Shadows of the Dark Crystal

by J. M. Lee

  “Sorry we don’t have . . . utensils,” Naia said, taking her seat again. “We believe that feeling your food is part of the experience. Smell, taste, sight, and touch.”

  She showed Tavra how to wrap the greens and fish in the crisp leaves, and she took a bite. The Vapra’s squinted eyes widened from apprehensive to surprised, and she remarked, after swallowing, “This is quite good!”

  Naia laughed and took a bite of her own meal, rolling a tendril of leafy algae between her fingers before tasting its salty, musty flavor. She watched Tavra eat with rising enthusiasm and smiled to herself. From down the table, she saw her parents watching, and they were smiling, too.

  “How do you like Sog, now that you’re not waist-deep in it?” Maudra Laesid asked.

  “I have seen many places in my travels,” Tavra replied after clearing most of her plate, “but this is certainly the place I would call most different from where I come from, near the ocean.”

  “I can imagine,” Bellanji said with a chuckle.

  “I’ve never seen the ocean,” Naia said.

  “There is a profound difference between the swamp and the sea. When you stand near the swamp, the water and the earth are one. At the ocean, you can stand on the earth where the water begins, and then it goes toward the horizon as far as the eye can see.”

  Naia tried to imagine such a thing, but it was difficult. In Sog, there were always things to see nearby, and far away, in all directions. Even looking into the night sky, there were countless stars and the three glowing white faces of the Sister Moons. Imagining that any one thing might go on farther than she could see sounded boring—or maybe, she realized with a shiver, overwhelming.

  “Who is that around your neck?” Tavra asked.

  Naia looked down at Neech, who was lazily looped across her shoulders like a scarf.

  “His name is Neech. Muskis are trained for hunting—once you hit your target, you never know where it will fall, and losing your quarry or bola is a big waste.” She scratched Neech under the chin, and he let out a content purr. “He’s just a baby now, but he’ll get to be bigger as he gets older. My mother’s eel was nearly big enough for both me and my brother to ride on when we were young.”

  Tavra reached out to pet Neech, but he puffed out the fur and quills near his head and spread his wings to look bigger. Tavra jerked her hand back and apologized. Naia shushed him, smoothing down his spines.

  “Your brother . . . ,” Tavra said aloud, though it was quiet enough that she might have been talking to herself. She tilted her head toward the empty chair, past the scrabbling of Naia’s sisters’ hands as they reached for passing trays of dumplings. “Gurjin?”

  Naia nodded. “He is sworn to service at the Castle of the Crystal,” she said, though mention of him formed an uncomfortable bubble of silence around them amid the drumming and clamoring and feasting. “Two trine ago. He used to visit, but it’s quite a journey between here and the castle, and I suppose with how magnificent and grand everything is there, with the lords and all, visiting us back in the swamp doesn’t get his gills in a giggle.”

  Naia tried to sound proud of her brother, as she should, but it came out flat. When Gurjin last had made time to visit, all he had done was talk about the castle and the world beyond Sog. It was always about him, and the elaborate celebrations and the visitors from all corners of Thra. As much as Naia loved blindfish, Gurjin had once said the lords’ feasts were second to none—not even those of the Drenchen. She longed to see the banquet hall he’d described, with its tall vaulted ceiling encrusted with jewels and shining metals—to taste the rich broths and sweet-cakes and crawlies, piled high in opulent mounds across dozens of cloth-covered tables. Was he feasting at one now, while she was here in Sog, spending every day wandering the same old swamp and suffering her mother’s strict maudra training? Probably.

  “Sibling rivalry can be difficult,” Tavra said. She was trying to be consoling after Naia’s rigid tone, but her attempt only brought an outburst from Naia’s mouth. What did this traveler know about rivalry?

  “Rivalry, ha! Gurjin and I have the same skills, the same interests. We’re even exactly the same age—twins! But I’m the eldest daughter, so I have to become maudra, and he was sworn to the castle. If it hadn’t been so, we would both have gone.”

  Tavra shut her mouth with an audible click, held her breath, and then uttered a quiet “oh,” and that was the last either of them spoke of it. Naia let the old soreness fade before brushing it aside completely.

