“We’re here! Everybody out!” Naomi barked.
Avery pushed the door open and slid out into the downpour. For a moment her dress was speckled with water, then it darkened as the rain drenched it. Arabel grimaced and followed suit, tapping Charlotte—well, the one she was assuming was Charlotte—on the way out.
“We’re here,” she whispered, and probably-Charlotte immediately sat bolt upright, shaking maybe-Ferne, who mumbled something sleepily.
Arabel stepped out into the rain before they could ask her anything more, felt it immediately soak into her hair and blouse. It was cold, too. Icy. She squinted into the darkness, breathing in the sharp air, so different than what she was used to.
Naomi thrust her bag at her, and she just barely grabbed it before Naomi let go, narrowly avoiding dropping it into a mud puddle. She hoisted it over her shoulder and moved around the side of the carriage. A green gate stood flanked by oil lanterns. It must have been twelve feet tall, at least. In the flickering light, Arabel could see carvings of men and women carrying soul blades, guarding caravans of travelers, standing between beautiful cities and towering monsters. Moss grew in the indentations, and she could see places where the door had been burned and the designs on it smashed. It had been skillfully repaired, but in a way that left the signs of what it had been through. Some of the cracks were filled with gold.
David approached, his small pack slung over one shoulder. “Welcome to Castle Claria,” he said. “That door is eight hundred years old.” He pointed to one of the burns. “It’s weathered plenty of attacks. We haven’t always had such friendly relations with Norbury.”
“Norbury?”
“The town we passed through.”
“Oh.”
“All right, come on, no point standing in the rain longer than we have to.” Naomi inserted an ancient key into the gate and turned it. It clicked, and as she pushed the mighty doors swung inward, revealing a wide paved path.
They left the carriage and made their way down the path, which was lit with yet more lanterns and flanked by towering ancient guardians of stone looming over them.
To her left, behind the lines of statues, the rain pummeled a muddy field; the dark shapes of sheds squatted at the far end. She breathed in the odor of hay and animals. A man was making his way towards them through the dark, his boots squelching in the mud.
“Welcome back, Master Albury,” he called.
“Evening, Walt.” Naomi nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “The horses are fine; that new shoe stayed put.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“There’s some extra luggage.” Her voice darkened and she glanced at Ferne and Charlotte. “Would you mind taking it up to the dorms?”
“Sure, fine.” He waved a hand affably and squelched off towards the gates.
Arabel turned her attention back to the castle ahead. Now this was better than Glimcrick. Just visible in the darkness, a wide stone staircase climbed a steep incline. Beyond it, two towers loomed up into the rainy night, one on the left, one on the right. Climbing down off one of those would be a real challenge. She gave a hop of excitement and hurried along behind Naomi, squinting into the darkness around her.
They reached the end of the lane and started up the stairs, splashing through puddles. Strings of blue lights crisscrossed above their path. Arabel craned her neck upwards, trying to see the tops of the towers. They reached the top of the stairs and stopped before a round central plaza.
Arabel froze. Nearly two hundred figures in black cloaks, each one carrying a candle, protected from the rain by the cowls of their cloaks, stood facing them. They were arranged on either side of a wide path which ended at a charred dais in the center. Stone basins filled with flames lit the edges of the plaza, which was utterly silent except for the pounding of the rain. Not a single figure moved or fidgeted. How long have they been standing here? She glanced at Avery, then Ferne. No one else looked surprised.
Naomi led them through the silent crowd; their faces were weirdly illuminated by the candles they held. When they reached the center of the plaza the crowd around them dropped to their knees, bowing their heads in unison.
On the dais, a single figure remained standing. He wore no cloak, and rain poured down through his thin white hair, speckling his round glasses which glinted in the candlelight. He was tall, dressed plainly in leather boots and a battered leather jerkin over a simple linen tunic—all soaked, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He clasped his hands together and bowed deeply.
“Welcome, aspirants, to Castle Claria. I am Archguard Pembroke.” He remained bowing for several seconds as the rain thundered down around them, then turned to Naomi. “Master Albury, who seeks to join us?”
Naomi lifted her chin, the rain running down her face and dripping off the sodden ends of her hair, glowing in the light of the candles.
“Avery Rosewall seeks to attempt our training, Archguard.” Naomi gestured to Avery who stepped forward, drawing something out from under her cloak. She knelt, holding whatever it was up for him and bowing her head. Arabel’s stomach churned as she glanced around; no one else seemed surprised. Was she supposed to give him something?
“The guardians accept your tribute,” the archguard said, taking whatever it was from her. Arabel squinted and leaned forward, trying to see what she’d given him.
Avery moved off to the side, and Naomi continued. “Ferne Northway seeks to attempt our training, Archguard.” One of the twins stepped forward—so that was Ferne. Arabel tried to find some identifying feature, to no avail. The girl knelt, and she too held something up. Arabel craned her neck further forward, trying to get a good look at it, but it was just something in a bag. Clearly there was something no one had thought to tell her. She glanced at Naomi. Unless she was imagining it, that was a look of self-satisfaction. Arabel turned to David, who looked mortified. He tried to mime something at her. It looked like climbing a ladder and then emptying a bucket. Arabel lifted an eyebrow, shook her head, then shrugged. Naomi would have to try a lot harder than that if she wanted to embarrass her.
