by Katie Macey
The girl didn't answer but rustled through her sack. Pulling out a small vial, she lifted it to the sun, as if to check its transparency.
“I can't say.”
Iilen sat down. Aarin spoke over Niamh and Caeednce to the priestess, "Can we move him?"
"Yes.” She leant over him, and spoke into Jomen's ear, "Drink this. It will slow the process." Then she cracked the wax-sealed cork off the top of the vial and dribbled the clear liquid into the corner of his mouth.
"Now! We must get him inside. You all are to follow. It isn't safe out here. Not even in the full light of day!" Niamh held Jomen's hand, as Aarin lifted him. Fear and hope fluttered in Niamh’s chest.
✽✽✽
With Jomen clean and in a bed, some three flights of stairs up, and inside the glass-house temple and academy of Oplijah, Niamh paced in front of an ocean-facing window. Dinner was still a long way off, and the others had disappeared to their quarters.
"Hey."
A weak voice interrupted her thoughts. She spun on her heels and saw Jomen's eyes were open.
"We're in Oplijah now,” said Niamh. “You're going to be alright!"
Her eyes filled with tears again. Blinking them away, Niamh pretended not to notice his surprise at her emotional response.
"They've given you something for your leg. It's supposed to slow it down. And, well, with rest, and-"
"Hey."
He lifted his pointer finger again, and Niamh laced her fingers between his. Jomen left his eyes shut, but shuffled his hand slightly, so he could hold hers more comfortably.
"If I die-"
"Don’t say that!"
She snatched her hand away. But he uncurled his fingers and left his hand laying open and waiting. Something fuzzy tingled in her stomach and she returned her hand. He rubbed her thumb with his own.
"I'll- re-phrase..." Jomen groaned but closed his mouth to suppress it. Fear coursed through Niamh and she felt a little dizzy.
"It's just- do you- I mean really, we've only known each other..."
Niamh’s words ran together with no gaps in between.
"I’d like to kiss you, Niamh."
Niamh's face felt all prickly but her lips curled into a smile.
"Not now, of course,” said Jomen. “But soon. Soon, Niamh."
His hand slackened, and his head lobbed to one side. Suddenly afraid, Niamh leaned her ear right up against his face, checking he still breathed.
"Just. Resting,” said Jomen softly.
Niamh sat upright, touching her hair in nervous habit.
"Right! Sorry, uh, I think someone is coming..."
Niamh took herself across the room, feeling self-conscious. Another priestess helped Jomen drink more of the same liquid, and she applied a fresh dressing to his leg. She took care to hide his wound from her, but Niamh had seen enough of it earlier to know it was bad. Even without the blue sparks, it was dangerous.
A large glass window gave her a clear view of the sea. It was marked with lines and various shades of blue stained glass, but some shards were clear. The ocean remained as impassable as when she'd last seen it, the night they fled Muspary. The ocean churned with icebergs and choppy ice. One large chunk formed an ice island, locked to the coast. She shook her head. Everyone here seemed to know about the winter land-lock. So why had her aunt not mentioned it? And more to the point, why had she risked sending Niamh on the last ship of the season?
"There. He'll sleep for a little while now. But we'll wake him at dinner. He needs to keep his strength up."
"Sure."
Niamh nodded, eyeing the light blanket that covered Jomen's injured leg. The girl looked younger than her but hadn't shied away from cutting Jomen's clothes away and redressing the dangerous wound.
"Listen,” the apprentice said to Niamh, “There’s something you must know. Everyone was sent away. We can still put you through the test and then the ceremony if you pass, but we cannot offer what you are expecting.”
"Why was everyone sent away?” said Niamh. “Asturg was dangerous for us, but I assumed you had peaceful relations."
"We still do. But we were attacked three days ago. Lord Gleriledd's best men were sent. They entered by the north road, wearing the royal sash. He attacked us in the name of the King."
Niamh froze.
"But the High King is dead."
The apprentice priestess lifted the hood of her robe over her head. She ignored Niamh’s comment and said, “Many of us perished, a few of us hid, some ran away. I cannot help but fear they lie in wait nearby."
