by Sam Farren
“We’ll find somewhere for the night. It’s already late,” Castelle said. “Give me one of those bags.”
Eos’ protest never got off the ground. Castelle tugged one of the bags and Eos’ shoulders fell. There was no argument from her. Castelle slung the bag over her shoulder with a world of confidence and stumbled backwards.
“Gods. How do you do it?” she muttered.
“Practise,” Eos said, taking slow steps along the docks.
Another island, another port. The taverns were starting to steal names from one another. A dozen inns crowded along the seafront, and in the centre, a temple rose, unassuming and indistinguishable from the other buildings, save for the lack of signage. Laister Temple may well have been the last on the archipelago that retained the historical shape of a temple. The rest of Fenroe was covered with repurposed buildings, giving those in need a little more anonymity.
“It would be nice if Layla worked there,” Castelle said.
Eos exhaled heavily.
“I know, I know. That’d be far too easy.”
Castelle pulled Eos into the first inn bragging about vacancies. Eos leant against the lobby wall, eyes half-closed. The man behind the counter stared at them, waiting, and Castelle did the same.
Eos wordlessly passed Castelle a handful of money. It was her turn to take care of things. Castelle offered the man a belated smile and said um a lot. After using far too many words to explain their need for two rooms for the night, Castelle handed over the gold and blinked at her empty hand.
What a strange process.
The man handed over two keys with numbers painted on them. Castelle congratulated herself on being convincingly normal. There was an unexpected rush in it. The man behind the counter had no idea who she was, what her name meant, or that she was new to this world.
She took the bulk of the bags from Eos and led her down the corridor, to their corresponding rooms.
“Are you certain you’re going to be alright? Do you need anything?” Castelle asked, handing Eos her key.
“I will be fine,” Eos said, dragging a hand down her clammy face. “I need to sleep. That is all.”
At her hip, Brackish was silent and dull.
“Let me know if you do need anything. Anything at all. I’ll be right next door.”
“I will be fine. You need to sleep, as well. We will head for Avren, tomorrow.”
Eos fumbled with her key. The door swung shut behind her, and after a few seconds spent holding her breath, Castelle heard something that sounded suspiciously like a body falling onto a bed.
Castelle headed for her own room. There was no comfort in being there for Eos, because Eos wouldn’t come to her for help. All Castelle could do was sleep early, wake before dawn, and check on Eos under the pretence of wanting to head out the moment the sun was up.
Easier said than done. The small, clean room’s only window opened onto the fields of Yarrin and the paths that led to Avren and Layla’s temple. Castelle had run her fingers across countless maps, tracing the name of the town, wondering how it might fit into the reclamation of her Kingdom, never once imagining her cousin was there.
Never once daring to believe she might be alive.
Most people would’ve questioned a body without a head. Most people would’ve been brave enough to have hope, despite what they’d seen and what they’d been told.
After everything Castelle had seen, hope hadn’t become pointless, hadn’t grown foolish. It simply wasn’t there.
It wasn’t anywhere.
Rain continued to pelt the windows, but the inn was warm. Castelle took off her clothes, leaving them to dry. Niamh had sent her off with a few spare outfits carefully rolled up in Eos’ bag. Castelle laid one out across the floor.
She’d been saving it for tomorrow, for Avren. She wanted to look halfway decent for Layla. The outfit might be the only distraction the two of them could bask in. Do you remember Count Lorcan? she could say. His daughter gave me these clothes, after her wife kidnapped me.
Castelle smiled, falling on the bed. It was the sort of story Layla would love to hear.
Enough had happened on her journey to fill days of awkward silences.
Castelle tossed and turned for a few hours, listening out for Eos. No sounds drifted through the walls. When she slept, she dreamt of dinner with her fathers, where no admonishments were laid across the table, and there were no reprimands for stepping into the real world. Castelle awoke feeling as bad as Eos had looked yesterday evening, sick to her stomach at the relief her unconscious counterpart had felt.