  Something barreled into them from behind. Naia let out an ooph as she tumbled into Tavra, knocking them both out of their seats and to the ground. Naia leaped to her feet, shouting after the two roughhousing Drenchen boys as they darted from behind to upon the table, upsetting wicker platters and bowls and drinking pods before racing through the hall, laughing the whole way.

  “Sorry!” Naia exclaimed. She stooped and offered her hand to Tavra, who was lying on her back, the breast of her recently cleaned robes now soiled with the food that had previously been contained by her plate. Tavra reached for Naia’s hand, and when they touched, Naia gasped at the sudden images rushing before her mind’s eye: a beautiful Vapran Gelfling with a gleaming circlet, bedecked in flowing silver robes, her white hair braided and coiled in intricate swirls and knots. Her otherwise gentle face held a hint of hardness: the burden of guiding the Gelfling people.

  A voice rang in her mind’s ears. The voice of Mayrin, the Gelfling All-Maudra . . .

  Find Rian. Find Gurjin.

  Her brother’s name brought forth memories that slipped into the dreamfast before she could stop them: saying good-bye to Gurjin the day he left with the other soldiers. The fights with her mother when she was denied permission to go along as well . . . and the day Naia gave up, hiding her anger in a little black ball. Accepting her duties to become maudra, and learning healing vliyaya, history, and how to settle disputes among the people of their clan.

  The All-Maudra’s voice surfaced from Tavra’s memories again, this time harder and more harsh:

  Find them. Find any of their allies—

  The command dissolved into air when Naia finally pulled her hand back, letting Tavra fall again to the floor. When the touch was broken, the visions ended.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” Naia said. “I didn’t mean to— Here.”

  Focusing on restraining her mind, she reached again. When Tavra grasped her palm this time, there was no dreamfast—no sharing of memories. With warm cheeks, Naia helped Tavra douse her ruined garment with some water. Tavra said nothing the whole time, though Naia was sure she was thinking about what had happened. Inadvertent dreamfasting was an intrusion of privacy, and certainly something a Gelfling of Naia’s age should be able to control.

  “I’m sorry,” Naia said again.

  “I ought to be turning in,” Tavra said instead of acknowledging the apology. “It’s been a long day for me, and I fear I won’t be able to keep my eyes open much longer anyhow.”

  Naia stood by, wringing her hands, as Tavra made her hurried thank-yous and final exit. When she was gone, Laesid beckoned. Chagrined, Naia stood near her mother and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “That was a hasty exit,” Laesid remarked, absentmindedly stroking Naia’s locs. “What’s happened?”

  “I accidentally dreamfasted with her,” she muttered, half hoping her words would melt away before her mother heard them. She gently pushed her mother’s hands from her locs, wanting anything but to feel like a child just then. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “So long as no harm came of it, I’m sure you’ll both survive,” Laesid said, folding her hands in her lap. Bellanji, apparently having overheard, leaned in.

  “Did you see anything important?” he asked.

  Naia thought at first he was teasing, but his eyes weren’t smiling at all. She had already been trying to for
get the private memories she’d seen in Tavra’s mind, but when her father asked, the images of the beautiful Gelfling All-Maudra came to mind too easily, as did the ominous words:

  Find Rian. Find Gurjin.

  Who was Rian, and what did he have to do with Naia’s brother—and more importantly, what did Tavra want with either of them? Naia told what she’d seen, and after her telling, Bellanji and Laesid leaned away, looking to each other and exchanging the silent conversation they sometimes had—the kind that required neither words nor dreamfasting. They nodded to each other in agreement.

  “Naia,” Laesid said in an even but stern voice. “In light of this, I believe the time has come for us to clear up our guest’s less-than-satisfactory pretense. Finish your supper for now, but after, meet us promptly in my chamber. We are overdue for some hard-talk with Tavra of Ha’rar.”