Charlotte went next. Naomi was calling Arabel last, just to make her sweat. When her name was called, Arabel approached. The old man was a few inches taller than she was, and when their eyes locked through his misted glasses something in Arabel’s stomach jolted in recognition. She knew him from somewhere, but she couldn’t think where.
Arabel pulled her father’s ruby ring from her pocket and held it out. The archguard took it, examining it thoughtfully, then his piercing blue eyes met hers again. “The guardians accept your tribute.”
Arabel moved away, only realizing seconds later that she’d forgotten to kneel. Naomi looked like she was barely concealing her fury.
The silent crowd around them remained kneeling and motionless as Naomi led the newcomers to the tower to the left. She pulled a large oak door open and they followed her through the opening in the tower wall—at least two feet thick—into an enormous semicircular room with a fire blazing at one side.
Cozy. Thick pillars, ringed with wooden tables and bench seats, supported a buttressed ceiling. No high table. Her father would not approve.
Oooh, food. Arabel’s stomach gurgled as she caught sight of two bowls—one with apples and one with scones, at one end of a table near a small wooden door.
“This is the dining hall,” Naomi said, heading for a circular stone staircase in the middle of the room. “That food is for anyone.”
Arabel grabbed a scone. Still warm. She shoved it into her mouth as she trailed behind the others.
“This is the new tower,” Naomi continued, not even slightly out of breath as they ascended.
“Oh,” Charlotte said, gasping. “Was it built recently?”
“Twelve hundred years ago.”
“Er…”
Naomi was taking steps two at a time now. “The rest of the castle is much older.”
“I… see,” Charlotte said, lifting her skirts and jogging along behind her.
The floor above had a circular landing that ringed the staircase. Around that was a stone wall with doors at regular intervals. They all had brass nameplates on them, but they were all blank except one, which read “David.”
“First floor of the acolyte dorms,” Naomi said.
David came jogging up the stairs behind them.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered in Arabel’s ear. “I completely forgot you wouldn’t know about—”
“It’s fine,” Arabel said through a mouthful of scone. “What was I supposed to give him?”
“Anything of value, or something symbolic. It’s supposed to be payment for your training.”
“Ha. Well, great.”
David waved to the others. “Night everybody, welcome to Castle Claria.” He disappeared into his room.
They spiraled up through another floor, which looked exactly the same except all the name plates were blank. The next floor was completely open, the walls around the edges filled with arched windows, dark and spattered with rain. A gust of wind moaned around the eves, throwing rain harder against the glass. Six or seven columns supported another buttressed ceiling. A few of these columns doubled as fireplaces, dark and empty.
“Acolyte lounge…”
They passed another empty floor of dorms, then came to another lounge. This one had a fire burning in one of the fireplaces, surrounded by comfortable-looking couches.
“Aspirant lounge. You can spend your free time here. If you have it. Which you shouldn’t.”
Ferne shrieked. A blue light was approaching, wending its way around one of the couches and moving towards them.
Naomi bent as the blue shape approached. “This is Archie,” she said, scratching at the apparition. It appeared to be a ghostly cat, glowing robin’s egg blue. Ferne and Charlotte edged back, but Arabel bent down and it approached, sniffing at her hand.
“What is it?”
“An eidolon.”
Charlotte and Ferne backed farther away.
“He won’t bother you. He’s been here five hundred years and never tried to possess anyone. As far as we can tell, he is the only eidolon who ever voluntarily left the person he belonged to.”
“Oooh, why?” Charlotte asked.
Naomi pursed her lips. “He belonged to a man named Francis, a record and account keeper. Archie was Francis’ sense of adventure. The rest of Francis had no interest in adventure, so Archie eventually left without him.” Ha. Arabel could understand that.
“Five hundred years?” Avery asked. “But what happened when Francis died?”
“He showed up here, trying to reintegrate with Archie, but Archie wasn’t interested. So Francis stayed. He does our accounts now.”
Archie lifted his ghostly tail and leaped into the darkness, sinking straight through the floor.
“He won’t bother you. He does have a somewhat twisted sense of what counts as adventure, though. So if he’s following you, rethink your choices.” She directed this straight at Arabel, who rolled her eyes.
“Come on,” Naomi said, continuing their climb up the staircase. The next floor was another dorm, with a ring of rooms around its perimeter. These brass plaques had names. The first read “Ferne and Charlotte.”
“Here,” Naomi said, handing them each a key. “I’ll be back to get you tomorrow. Don’t expect to be woken up every morning.”
They passed by a door that read “Alistair” without stopping. “Alistair, the man in the carriage with you, will be staying with us for a while. He may attend some of your lessons as he recuperates.”
To Arabel’s surprise, the plaque on the next door read “Avery and Arabel.” Avery bowed to Naomi. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for joining us,” Naomi said, returning a brief nod of respect and handing her a key.
She thrust the other key into Arabel’s hands and walked off.