Castelle pulled on her new clothes and packed her nearly-dry ones. Mornings were a strange experience when she didn’t have to dedicate so much of them to brushing her hair through.
Eos was standing outside her door when she went to wake her. The colour had returned to her face, and the softened shadows beneath her eyes said she’d fallen straight into a deep, dreamless sleep.
“You look better,” Castelle said. “I’m so glad. Are you feeling well again?”
“I am fine. I was fine,” Eos insisted. “It was Brackish.”
“Oh?”
“She is restless. Stressed. Somewhere between the two. Being back on Yarrin is not easy for her. Whatever happened here has not left her, even if she does not remember it.”
Brackish was still. Her thoughts didn’t bleed into the air, pressing against Castelle. It’d all been directed at Eos, towards the only one the sword thought could understand her, for whatever that was worth.
“Where does she want to head? Should we go there before Avren?”
Castelle tried not to sound too eager. She’d put her best clothes on for a reason. She didn’t want to traipse through the mud or have buildings that no longer existed come crumbling down on top of her. Not really.
“It is in that direction. It is fine,” Eos said. It was starting to lose meaning. “I will take you to Layla, then handle Brackish.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m coming with you, Eos. We’ve come this far together, and if you hadn’t noticed, this explicitly involves my family. I want to understand what this means.”
“It is not safe,” Eos said, fit to carry all their bags again. “After what happened in Torshval, it does not seem wise to involve anyone else.”
“Stop pretending you’re concerned about me.”
“Stop doing your utmost to postpone seeing your cousin,” Eos said, leaving her key on the counter. “And I am not pretending.”
Outside, the rain had finally relented. The sky was clear for the first time in weeks, and Castelle spared a moment to reacquaint herself with the colour blue. Everywhere they went, people painted it as the last nice day they’d have, until spring returned. Winter was set to be colder and darker than any before.
It was Castelle’s first year beyond the temple’s grasp, yet she could tell people said the same thing year in, year out.
Along the edge of the port, Eos faltered again. She placed a hand on Brackish’s hilt and took a deep breath.
“Eos?”
“The sword is heavier than usual,” Eos said, fighting off the urge to claim it was fine.
“Heavier than usual?” Castelle asked, hand on Eos’ shoulder. “How?”
“I can’t explain it. It does not make sense, I know. But it is like carrying rocks.”
“Put the bags down. We’ll take a carriage to Avren. There’s no need to struggle.”
Emboldened by her success at securing two rooms in the inn, Castelle marched across the street without waiting for Eos to acquiesce. She caught the eye of a handsome woman brushing one of her horses’ manes and made a concise, compelling case for her custom to be accepted.
She hurried back to Eos with a sheepish grin and collected the money she was holding out.
Eos got into the carriage without a word of argument. The woman strapped their bags to the roof. As they set off, Castelle stuck her head out the window and called, “Excuse me. How long will it take to
reach Avren?”
“It’s a beautiful day,” the driver called back. “If it takes any longer than three hours you’re getting your money back.”
Grinning, Castelle got comfortable in her seat, keeping the windows and blinds open. Sunlight poured in, and the crisp air stopped short of sending a chill through her bones.
Eos sat opposite, travelling backwards. Her eyes weren’t heavy, sweat didn’t roll from her forehead. For a time, Eos looked like herself, lost in thoughts she’d never give a voice. A handful of miles in saw her shuffling in her seat, shoulders rolling, fingers fanning out and curling into fists.
“This is ridiculous. I thought the spirits couldn’t influence you. Couldn’t take hold of you. Is this safe? Has Brackish finally worn you down?” Castelle said.
“That isn’t it,” Eos said, through grit teeth. “This is not easy for Brackish. She is not doing any of this intentionally, I… I am too aware of what she is feeling. Of what she has felt. I cannot settle because she cannot settle. It is fine, it—”
“It isn’t fine! You’re in no fit state to get me to Layla, like this. What if one of my fathers’ lackeys pulls the carriage over and decides to drag me back to Laister? Every muscle in your body is pulled taut. You can’t protect me like this.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?” Eos grunted.