  Chapter 3

  Naia did as her mother suggested, though enjoying the rest of her supper was difficult when her gut was tying itself in knots anticipating the confrontation planned for later. It was a relief when the carts stopped coming out of the kitchen and the clanfolk left for the evening, saying their post-meal thanks and prayers with a slap of hands over their heads and a deep bow before ambling away to their dwellings within Great Smerth and the surrounding apeknots.

  While Eliona went to give thanks to the night’s musicians and servers, Naia helped clear the head table and stack dishes in the wicker cradles hanging off the balconies near the kitchen. When the nightly rain came, the dishes would be washed clean, any scraps or sauce leavings brought to the swamp floor, a midnight snack for the creatures dwelling there. After her chores were done, Naia climbed the rope walkways to the upper arms of Smerth, headed down a twisting hall, left and right, and entered the tunnel entrance to her mother’s chamber, the greatest in Great Smerth, near the very center of the tree.

  It would have been dark within, so deep inside Smerth and so late at night, but the rounded walls of the circular chamber were lined with glowing cave moss that gave the room a gentle blue-green glow. Tapestries strung with beads, feathers, scales, and carved ivory decorated the otherwise bare walls, painted and dyed with protective figures and incantations. In some places, mostly over the doorway and her mother’s medicine box, wooden talismans dangled, engraved with etchings done long ago when a dream etcher had been maudra of their clan. The words were dark, as if burned, in rich black and red that had not faded no matter the time that passed. Dream-etching was a rare skill indeed, and the talismans were held in particularly high regard. Overhead, a single wide chute was bored through the wood to the outside. When the Blue Moon—the largest of the Sisters—was full and passed directly over the tunnel, it marked the beginning of a new unum.

  Maudra Laesid was reclining in a hammock chair, swinging herself gently with her single foot while her husband filled and lit a pipe made of a hollowed Nebrie tusk. Seated on a floor cushion, back straight, was Tavra, hands formally resting on her pointed knees while she suffered the inescapable gaze of the Drenchen wise woman. Naia kept quiet on careful feet, circling the room to sit on a stool near her mother’s hammock. The atmosphere of the room was tense, though Naia was grateful to be on her mother’s side. She had many times been the subject of such a stare, and she did not envy Tavra one bit.

  “Now that we’re all here,” Laesid began, “Tavra of Ha’rar. Although we offered our hearth and home to you, it seems now there’s more to your story than you’ve said.”

  “My apologies, maudra,” Tavra said. “I only—”

  Laesid cut her short with a swift hand wave. “I could go on and on and draw it out from you bit by bit in the soft-speak the All-Maudra and all you Silverfolk from the north prefer, but here in Sog, we Drenchen have little time for it.” Laesid’s voice grew powerfully serious. “Tell us why you’re here, and in particular what it has to do with my son, Gurjin.”

  Naia expected Tavra’s voice to grow reedy as it had during the banquet. Instead, though, the woman drew a calm breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled before meeting Laesid’s gaze with a steady, practiced eye.

  “I am a soldier, sent by All-Maudra Mayrin,” she said. She glanced at Naia, not so much with accusation but only with knowing. “Your daughter must have told you that much by now. Her dreamfasting is stronger than most her age.”

  “She did, and it is. But I prefer water fresh from the spring,” Laesid said. “On what errand did the All-Maudra send you?”

  “Though I would have preferred this to have come to light in a manner less embarrassing—”

  “Hard-talk,” said Bellanji. “Get to it!”

  Laesid raised an eyebrow in agreement, and Naia felt a pinch of pleasure from seeing Tavra squirm. The Vapra hesitated, drawing her fingers in toward her palms, resolute.

  “Your son and another castle guard, Rian of Stone-in-the-Wood, have been accused of treason by the Skeksis Lords. Their crime is spreading lies against the Castle of the Crystal and Ha’rar. When called to trial, instead of facing justice, they fled. Neither have been seen since. I was going to tell you on the morning, after formalities. I apologize.”