The girl stopped to look at Niamh. Cocking her head to one side she said, "There's something about you…If the rumours are true, and the heir is out there somewhere, I wouldn't be surprised if you had something to do with it."
"That's ridiculous."
She shrugged, "Or there's the old magic…so many fables and legends…I don't know. But I know that whatever you do, the ripples of your decisions will be far-reaching."
She left the room, and Niamh was left to wonder at her comments. What could she mean? Special? The only thing special about her was that her mother was a disgraced priestess and that Aunty relied on her.
"Wait,” said Niamh, “when you say attacked..."
"We haven’t seen weapons in Guthaecia for centuries. Yet Lord Gleriledd attacked us with bows and arrows. Nobody is safe anymore."
"Is that why Asturg is using the old arts again?” said Niamh. “And Traot Crurg too?"
The girl pushed a wisp of hair out of her face.
"You may discover that your secret hobby has more use than you first thought."
Their escape from Asturg had already shown the old arts to be much more than a hobby. Jomen sighed, and Niamh checked his forehead. Still warm, but not burning hot like before.
A single lounge rested in the corner, and she dragged it across the floor, right by Jomen's bed. Sinking into its cushion, she remembered a chair that felt similar, the one in her own home. Closing her eyes she could almost smell the ash of the fireplace and hear Aunty hustling in the kitchen...
✽✽✽
The lines in Aunty's face crinkled even more as she leaned close to the bench in the centre of their small kitchen. Painstakingly arranging the cut squares and slices on the waxed fabric, she folded and tucked until it was one intact package. Beside it sat two jars of preserved fruit. Niamh watched, leaning in the doorway. Aunty always worried. She'd send all the food in the kitchen with her if she thought it'd help. Aunty glanced up, surprise flashing across her face.
"Oh! I didn't think you'd be back yet." She fluttered her hands and lifted the corner of her grey apron to her cheek.
"My passage is arranged,” said Niamh. “They even gave me change." Niamh lifted the gold coins in her hand so Aunty could see how much.
"Oh? How kind."
"They said," said Niamh, eying Aunty carefully, "They kept saying I should wait until summer.”
"Oh, you know sailors…they're funny folk, and they have their strange ways.”
Aunty put her hands on her wide hips and blew a stray strand of grey hair out of her face with a puff of breath.
"Pull that out for me would you?" she said as she handed Niamh a thick woven cloth.
The iron oven door was stubborn as always, but Niamh managed it quickly.
"You should have told me you were attending the festival!" said Niamh, looking at Aunty in wonder through the steam rising from the freshly baked pastry dish.
"Oh, but we aren't,” said Aunty. “That's for us, tonight. Well, for you, as a farewell."
"But these berries,” said Niamh,” “they're symbolic."
"Pish posh, they’re tasty.”
Niamh placed the burning hot dish on the bench. Slumping a little, she said, "I don't understand why I have to go so soon, surely things won't change as quickly as you say..."
"Niamh, we've been over this a thousand times. Once the king is dead, your sisters," Aunty leaned closer and looked straight at Niamh, "will be exiled. It's not
complicated. Get your red robe, and come back to us with some means to keep us together." Aunty turned her attention to the pie. "We're a family, whatever anyone in the market place says about us."
"Nobody says anything," said Niamh. How many times had they had this argument? Yet she'd still agreed to go. Niamh hugged her arms around herself.
"Well, no-one says anything about us."
"Hmm?" Aunty wiped down the bench.
"It's just,” said Niamh, “I've heard people say other things, different rumours. Like the king's heir might actually-"
"Hush child! I've no time for gossip. Go and fetch your sisters.”
✽✽✽
Oplijah's dining hall wasn't grand in size. Niamh quickly realised it was only twice the size of her own, back at home. What made it so different was the intense level of detail. It wasn't just a table with enough seating for thirty. It was a table with the entire history of the kingdom laid out in a mural of stylised paints over stained glass. The intricacy had Iilen and Aarin exclaiming every couple of minutes, getting up from their seats to point out to each other another detail. Niamh breathed out and took a seat next to Caeednce. Veayre hadn't arrived yet.