“We must be wherever Brackish needs to go. We’ll stop there before Avren. We’ll still be with Layla by evening. If we could delay things for months with Reed then we can certainly take a few hours out of the day to help put whatever this is to rest.”
Castelle had always been told she’d have to learn to speak with authority in her voice, that she’d have to know what was best for whole legions of people, but that wasn’t what this was. Her words left no room for objection, but it was kindness that welded them together. She didn’t know what Brackish needed, what was best for Eos, but she knew it wasn’t this.
“Fine,” was all Eos said.
Sticking her head out the window, Castelle said, “I’m terribly sorry, but would you mind dropping us off here? We’d like to walk the rest of the way, if it’s all the same to you.”
The request wasn’t out of the ordinary. The woman stopped the horses to a stop and climbed on top of the carriage, unstrapping their bags. She passed them down to Castelle while Eos leant against a tree, fingers wrapped tightly around Brackish.
“Everything’s okay, isn’t it?” the woman whispered to Castelle. “Your friend, she…”
“She gets motion sickness. The boat here was bad enough, and this is setting it off again,” Castelle said. “Thank you so much for your assistance, though. We’ll be fine from here. The fresh air will be good for her.”
“Sure thing,” the woman said, winking at her.
She returned to her carriage and continued towards Avren to pick up her next assortment of passengers.
Sparse oak trees lined the road between the port and Avren, and for miles, the land was flat and open, given over to agriculture. Most of Fenroe’s crops were harvested from Yarrin and its fertile land, a world away from the rocks that lined the other islands.
Much of the harvest had been completed for the year, and many of the fields laid barren, recovering until spring demanded they be tilled again. Castelle squinted. No warning signs littered the landscape, and the only blue light came from Brackish.
Lightning ran along the sword, crackling at the tip, breaking free of its restraints.
“We’re close, aren’t we? Which way do we need to go?” Castelle asked.
“This way. Towards the coast,” Eos said, pushing herself off the tree.
Brackish trembled with the light that poured from her. Eos took wide strides through the empty fields, each step heavy enough to leave deep footprints in the dirt.
Castelle wanted to reach out, wanted to take on the burden of Brackish. And it was her own thought, not something born of the spirit. Brackish had lost her connection to Castelle’s mind, to the pathways she took to intersperse Castelle’s thoughts with her own.
She couldn’t influence Castelle because she didn’t want anything. She wasn’t demanding anything. It was all empty howling. The spirit-sword couldn’t focus on anything but what laid ahead, what had been and what no longer was.
Spirits didn’t surround them, but Brackish was forcing the memories back into herself. She was replaying them without hearing a whisper of the past, without seeing what once was.
Castelle offered Eos her arm. Eos nodded shallowly, and together, they made for the coast.
The fields ended abruptly. The neat lines scored into the earth were replaced with clusters of crumbling dirt, falling sharply onto the rocky beach below. Stone mixed with sand and the tide crept close.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t where they needed to be.
Eos pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. Brackish burnt so brightly Castelle believed she’d caused the skies to clear.
“A little further,” Castelle said, eyes darting around for the first sign of other spirits. “This way. Look.”
Brackish managed something close to clarity. Castelle had to keep moving along the coast, to the estuary formed by the river that kept Yarrin’s crops irrigated, giving itself over and returning to the sea. She didn’t question the thought. There was nothing scathing in it, nothing intrusive.
Brackish was reaching out for help.
This was what it had all been about.
The estuary was shallow enough to wade through, freshwater mixing with the salt of the sea. Brackish’s light faded when they reached the water’s edge.
No signs lined the estuary. No warnings were whispered by the wind. The earth and water belonged to itself. Not a single spirit spread its light over the land, lost but unable to leave.