  Naia’s breath caught in her chest, ears burning and eyes darting to her mother. The castle had been entrusted to the Skeksis since the beginning of time, and in turn they shared the ancient task of protecting it with the Gelfling. It was all part of the great Song of Thra, the endless harmony of all things existing as they should. To fall out of tune was only possible through powerful darkness and corruption. Gurjin may have been arrogant about his duty at times, but he took it seriously—it was impossible, Naia wanted to shout, that he might betray the Skeksis, the castle, and the Heart of Thra that resided there. Naia pressed her tongue firmly against the roof of her mouth, forcing herself to be still and let her mother lead.

  “Well, better late than never,” Laesid said, acknowledging the apology but hardly accepting it. If she felt the same defensive surprise as Naia, she hid it well, leaning back in her hammock and tapping her forefinger against her lips. “So. You came here to see if Gurjin the treasonist came home to hide?”

  Tavra sighed, dipping her chin in a grave nod.

  “Yes. Not even the Lords skekLach and skekOk have seen him, and they have been taking the census these past unum. Counted every Gelfling south of the Black River, and no sign—Rian and Gurjin have fled like snow in summer. If I do not find them, I am under orders to bring back one each of their closest kin to stand trial on their behalf. Should neither appear in Ha’rar within one unum to take responsibility for their actions, a notice will be released for their death.”

  Death? Naia looked between her parents again. Neither seemed anything but stoic, so she put on the same face, but still the news was harsh and the timeline harsher. It took almost a full unum merely to send word to the All-Maudra by the fleetest messenger swoothu; how were they to find a missing someone and make it to trial in the same time?

  “Then it’s not to stand on trial in Gurjin’s stead, it’s to stand as ransom,” Bellanji said. “Say it like it is. Within one turn of the Sisters? That’s all? And what happens to his kin, should Gurjin not appear?”

  “His kin will be held as a witness. Should they choose to incriminate Gurjin at the trial, his warrant will only be quickened. Should they choose to defend him, the lords will have final say in the matter.”

  “It won’t come to that,” Laesid dismissed. “My son is not a traitor. Once he finds the All-Maudra is holding his kin hostage, he will arrive on trial and shortly disprove whatever treason he’s accused of. Surely there’s some explanation for his disappearance.”

  “How can you be sure he’s not a traitor when you haven’t spoken to him since he’s been accused?” Tavra asked plainly, so direct it nearly sounded Drenchen. “There is a reason serving the castle is a duty that ends only by death. It changes you. As much as you protest, you might not recognize Gurjin as your own son, should you have the
chance to see him again.”

  “Gurjin’s interests are in hunting game and courting girls, not politics,” Bellanji said. He crossed the room to stand before Tavra, the whole chamber echoing with his heavy, solid footfalls. “Those aren’t likely to change his whole life, sworn to the castle or not. How I’d love to see those rosy-red cheeks on Her Silverness when she finds he’s not planning treason but climbed up a tree with a lassywings somewhere.”

  “I wish it were the case,” Tavra said, a soft huff of disdain escaping her lips.

  “Then it’s that scoundrel Stonewood,” Bellanji insisted. “I always knew those rock-banging forest bugs were no good—”

  “Bellanji,” Laesid warned, and he fell silent, though his eyes still burned.

  “I have been through Stone-in-the-Wood already,” Tavra said. “No sign of either.”

  “Well, look again,” Bellanji replied. “I promise you’ll find it’s that Rian, dragging my boy along on some reckless hoax.”

  Everything about Tavra hardened with annoyance. Naia wanted to be as loyal to Gurjin as her parents, but the truth was, Tavra’s words had merit. It was very possible, though she didn’t like to admit it, that his life outside of Sog had changed her brother, bit by bit. Had she been in his place, she would hope to have changed—grown, at least a little. Her mother had always said assignment at the castle might grow some wings on the boy, a saying that had consistently invited contest from her only son. But while Naia had grown in her training, accepting her assigned responsibilities—perhaps this was what Gurjin had gotten up to. No, she reminded herself. It was what Tavra said he was up to. There was no proof Gurjin was a traitor.

  “If you’re so sure your son is innocent, then I invite you to send his closest kin back to Ha’rar with me,” Tavra said, glancing at Naia for the first time since the meeting had begun.

  “I will!” Bellanji declared. “If it’ll end your investigation where it stands, it would be worth the trip!”