Prophecy of the Sisters

by Michelle Zink

  I move toward him, stopping to place a hand on his shoulder. “I am… I am sorry, Edmund. For your loss.”

  The words hang between us, and I wonder for a moment if he is terribly angry. If he shall ever forgive me for losing the boy he loved so dearly.

  But when he looks at me, it is with surprise and a kindness of his own. He nods. “Thank you. And I for yours.”

  I hesitate, before asking for the favor I have no right to ask, least of all now. Even still, there is something I must do, and I cannot do it without Edmund’s help.

  “I need a ride to town, Edmund. I… I need to see James. And I need to see him tonight. Will you take me?” The barriers have fallen between us. I am not asking our servant to transport me to town. I am asking Edmund. The nearest I have left to a father.

  He nods without hesitation, reaching behind him for his hat. “I’ll do anything you ask, Miss. Anything at all.” And with that, he opens the door of the carriage.

  The light coming from the bookstore is dim with the coming evening. Edmund stands patiently and without prompting in the open door to the carriage, as if he knows how difficult the next moments will be and seeks to give me the time I need.

  I have tried to practice what I shall say, how I shall explain to James the prophecy, my role in it, and why I must leave, if only for a while. Even still, nothing I have practiced brings with it the guarantee that James will see fit to love me still, and so I have decided on nothing at all. I shall have to tell him in whatever way I can, allowing things to unfold as they will.

  Stepping from the carriage, I march quickly to the book-shop, unaware until he speaks that Edmund is right on my heels.

  “I’ll wait right here, Miss.” He leans against the building near the door in a way that tells me there will be no argument, and I smile faintly before stepping into the warmth of the shop.

  Breathing in the smell, I stand for a moment trying to commit it to memory. I don’t know when I will return. I have become used to these small moments of melancholy, these moments when I realize all I will be leaving behind. There is no use fighting them.

  “Lia!” James emerges from the curtain blocking the back room. He crosses to me quickly, the worry evident in his eyes. “What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

  I look down at my skirt for a moment, bracing myself for the difficulty in the words I know I must say. When I finally look into his eyes, I want to throw myself into his arms, to lose myself in the comfort I know I will find there, to forget the thing that stands between us.

  “I’m… I’m bearing up. I suppose you could say I am as well as can be expected.” I try to smile bravely, but it must not be very convincing, for James sweeps me into his embrace.

  “Lia… Oh Lia! I’ve tried to see you. I’ve come calling every day. Did Virginia tell you?” His voice is a fierce whisper in my hair.

  “Yes. I’m sorry, James. I… I simply couldn’t speak to anyone. Not to anyone.”

  He pulls away, holding my shoulders as he surveys my face. “Of course. Anyone would feel the same. But why? Why have you come all this way? You need only send a message, and I will come to you. You shouldn’t have troubled yourself to come in the dark and cold.” He leans toward the window, seeming satisfied to see Edmund leaning against the wall outside.

  I take a deep breath. “I… I had to speak to you. Tonight. I needed to ask you for something.” That’s it, I think. Just like that. A little at a time.

  “All right. But come get warm, Lia. Come and sit by the fire.” He takes my hand, already pulling me to the warmth of the back room.

  I shake my head, remaining with my feet rooted firmly to the ground. “No!” It comes out harsher than I intend, but I must not be lulled to the comfort of the fire and the back room, for once there I shall never leave. “I can’t. That is, I… Let us speak here, James. Please?”

  His eyes seem to darken with the desperation in my voice. He nods reluctantly, but when he speaks, his voice holds such determination that I cannot deny his words. “You must know that whatever it is, whatever you need, I will do it for you. I will give it to you if it is in my power to give.”

  I feel his gaze on me as I focus on the books over his shoulder. His words should bring me comfort and courage. They should serve to remind me that James will do anything I ask, give me anything I need. But somehow they do not. Somehow his resolve only seems to prove that which, somewhere inside, I have suspected all along: James will not turn his back. He will insist on accompanying me to London, to the ends of the earth if necessary, rather than see me go alone into harm’s way.

  When I look back into his eyes, the untruth I tell is the hardest lie I shall ever utter. “It is… it is nothing, really. Only that I fear it will be some time before I can go on as before. Before I can… overcome what has happened.” My words become softer and softer as I speak them, until the end is but a whisper, and I find it is not an untruth after all. For I know now that there will never be a time when I will go on as before.

  He breathes deeply, as if relieved, smiling softly into my face and taking my hands. “No one expects it to be otherwise. Least of all me. I’ll be right here waiting, however long it takes.”

  Returning his smile, I stand on tiptoe to kiss his smooth cheek. “Thank you, James. I pray that is true.” I turn to go before I change my mind.

  “Lia?”

  When I turn back he is holding his hand to his cheek, as if trying to keep my kiss from floating away.

  “I love you.” He says it as if he knows he will not see me again, though surely he cannot. “I love you, Lia.”

  “And I you, James.” My throat closes with emotion as I say the words.