“This isn’t right,” Eos murmured. “This is where Brackish wishes to be, but—but there are no spirits here. They cannot gather, cannot show us what she needs to see, they…”
Eos fell to her knees, pulled down by the weight of the sword.
“What happened here? How do we help you, Brackish? What do you need?” Castelle asked.
“There were spirits here. They haunted this land, but they have found rest. They are at peace, they have returned to the gods, and—”
Eos pressed her hands to the ground, fingers sinking into the wet earth.
Castelle knelt in front of Eos, hands on her shoulders. She froze. It wasn’t Eos’ face that had turned white, but her eyes. The darkness had clouded over, changing everything Castelle had come to recognise, everything she’d learnt to read in her expression.
Eos wasn’t as immune to the spirits’ reach as she’d let herself believe.
“Unsheathe the sword,” Castelle said, gripping her shoulders. “You need to be away from Brackish.”
“No, no,” Eos murmured, shaking her head, closing her white eyes. “I need to help her. I need to help her, she—”
“There aren’t any spirits here, Eos! Brackish can’t show us anything, and she’s panicking because of it. You only need to let go for a moment. Let her work this out of her system. Please.”
“I can’t. I can’t. I mustn’t let go, or… or…”
“Let go of Brackish or I’ll do it for you.”
Eos’ eyes snapped open, dark as coals.
Gripping Castelle’s arm, Eos took hold of Brackish’s hilt and sneered. It wasn’t her. Wasn’t her. This was Brackish, doing all she could to make herself flesh. Eos forced the spirit back and pulled the sword with all her might. Breaking rock apart with her bare hands, for all the good it did.
Grunting, Eos unbuckled her belt and tossed the whole thing away. Brackish flew from her sheath, away from the shallow water’s edge.
Eos took a deep breath, eyes flashing with gratitude. Her gaze darted around, taking in their surroundings in their clarity for the first time.
Castelle got to her feet, pulling Eos up with her.
“I am sorry. I thought I was stronger than the
spirit. I never believed she would get in my head to that extent,” Eos said.
Her breath came heavily, shoulders rising. With Eos free of Brackish’s grasp, the spirit’s influence crept towards Castelle. It was the pressure filling the air throughout the long, muddled hours before a storm, but the skies were clear. There were no clouds to burst, bringing the relief she needed.
Don’t listen. Don’t listen. It was easy to think, but there were never any words, when it came to Brackish. It was so much more than her whispering in her ear, commands clear and impossible not to bow to.
Castelle took Eos’ hand and held it tightly.
Brackish wasn’t cruel. Brackish wasn’t lashing out at them, wasn’t trying to hurt them. Brackish was terrified. Brackish was alone and had been for so long. She’d come here, certain the other spirits would help make sense of a past that had been stolen from her, but they’d all found eternal rest while her light stretched from the confines of a sword, empty and aching.
“What do we do?” Castelle whispered.
“Nothing,” Eos said, squeezing her hand. “There is nothing we can do. Brackish needs to work through this. She needs to realise there will be other ways to help her.”
But no other way would ever be good enough. It couldn’t come close to what had happened on this spot, so long ago. The spirits had abandoned her, but it was of no consequence. Brackish needed the truth that had spilt into the soil, so long ago.
Light tore itself from the blade. It filled the air, lightning drawing too close. Eos dragged Castelle back, ankle-deep in the estuary.
It was only shapeless light for mere moments. The blank space Brackish saw herself as was in front of them, darkness crackling with light, more solid than before. She’d become a shadow of herself, scraped off the ground. She’d become something she’d left behind, not a mere absence of all things.
Ava Greyser stomped back and forth along the estuary, hands in the air.
I don’t understand it! Ava said. I came here because I trusted you. We all did. We came here because we would follow you anywhere, even if that meant going deeper into Nor. You have always looked out for us, for all of us, and now—this? One of our own was killed by a Fenronian! We have the resources to deal with this. We have ways to ensure this never happens again. And yet you insist on doing nothing.