She bowed her head and walked away slowly. It would not do to meet her adversary here on the train. If she did, others would be placed in danger. For one fleeting moment she felt an urge to run back and beg the laird to protect her. But the words of the King were to her both a prophecy and a command: “My enemies hunt you, and you must face them.”
Face them she would, then. The courage of the King returned to her and she steeled herself for the battle ahead. “Do not forget who I am. Do not forget who you are. Remember me…”
Virginia walked from car to car until she had reached the end of the train. She pushed open the door and found herself standing on a small platform, protected by an iron rail, while the cold night wind whipped at her clothes and hair and stung her eyes.
Through the mist she could see the forest rising all around, choking out the track that wound endlessly back the way they had come. She hesitated only for a moment. She could feel danger approaching. Once again a vision flashed before her eyes, of a dark hand reaching out to open the very door behind her.
With a deep breath Virginia flung herself over the railing. Even as she did, the mist faded away and she was blind again.
* * *
Maggie walked in dreamland that night. She saw herself in the Gypsy camp, surrounded by bright caravan wheels and the stillness of the forest at night. A full moon was glowing brightly. A low fog hung about the wagons. They were moving although it was night, and she was driving a wagon of her own.
She felt the closeness of someone beside her, and she turned to ask a question of Nicolas. But it was not Nicolas with her—it was Jerome. She was startled, even in her dream, but somehow it was good to have him near.
He reached over and gently took the reins from her hands, pulling the wagon to a stop. “We will miss our chance if we keep going,” he explained in his deep voice. He stood on the seat of the wagon and pulled her up beside him. Together they looked up at the moon. Across its pale face they saw a great flock of shining white seabirds winging silently toward them.
The birds were slender, yet each was bigger than the wagon. Jerome seated himself on the neck of one of the birds, and she felt a nudge as another lowered its head for her to climb on. She did, and the birds lifted into the air with a motion smooth and white as cream.
The birds flew high above the earth until they seemed surrounded by stars. When Maggie looked down the earth was a dusky colour, streaked with the glowing silver of rivers, lakes, and the seas themselves.
The birds flew over the glistening sea, farther and farther south, until Maggie could see a ridge of snow-covered mountains ahead. The birds’ wings beat in great, sweeping motions. They rose up over the tops of the mountains. As the ridge dropped away beneath them, a light burst over it with such brilliance that Maggie covered her eyes with her hands. She looked to the side, and then she saw that the bird carrying Jerome was continuing up over the mountains, and the one carrying her was dropping away, back toward the sea and the north.
Maggie cried out something that she could not understand and reached for Jerome. His eyes met hers and she saw silver tears in them, but he smiled, and turned his face back toward the brilliant light—and the dream was over.
She sat up in bed and clutched the sheets under her chin, wondering why the dream—beautiful as it had been—troubled her so much. She played the scenes in her mind until she could not bear the silence of the room anymore. She got up and walked on bare feet to the bedroom door. When she opened it she was looking into Jerome’s face.
He was standing across the hall from her door, leaning on the rail, fully dressed. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed, his breathing deep and regular. He had a sword strapped to his side, and one of his hands rested close to the hilt. She looked at him curiously, and a smile played on her face.
His eyes opened quite suddenly. He looked up at her, and said, his voice only a little sleepy, “Why are you smiling?”
“Why are you standing there?” Maggie asked.
“Because I think you need protection,” he said.
She rubbed her arms. “Why do you think so?”
“Master Huss said that evil was coming,” Jerome said. “He does not think it will arrive tonight, but I do not like to take chances.”
Maggie thought suddenly that she had never seen anyone who looked as strong or as gentle as Jerome did at that moment. The thought disconcerted her. She tried to regain the smile that had been on her face a moment ago.
“But you were sleeping,” she said, teasingly.
He did not smile, but nodded seriously, and frowned. “I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to—but I have been dreaming, and the dream was not eager to let me go before it had run its course.”
“What did you dream?” Maggie asked in a whisper.
“That is not a question to ask, Little One,” Jerome said. “Every man’s dreams are his own.”
“Professor Huss said that you will take over for him when he is gone,” Maggie said. She was curious to know more about him.
He nodded. “I will.”
“Do you look forward to that?” Maggie asked.
“No,” he told her. “For me to be master means that my own master must be dead, and he is like a father to me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Even so, perhaps I could look forward to it if I believed that the future would be as the past.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Underground University of Pravik has existed for hundreds of years, teaching and keeping hope alive. And whether the masters of the University have known it or not, their work has all been for one final goal—that the Eastern Lands might wrench themselves free from the grasp of the Empire. We’re very close to reaching that goal now. Very close. We work toward the day when we will change the world.” Jerome seemed lost in his own reflections for a moment. “We have been free in the past,” he said. “We can be so again. The Eastern Lands are headed for war, and the university will be at the forefront of it.”
“I should think you would be glad,” Maggie said. “I was at the castle tonight—I heard what you said. You will make a great leader.”
Jerome smiled sadly and said, “Ah, but you see, Little One, I do not want it to come in my time. I urge it on, I speak words to inspire and give courage because that is my part in this story, and all the while I am a coward in my own heart. Peace is a dreadful thing to break, Maggie.”