  And then I am out the door, closing it firmly behind me and turning to Edmund. “Thank you, Edmund. I’m finished here.”

  34

  This time when I knock on Alice’s door, I wait for a reply. The saving of one’s life does elicit a strange sort of politeness, no matter the things that have come before it.

  “Come in.” Alice’s voice sounds small behind the giant door, like it did when we were children.

  I open the door slowly. I have avoided this conversation, the last true goodbye I must make. And by far the most difficult for the finality it brings.

  “Alice.” I stand formally at the end of her bed while she maintains her own position by the bureau.

  “Lia. Are you well?” Her eyes are kind, her voice sincere.

  I shake my head as her eyes grow large with new concern.

  “What… what is it? Have you spoken to the doctor?”

  My throat hurts when I swallow, and for a moment I wonder if I shall begin to weep, if the tears I thought I had used to extinction can be back so soon.

  “No. There is nothing the doctor can do for me. He cannot bring back Henry, can he?” In my voice I hear the plaintive question. Not a question at all, really. And yet my voice allows for an answer other than the one we both know to be true.

  Alice shakes her head. “No.”

  I grab on to her bedpost, rubbing my thumb across the warm wood if only for something to do with my restless hands. “I’m leaving early tomorrow.”

  “Aunt Virginia told me. You’ll be in London, then?”

  I nod. Aunt Virginia and I discussed the merits of keeping my destination a secret, but the truth is, I fear Alice far more in the Otherworlds than I do in my own. And then there is the matter of my position as Gate. Alice is most certainly in a quandary, for though she might like to see me out of the way, she also must acknowledge, if only to herself, that she is better off hoping to change my mind than doing away with me altogether.

  At least, this is what I tell myself in my darkest moments. In the moments when I force myself to acknowledge that my life is in jeopardy at the hands of my own sister.

  She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Lia. I did not mean… that is, I don’t know why I… why I did what I did. It all happened so quickly, did it not?”

  I s
hould be angry. I should be beside myself with rage. And yet I find a strange numbness in my heart. My anger is as helpless and weak as my cold limbs after I was pulled from the river.

  “Yes. It happened very quickly.” It is a whisper, the memory of those moments a ghost that will not let me rest. “But you have placed yourself firmly on one side of the prophecy. The other side.”

  “We have been on opposite sides since the beginning of time, Lia. We never had a single chance to be anything but adversaries. Don’t you see it, even now? Do you seek to blame one or the other of us still? Can we not simply accept that this is our destiny? That no fault lies with either one of us?”

  I lean my head against the bed, staring at the reeded carving in the slender post. “It is true that our names were written in the prophecy long ago, Alice. But there was a choice. For us both. There is always a choice. You have made yours. And I have made mine as well. It is only too bad they are not one and the same.”

  She walks toward me, smiling her real Alice smile, and I know I shall remember it always when I think of my sister. That shining smile that makes one willing to do almost anything to feel its warmth. When she reaches me she puts her hand on the post near mine, leaning in until we are touching foreheads as we did when we were girls.

  “I will miss you, Lia. Whatever happens.”

  Her skin is cool on mine. “And I as well.” I straighten up, afraid that if I stay close to my sister for too long I shall forget who she is. I shall forget what she wants, what she has done. “But we will meet again.”

  She takes a step back, reaching for my hand before dropping it just as quickly. “Yes.”

  I look into the bottomless green of her eyes, a mirror to my own. “You will not reconsider your position, then? Even now?”

  She shakes her head. “Especially now. Abandoning our cause for one destined to fail would be foolish.” Her gaze, unwavering, turns as icy and empty as the lake in winter. “And I am anything but foolish, Lia.”

  I can only nod. With her words, the battle lines are more deeply etched. The next time we meet, we will not look so kindly upon one another.

  There is nothing left to say. I turn quickly, filled to overflowing with such regret, such sadness, and finally, such anger. I leave her room without a backward glance, closing the door behind me. Closing the door on the sister I once knew.

  I return to my room to find the door ajar, but it is not this alone that stops me. It is that singular sensation of empty space that is difficult to define but that so often follows the leaving of one from a room.

  I look around, trying to determine if anything is amiss, but the windows are closed, and everything is as I left it.

  Except for the piece of paper lying on my writing desk.

  I cross the room warily. Though I’m quite sure I am alone, it is disconcerting to know that someone has been among my private things. When I come to the desk, I reach down and lift the paper from its surface. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the fire. I must hold the paper very close to my face in order to make out the words, and even then it takes me moment to focus on the curving script, though the message is simple and short.

  To find the book’s end,

  cross the ancient wood to the mystic isle.

  Until then, prepare yourself for the coming battle.…

  And trust no one.

  I drop to the desk chair, still holding the piece of paper in my hand. The hopelessness that has been my familiar companion in the days since Henry’s death lifts just a little. In its place is a sense of purpose.