"I keep feeling strange,” said Niamh, "like I'm daydreaming, or like I've got a headache,” taking a seat beside Caeednce.
"We've been through a lot, Niamh,” said Caeednce, nudging a plate closer to Niamh. "Eat something. You'll feel better."
A tall priestess approached the table right as Niamh bit off a chunk of cheesy bread.
"When you're done, Niamh, I have a book for you to take a look at. I think you'll find it interesting, particularly with your imminent test."
Niamh hurried her chewing, swallowing it down quickly with a swig of water.
"Uh, thanks!" she managed to get out before the girl had exited the room.
"They're pretty abrupt here, aren’t they!" said Niamh to Caeednce as she sat down again. Caeednce’s eyes crinkled and said, "Yeah, I mean you'll never fit in."
Niamh gave her a side glance and saw that Caeednce was about to laugh. Niamh’s initial reaction was to be angry at Caeednce’s light heart when Jomen was so ill. But she checked her reaction and understood that Caeednce was breaking the tension for her. Joining her, she tucked into the delicious food provided.
✽✽✽
Knees to her chest, Niamh crouched behind a hay-filled cart. What was the king's advisor doing way out here?
Niamh knew she should be studying. Aunty had given her a stern look before heading out. Then the street had been abandoned, and space to practice alone was so hard to come by…she hadn’t been able to resist lingering. Peeking up and over the edge of the cart, Niamh ducked down again immediately. She had almost been spotted – by HIM. Aunty said that must never happen. Not until she'd taken the test, and really, not any time after.
Six men each walked in formation around the perimeter of Lord Gleriledd’s walking path. He strode in the middle of them, stony-faced and unblinking.
Niamh wondered what he had to be so stormy about. He wasn't the one being forced to become a priestess...
"If you have led me here on a fool’s errand-"
His deep gravelly voice interrupted the chirping of tiny birds and the flutter of butterfly wings. Not everyone could hear those, it was true, but Niamh liked to fancy she heard the tinkling sounds of their fragile wings.
"No, my Lord!” said a younger man. “This way!"
Creeping out from her hiding place, Niamh wondered at what she had seen. The king was old. Gossip had him pegged as good as dead. Aunty wouldn’t say it right to her face, but Niamh knew what she was thinking.
'Family, Niamh, we're your family. Who found you all those years ago? And who has loved you ever since?'
Niamh was lucky, she knew. Not everyone had such love at home and such a bond between sisters. She absentmindedly touched her silver bangle. She would do it. She would take the vows.
Niamh had no romantic attachment. And no other vocations or desires pulling her away from this fate. Besides, she'd trusted Aunty her whole life. She should apologise. At fifteen, she shouldn’t be having spats with grownups anymore. She was supposed to be one, well almost, anyway.
Each province had a priestess. They all trained in the beautiful glass-house of Oplijah. But their province hadn't had one in years. Her mother, though nobody would tell her the tale, had perished, leaving a squawking infant behind. Niamh knew she was destined to guide the people she grew up with. Not in politics or trade, but with their souls. That felt ridiculous to Niamh, even now, but she hoped the training would fix that. She lifted her hand and twirled a flurry of dusty air in it, just for fun.
Besides, there's no future worth having with the old arts. The old arts were as good as dead. Just like the king.
✽✽✽
The ocean's breeze sent goose-bumps up Niamh's arm, and she was grateful for the stolen, Asturgian velvet-cloak. She'd been directed to a large desk that rolled around on tiny wheels. The suggested book weighed more than she did, but she managed to roll the whole thing out onto a balcony she'd discovered. Not far from Jomen's room, there was a small passageway, and it led to double doors, made of the same glass as everywhere else. Niamh could see a long way north from the balcony. The coast was rocky and treacherous and giant swells of sea-foam burst on its shores over and over. The air smelt of salt and Niamh hoped she'd be able to concentrate better out here. Jomen continued to sleep, and Aarin assured her that he'd come and get her if he woke.