Arabel unlocked the door and entered the large, comfortable room. Two lanterns hung from hooks in the ceiling beams, which radiated like wheel spokes from the staircase towards the outer walls. Two oak four poster beds sat against opposing walls; a window in between looked out into the dark, rain-spattered night. A thick rug lay over a cold stone floor. Each bed had a chest at its foot, a nearby desk, and a few bare pine shelves. Arabel dumped her bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the pillowy mattress.
Avery aligned her bags on her desk in a neat row and began lifting out stacks of carefully folded clothes and arranging them in the chest.
“So, where are you from?” she asked casually.
“Myrefall. You?”
“I think I was born about forty miles west of there, on an old mining road in the mountains. We were lost at the time, so I’m not sure exactly where.” Right. She was a merchant. Avery pulled a clay pot, painted to look like the night sky, from her bag and set it on the desk. After that came colored wool, knitting needles, a flute, a set of knives, an axe, several thick books, and some leather pouches. One of the bags turned out to contain an unstrung bow and a quiver of arrows.
“How did you hear about the guardians?” Avery asked, her back turned, unaware that Arabel was gaping at her.
“My father. Did you get all that on your travels?”
“Oh, yeah.” She pointed at the pot. “That was at the night market in Arynell. Have you ever been there?”
“Nope.” Arabel turned onto her side and propped her head on her hand. “So, you guys must have had to deal with demons a lot, then?”
Avery nodded, pulling a book back off the shelf and sticking it in two places later. Arabel realized with horror that she was alphabetizing them. There were only ten books there. How much time was that going to save her?
“We used wards of course, like everyone, but both our backups broke on a long run through the Gray Pass. That’s when we ran into trouble. Luckily a guardian came along, got us to safety. Have you heard anything about what the training is like?”
“Not really.” Arabel flopped onto her back and looked up at the rough beams of the ceiling. “David said there’s some test at the beginning, he didn’t say what it was, though.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Did you know eidolons are people?” Arabel asked.
“Yeah, you?”
“Not until David told me.”
Avery ran a finger along the spines of the books, then yawned hugely.
“I think I’ll turn in,” she said. “Do you mind if I blow out the lamp soon?”
“Yeah, sure, me too.” Arabel pulled off her boots and climbed under her covers. For the first time in a long time she was sleeping in a bed and there was no one to make her put on a night dress. This was going to be an excellent time-saver. Way better than alphabetizing ten books.
6
Arabel lay there between the scratchy sheets, fully intending to go to sleep like a responsible person, but she couldn’t relax. At first the rain on the window was pleasant, and it felt good to lie down after travelling for so many days, but then her back started to hurt. She rolled over onto her stomach, but then her neck started to hurt. She rolled over again, trying to think of something relaxing, but nothing occurred to her. Pretty soon she started to get hungry again.
Just go to sleep, she told herself, but her stomach only complained more loudly. Finally she threw back the covers, slipped her feet into her sodden boots, and opened the door a crack, peeking out onto the landing. It was pitch black, but she made her way down the staircase and into the dining hall by feel. The fire had burned to coals, but the dim red light was just enough to see by.
The scones and apples were still there, and she plopped down onto a bench, starting in on a scone. The room was quiet and orderly, peaceful in a way that only a place that had been used by people for a long time could be. The only sound was the rain running down the gutters outside.
She ate two more scones and was feeling wide awake now. Naomi hadn’t said anything about them not being allowed to explore. Of course, she coul
d guess that was because Naomi assumed no one would go out tonight alone. She would just step outside for a minute. Archie appeared, winding around her boots as she strode over to the door.
Arabel had had enough bad ideas in her life that she could recognize one when it came to her. But bad ideas, while they rarely turned out well, often turned out interestingly. She swallowed the last bite of scone, brushed haphazardly at the crumbs on her shirt, and stepped out into the night.
The wind beat a sheet of rain against her and she was immediately soaked again. Why couldn’t this have been an indoor castle? She shivered and turned back, pulling on the door handle. It didn’t budge. The door was locked. Archie had disappeared.
Well, too late now; she was already wet, the door was locked, might as well explore.
The central plaza was still lit by guttering flames in a few of the stone basins, but except for some statues the place was deserted. On the far side of the central plaza, the other huge stone tower stretched up into the sky, rows of windows—all dark—wrapped along its curving sides. She took a long, slow walk around the plaza, her arms held tightly around herself, trying to preserve what warmth she could. Set into the base of the other tower there was a tall wooden door with well-oiled black iron hinges. She grasped the door handle and tugged, but it was locked, too.
Well, that was worrisome. But, in another way, perfect. If these doors were locked, that meant that anything that was unlocked was probably fine. Definitely. Unless they locked all the doors. A brief vision of herself spending the entire night outside in this freezing downpour crossed her mind.
A narrow roof ran around this end of the plaza, vines trailing down its sides, and she made her way along, stopping to examine some of the marble statues she passed. There was one of a man with what looked like demons sprouting from his chest and back. He didn’t look horrified, though, just confused. Interesting taste in artwork.
The Eidolons of Myrefall Page 4