  I look back down at the note. It bears no signature, but it doesn’t matter. It is a clear sign of how very much my life has changed that I know well the meaning behind the cryptic words, if not those responsible for its delivery.

  The missing pages of the book are still out there.

  I must find them and use them to bring an end to the prophecy.

  And then try to begin again.

  I pause with the quill over paper for some time, trying to find the words. Despite our conversation in the bookshop, it would be unfair to leave without telling James some measure of the truth, for is not James my oldest friend, my dearest ally, my truest heart?

  And yet, there is no place in the prophecy for love. Not now.

  Involving him would be nothing but selfishness, but neither do I want to hurt him. I must try to explain without telling him too much. I must try to make him understand the time I require. Time away from him, from Birchwood, from Alice. From all the things that only keep me from the answers that will bring an end to the prophecy once and for all.

  I don’t know if it will be enough — my small words, my meaningless platitudes, my empty apologies. But it is all that my mother left to me and all I can manage under the weight of my grief and with the knowledge of the fight ahead.

  Dearest James,

  I will not say goodbye. For this is not the end of our love. How can it be, when your heart has beat next to mine almost since our hearts began beating at all?

  No, we are two sides to the same coin. We belong to one another, have always belonged to one another.

  I think of your warm lips on mine, of your words on Thanksgiving, and I tell you “yes.” Yes, I will be yours. Yes, I wish to spend my life with you. Yes, I long to feel my hand in yours for all of eternity.

  But these things cannot come to pass until I find the answers to a question I have only just been asked. A question both dangerous and dark, and as I search for its answer, I do not wish to involve you, though I know you would argue this decision if you could.

  I write this letter instead of speaking to your beloved face because I know you will try to stop me. I know you will demand answers. I know you will not let me leave without your help, your counsel. And the truth is, I do not trust in my own strength to resist.

  And yet I shall. You must trust me if you have ever trusted me, if you have ever loved me. You must trust that I would never leave you if there were another way. And you must trust me to come back to you. For I will, James. I will. You have the promise of my love, and you must carry it close to your heart until I can bring to an end the things that would keep us from one another.

  You have always kept me safe. And now you must believe that it is my task to do the same. To keep us both safe so that someday we might be together as one.

  I endeavor to be true to you, James. And I pray you will wait. If you will wait, I will return. You have my word and my love.

  Yours,

  Lia

  35

  The train rattles under us as we speed through the night. There are windows, but there is no point looking through them. I have already tried, and it is as black as pitch.

  At first I worry that I will be sick, the way I so often am in the carriage when I cannot see out the windows, but this time the rocking and swaying bring me comfort. I think if only we can stay on this train, rocking and swaying forever, everything will be all right. Not the way it once was, but perhaps all right just the same.

  A warm hand reaches over, covering mine. When I look up, I am met by Sonia’s smile, at once excited and concerned. Convincing her to accompany me was not as hard as I expected.

  My only bag is stuffed under my seat. In it are an extra gown, a few essentials, and the knife from Alice’s room. The rest of my things have been sent ahead to London. Aunt Virginia has arranged everything, writing to let the staff there know that I am coming. Milthorpe House, like Birchwood, has been in the family for ages. We shall be comfortable, Sonia and I, while Sonia teaches me the ways of our gifts. While we contact Philip Randall and seek out the remaining keys. While I become strong enough, in this world and the others, to fight the battle at which I am the center.

  Luisa will join us at a later date, when she has found a way to have herself removed from Wycliffe with a minimum of suspicion and disappointment to her father in Italy. Saying goodbye was difficult. But it is written in the stars, and on the marks of our wrists, that w
e shall meet again.

  Sonia squeezes my hand, and when I look down I see the medallion, gleaming taut and flat against her wrist. This is the bargain we have struck. I do not know if the medallion will remain on her wrist, or if it will find its way back to me the way it has in the past. It is my hope that it will be secure, that the power of the soul entrusted with its care will keep it from traveling back to me. Sonia is not the Gate. Samael cannot come through her, though she has warned me that the Souls will attempt to trick her, to frighten her, to harass her in any manner of ways until they succeed in their quest to get to me. But she is stronger than I in the ways of the Otherworlds. If anyone will hold them at bay, if anyone will give me the time I need to prepare for the battle ahead, it will be Sonia.

  Will it work? Or will the medallion find its way to my wrist during some fitful night, carrying me to the Otherworlds and the Beast that will use me as its gate, as a conduit to the battle that will begin the Seven Plagues?

  I do not have the answers. Not yet.

  It is all I can do to travel forward into my future, that dark and shapeless shadow that lies in wait. Into the future my mother never quite reached, hoping for a way to fulfill my own part in the story. For a way to find the missing pages and the remaining keys. There are those who will always be with me — my mother and father, Aunt Virginia, James, even Alice.

  And Henry. Henry is my talisman through every dark night.

  I recall his somber eyes during that last, private conversation. His eyes and his words, far too wise for a boy of ten: only time will tell, Lia.

  In the end, I suppose it will.