Dust from the pages clung to her fingertips. Tiny blue droplets splashed across the page. Niamh lifted her hand, dismayed.
"Oh no!"
She traced the fractured crack and hugged the depreciating bracelet to herself. One ice-burg bumped another, pushing it below the surface. Niamh let her mind wander, as she watched it resurface again, breaking the sea into a swelling, crested wave that fell across yet another floating iceberg.
✽✽✽
"Tell us again Aunty!"
"Yes, tell us!"
Niamh knocked the snow off her boots and smiled at the scene that lay before her. Stew simmered on the stove. The fire blazed and her two younger sisters sat perched on each arm of the sofa, with Aunty in between, pretending to be very busy.
"Girls, girls!” said Aunty. “I have so much to do!"
"But it's the coldest night of the year!"
"And it's the winter solstice, just like the day you saw us for the first time."
"I like it better when Aunty tells it."
"Well she hasn't started telling it, I was just doing the first little bit..."
"Hush girls!” said Aunty. “Alright, now that we're all together," she paused, smiling across at Niamh who flopped into the sofa closest to the fire. The warmth made her sleepy, but Niamh wouldn't miss a re-telling for anything.
Aunty leaned forward, eyes alert and sparkling. She raised her hands like she was spinning wool. Niamh knew she would weave the story with her hands along with her words.
"I was puffed, from running,” said Aunty, beginning her tale, “such a night! It was cold, yes, you are right young one, a night just like this. As I lifted the pot to the hook above the fire, I heard a noise..."
"A baby's cry!" said Tatyana. She copped a massive eye roll from Ariana, but neither took it any further, as the story was too good to fully interrupt.
"Matching bangles, one, two, three...
"Don't say it!" said Tatyana, interrupting Aunty, with one finger pointed at Ariana. Niamh relaxed, this routine had been acted out so many times before in this small house.
Aunty tapped the two girls on their knees and waited. When the shuffling settled she continued, "A trio of babes, sent to me."
Aunty said the words like a recited poem.
✽✽✽
"You okay?"
Startled out of her reverie, Niamh spun, her hair flying out around her.
"Uh. Yeah, just lost in thought."
Niamh ran her hand over the heavy book
that remained in place on top of the trolley and said, "Have you ever seen anything like this?"
Caeednce took a closer look. Pursing her lips she shook her head.
"Me neither. Also, look at this," said Niamh, showing her bracelet to Caeednce, pointing to the breakage. "It's leaking, and I keep having these strange memories..."
"Like suppressed ones?"
"Maybe,” said Niamh, “It’s like part of my mind was locked away, or something was hidden...I'm not sure, to be honest."
"That’s okay,” said Caeednce. “We're living in strange times." She leaned closer and read the opening lines under the illustration.
"This is about the old arts, and even more ancient, the guardians. Their symbols and markings, their jewellery. Did the apprentice think your bracelet matched this?"
Niamh examined the marking on her own bangle and compared them with the page laying before her. Her eyes widened.
"It can't be!"
"Why not?” said Caeednce. “You didn't know your mother, you've shared that much. What do you know about your father? Is it possible that you're the secret heir?"
Caeednce's words tumbled together and swam in Niamh's mind.
"Me?” she said, “The heir? That's impossible. Besides, these symbols - they're older than that. They do match though."
Niamh stopped. Too much contradicted everything Aunty had taught her about herself.
"It's not impossible though, is it?” said Caeednce. “You don't know who your father was, and you carry an important heirloom of Gutheacia. You and your twin sisters all have one, right?"
"That’s right,” said Niamh. “But it still doesn't make any sense."
"Yeah, there are many questions. I have many of my own,” said Caeednce. Moving to the railing, Caeednce pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and stared out at the sea. “I grew up in your King's palace, did I ever tell you that?"
Niamh’s mouth hung open.
"But you-” said Niamh, “I thought you said you came from-"
"I know,” said Caeednce, tucking her hair behind her ears. “And yes, my mother is originally from there. But my parents did not survive the passage from the Island Palace, the same way you and Veayre almost didn’t survive."