“Must it be broken, then?” Maggie asked. “Why not continue to live as we have, under the Empire?”
“We cannot,” Jerome said. “A man I know says that the peace of the Empire is the peace of death. He is right—and even he does not realize the truth of it all. We seek to bring not only revolution, but resurrection.”
They stopped talking, but the silence was not awkward. They looked into each other’s eyes, searched there, and both found that they were at home.
“I also dreamed tonight,” Maggie said after a long while.
Jerome was very close to her now, but neither knew when the other had moved. He smiled gently.
“What did you see?” he whispered.
Maggie started to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. “I don’t think I can tell you,” was all she could say.
* * *
Nicolas did not dream, but neither did he sleep well. At last his restlessness awoke him altogether. He lay in the darkness and replayed thoughts of the day. He felt closed in behind the city walls—like a spirit wishing to leave an ailing body. He had been curious about the scroll, and for Maggie’s sake he had wanted Huss to explain himself, but all of his curiosity was gone now. He only wanted to get outside. To get away.
She needs me, he thought.
Not anymore, his own mind answered back.
He closed his eyes tightly and tried to shut out the feelings, but for a moment he thought the breeze was blowing, and it smelled like falling leaves and a new dawn.
It was still early. If he left soon enough he could be out of th
e city in time to truly smell the dawn. Out, to welcome the sun. He could already feel the roughness of a forest path under his feet.
Slowly, quietly, Nicolas climbed out of bed. His mattress creaked slightly in protest, but he paid it no mind. He pushed open his bedroom door, and it made no sound; nor did his feet as he stepped into the hallway.
Jerome was laying outside of Maggie’s door, breathing deeply, a sword by his side. He was stretched out so that no one could get through the door without waking him.
Nicolas stepped deftly over the young man. He, who could hear all, could easily keep from being heard. He was grateful for it.
* * *
Maggie awoke with the gentle feeling of sunlight on her face. It was bravely filtering its way through the grime on the windowpane, illuminating a tiny room with a layer of dust on everything and cobwebs in the corners.
The house was silent. Maggie was struck by the feeling that everyone was gone, and she was the only one left in the house—or in the world, for that matter. She sat up and swung her legs out of bed, tucking her unruly auburn hair behind her ears.
The door creaked loudly when she opened it. The sound only deepened her sense of aloneness. There was no one in the hallway, and the doors to both Nicolas’s room and Huss’s study were closed.
Maggie slowly padded down the hallway, rubbing her arms for comfort. She looked to her left, where she could see over the banister to the ghostly house downstairs. She jumped as grey eyes met hers, and then the cat dropped down and stalked past her. She almost laughed at her own nerves. She neared the door to Huss’s study and heard low voices talking on the other side. Breathing an embarrassed sigh of relief, she raised her hand to knock, but before her knuckles fell on the door, words made their way through it to her ears. Her hand stayed raised in mid-air as she listened.
“The boy died early this morning,” a familiar woman’s voice said. “There was nothing I could do.”
“I am sorry, Libuse,” said Huss.
“He deserves to be buried with princes, Master Huss,” said the woman. “And I cannot even risk taking him to an undertaker for fear that his dying in my house will shed suspicion on me.”
“Send him back to the country,” Huss said, softly, “as you promised you would. His comrades will give him a burial fit for princes, if not among them.”
“Yes,” Libuse said. “My carriage can carry a dead body as well as a live one.”
There was a long pause, and Libuse said, “If only last night…”
“If onlys do us no good, my lady,” Huss said. “You know that as well as I do. Better, perhaps.”
Maggie felt suddenly guilty for eavesdropping. She knocked sharply on the door.
“Come in,” called Huss.
Maggie opened the door. The woman from the night before was sitting at the table with Huss. Neither Nicolas nor Jerome were in the room.
Libuse’s hair was plaited and hung nearly to her waist. She wore a blue dress made of expensive cloth and tailored beautifully. She held her head high. Her back was straight, and her face was solemn and lined with a grief that belied her relative youth. She was beautiful and regal, and Maggie felt embarrassed in her presence.
The woman stood when Maggie entered the room. She took Huss’s hand and squeezed it warmly.
“Thank you, Professor,” she said. “You are a great strength to me.”
Huss smiled. “Perhaps I am,” he said. “Or perhaps I am a snare to you.”
The woman smiled without mirth. “Be that as it may,” she said. “I am glad to be caught in your trap.”
She turned to Maggie and motioned for her to sit down. “Come,” she said. “Master Huss tells me you have much to talk about. I will not stay to prevent you.” She smiled, and her smile was kind. She made sure that Maggie was seated comfortably before she left the room.
“Eat,” Huss said, handing Maggie a sticky roll. “Breakfast is a rare occasion in this house, and I do not mean to eat it alone.”
Maggie obeyed awkwardly. The table held a plate of pastries, a pot of some dark liquid that was not tea but smelled good, and a bowl of fresh fruit.
“This looks good,” Maggie said, venturing to look Huss in the face. His expression was open and kind.
