her. “Wine cellars?”
“I would have thought we had enough wine. But no. Apparently we do not.”
* * *
Of the Guardians – Phileas, Adianna, Wynne, Suzanna, and Rob – I heard nothing. I missed their counsel, but then here there was little enough to counsel me on. I heard nothing too from Rosa. Which, to be honest, was a relief.
Reg and Greg, her guards, still stood at attention beside her tower, but I never spoke to them. I barely glanced their way as I rushed about the keep. I told myself I was running to keep out of the wind. But I was lying. It wasn’t the wind that spurred me on; it was their dark eyes, turned toward me. As though they knew something, and I did not.
Until, finally, things changed. As usual, it began with a dream.
I stood in a dark room; light shone through the edge of a closed doorway. The door opened, a man silhouetted in white stepped into the room. There was a click, and a spark, and a lamp flared into brightness. The ferryman stepped forward, the folds of his face highlighted by the small light. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.
“I have someone asking after you,” he said. “Says he’s a friend. Has no token, though. Should I let him in?”
I felt a burst of hope. Could this be Will? “Who is he?”
“Older man. No token, but a powerful need, or so I judge. Name of Jed. Mean anything?”
“Jed!” I squeaked. “Oh yes. Please send him to me.”
The ferryman nodded. “He’ll be with you tomorrow.” He turned to open the door.
“Wait!”
In my dream the ferryman looked back at me, eyebrows raised.
“Have you had anyone else arrive at the Crossing?”
He nodded. “Always strangers. Most I turn away.”
“I’m expecting someone,” I said wildly. “That is, I hope …”
“Name?”
“Will Baker.”
He nodded. “I know him. Knew him. Good lad. Earnest. You want me to allow him entry, if he comes?”
“When he comes.” He would come. I had to think that. Had to stay positive. “Yes. Please.”
Abruptly the dream ended. As I woke I felt as though a conversation had been concluded.
So I wasn’t altogether surprised when Jed arrived. He seemed little changed, accepting my embrace with awkward civility, before setting himself down on a wooden settle in the sunshine of the outer keep.
“You’ve come by yourself?” I asked.
“Aye. Beware of females, lass.” Then, seemingly remembering I was female, he added hastily, “Some of them, at any rate.”
“From what I heard,” I said snippily, “you seemed content enough.”
“I were and all.” He shook his head. “But women are tricky creatures.”
“I’m a woman,” I pointed out.
“Aye.” His gaze turned frankly admiring, and his eyes fell to my bodice. “That you are.”
I had to restrain from slapping him. Or worse, running him through with a dagger. “Jed,” I said abruptly, and he blinked, pulling himself from his contemplation of my bosom, “have you heard from Will?”
He shook his head. “He’s not here? Thought he’d be with you. If ever I saw a fellow smitten with a wench, it were he.”
“I returned by a … strange
route,” I said. “I keep hoping he’ll follow me.”
The enchantress,” he said abruptly. “Can I speak with her?”
I explained that N’tombe had decided to return home. “I wish she hadn’t. I miss her.”
“You expect people to stay with you, for ever and a day. Don’t happen. All of us are alone. Born alone, die alone.”
“That’s bleak.”
“That’s truth,” he said. “Look. You’re close to someone for a time. Fancy yourself in love. Hearts and flowers, I understand. You’re young, haven’t yet realized. Can’t hold onto folk forever. Everyone has his –” a sideways glance, “or her own path.”
“And Ma Evans?”
“Ah well.” He shifted on the bench. “She chose hers. And I? I chose mine.” He surveyed the tips of his boots with a gloomy expression.
“You don’t seem happy, though.”
He said nothing for a moment, then: “Happiness. Love. That’s for youngsters. Me, I settle for a roof over my head when it’s raining, and warm food in the belly.”
“And that’s enough?”
He shrugged. “Realistic, that’s what it is.”
“Lady!” Nurse, standing at the other side of the courtyard waved her arms.
I groaned.
“Who’s that?”
“That,” I said bitterly, “is my reality. She’s my nurse.”
“Bit old for a nurse, ain’t you?”
“Try telling her that.”
She came over. “What are you doing here, without so much as a shawl?” She glared at Jed. “And who is this?”
Jed stood up hastily, and bowed. “Missus. I’m Jed. At your service.”
She sniffed. “That’s as may be. Why are you keeping my lady outside in the cold?”
Jed, who had watched me cross a moor at a flat gallop, seemed taken aback. Then: “Aye, you’re right enough, missus. My apologies and all.” He took Nurse’s hand, and bowed low over it. “A privilege to meet you.”
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 69