“Yes it does,” he said. “Libuse is good not to call on me empty-handed. She knows that an old professor like me does not earn the wages of a king. Also, when my head is buried in my books I often forget to eat.”
“Who is she?” Maggie asked. Her fingers were sticky from the roll, and she resisted the urge to lick them.
“She is a princess,” Huss said, enjoying the look of surprise on Maggie’s face. “Yes,” he repeated, “A princess of the ancient days. Her ancestors ruled this land from Pravik Castle before the days of the Empire. In deference to her heritage, Libuse is allowed to serve on the Governing Council of the Eastern Lands. As do I. The council answers to the Emperor, of course.”
As an afterthought, Huss added, “She was also a student of mine once.”
Maggie said, “Old Dan said you were a student at the university, but he didn’t know you’d gone on to be a teacher. I planned to look for you through the school when we came here, but I didn’t dream I’d find you so quickly.”
“I am a scholar,” Huss said. “I would chafe at anything else. Teaching is the only way of earning a living that suits me, although I prefer studying to trying to teach the thick-headed subjects of the Empire anything. Of course,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “I do find a gem hidden in the mire once in a while. When I do, my teaching becomes unorthodox.”
Huss reached for the pot and poured Maggie a cup of the thick liquid. “Drink,” he said. “It’s far more palatable than it looks.”
Maggie reached for the cup and took a sip. The taste was bittersweet and not unpleasant. She took another sip, and became conscious that Huss was watching her very closely.
She put the cup down and rubbed her arm. “Where’s Nicolas?” she asked.
“Gone,” Huss said.
“Gone?” she repeated, alarmed at first. She calmed herself down and asked, “When will he be back?”
“When it suits him, I suppose,” Huss said, his eyes still on Maggie’s face. He poured himself a cup of the dark liquid. “He left us sometime last night. When I looked in on him this morning he had already departed.”
Maggie sat in silence, too shocked to speak. “Why would he leave?” she asked at last, quietly. Huss didn’t answer, and she kept talking, mostly to herself. “It’s not like he said he would stay… all he promised to do was bring me here, and he did that.”
Huss spoke now. “Your friend is an unusual young man,” he said. “And a Gypsy, at that. Perhaps the wanderlust took him, and he found our city closing in on him too much.”
Maggie nodded. She tried not to show the tears in her eyes. “I’m sure that was it,” she said.
“Perhaps,” Huss said. He was silent a moment, then said abruptly, “Perhaps not. But you came to me with questions of your own, and today I mean to answer them as best I can. So we will have to stop mourning the flight of our wild bird, and get to work.”
He stood. Maggie started to stand with him, but he motioned for her to sit back down. “Finish your breakfast,” he said.
Maggie nodded and ate a few more bites, but the news of Nicolas’s disappearance had stolen her appetite. Huss took a book from his shelves and leafed through it a few minutes, then sat with his long fingers entwined, watching her until he was satisfied that she had eaten as much as she could be expected to.
“Now,” he said, “you didn’t bring me the scroll out of idle curiosity, and you did not bring it because you felt duty-bound to Daniel Seaton. By your own admission you went against Mrs. Cook’s wishes to come here, and you did it because there is something you are looking for—something you want to know. What is it?”
Maggie was quiet for a long time, her brow creased. It was true enough; she had come because she was looking for something. Without r
ealizing it herself, she had believed that this aged professor would hold all the answers, but now, faced with the reality of Jarin Huss’s questioning face, Maggie did not know what to ask him or why she had thought he would know.
“I’m not sure what I want you to tell me,” Maggie said. “I’m not really sure what I’m looking for.”
Jarin Huss leaned back and nodded. ‘Then tell me about yourself,” he said. “Together perhaps we can unearth the questions you want to ask.”
Maggie looked the professor in the eyes, and she slowly let her walls down. She could trust him, she felt. She had to trust him.
“When I was ten,” she said slowly, “Mrs. Cook and her husband bought me from the Orphan House in Londren. I stayed with them a short time, and then I was sent to Cryneth, to live with John and Mary Davies.”
She faltered, but continued, her voice full of emotion. “When I went to the Davies’, I was like a bird that had been caged all its life and didn’t even know there was such a thing as a sky. And they set me free. I can’t even explain how… they loved me. And Mary would sing to me, and play the harp, and my heart would fly.
“One day, when I was thirteen, I was out with the sheep when I saw smoke over the hill. I dropped my staff and ran, and when I got over the hill I saw that the house had burned to the ground. I knew that Mary was dead, and John too. I’m not sure how I knew, but…” Her voice trailed away and she took a deep breath. She was looking down at the wooden table.
“I thought I heard laughter. I thought it was an evil spirit laughing. To tell the truth, I don’t know what I heard. Maybe nothing. I don’t remember anything after that. They tell me I ran to the house and started digging through the ashes, calling for John and Mary.”
She held up her hands, the burn scars visible reminders of that day. “They say the villagers tried to help me, and I ran away. I ran all the way to Londren. I do remember being alone, and in pain, and cold. I remember sleeping on the streets and sneaking rides on wagons, and I think I remember falling down on Mrs. Cook’s doorstep.
The Seventh World Trilogy omnibus Page 14