Nocturne

by Louise Cooper

  She had done it. She had killed the cancer, the vampire, the soul-eater. She, and the Brabazons. And Grimya. Grimya was beside her; but silent, silent as the others.

  And on the far side of the stage …

  Forth saw Indigo’s body freeze, and saw the expression of disbelief and terror and another emotion far beyond his experience that crept slowly over her face. In an instant all his anger and resentment were forgotten, and he dropped his reed-pipe, starting forward, reaching out to her—

  And stopped.

  The man was black-haired, dark-eyed, dressed in the sober garb of one who knew and loved the life of a wide and varied world. His face was brown and scarred, as though he’d known the scourges of wind and fire and salt seas and other torments better left unspoken. And as he looked at the man’s eyes, and then at Indigo’s face, Forth knew who he must be. And in that moment he understood at last what love—real love, and not youthful passion—truly was.

  Fenran smiled, and the smile made Forth look away in shame. He couldn’t watch as, silently, the dark-haired figure stepped towards Indigo and reached down to take her hand; couldn’t witness the twining of their fingers, the kiss that Fenran, leaning down, planted lightly and yet so poignantly on Indigo’s upturned lips as she raised her pleading, longing eyes to his. A board creaked under Fenran’s foot, old wood protesting. And when Forth looked again there was only Indigo, kneeling on the Revels stage and weeping silently as sounds of life and activity began to swell slowly about them, and the first rays of the true sun began to slant across the rooftops of Bruhome.

  •BRUHOME•

  Grimya said: So we can stay? For a little while?

  “Yes.” Indigo smiled gently, and reached out to stroke the she-wolf’s brindled head. “At least for a little while.”

  Outside the caravan she could hear the crackle of the fire, and the first rich aromas of the meal Chari was preparing drifted on the light early-evening breeze, mingling with the cooler scents of the river. In a few minutes they would eat, and then it would be time to make their way to the square for the evening’s performance. Nine days of the Autumn Revels. Nine days of celebrating the harvest, and of thanksgiving to the Earth Mother for Bruhome’s deliverance.

  The sickness was gone. There had been no new victims, and in the light of the dawn that had finally broken after the long, supernatural night, most of the sleepers had been found safe in their beds and waking with nothing but memories of a feverish dream. Deliverance had come too late for some, whose souls had already gone to feed the vampiric hunger of the demon; but the numbers of the dead were few, and though they mourned the lost ones, the living still had much to celebrate. Even some who had disappeared in the early days of the blight had returned, dazed and weak but fundamentally unharmed. And though the hop harvest had fallen prey to the blight, the grapes were recovering and the apples would yield a rich bounty.

  Now, Bruhome wanted music and song and laughter, to heal the last wounds and help the district to forget the horrors of recent days. Already, with their customary pragmatism, the townsfolk had devised their own myth to explain the ills that had assailed them. The myth was not the truth, but it was more comfortable to rational minds, and in time it would become enshrined as the harsher truths faded into the past.

  But for Indigo and Grimya, the memories wouldn’t fade and the truth would not become obscured by time. The secret that they shared with the elder Brabazons—and in particular with Forth and Esty—was one which, by instinctive agreement, would rarely be spoken of even in the most private moments. Perhaps, in years to come, the Fairplayers would create a new allegorical tale for their repertoire; but the true secret would be kept forever.

  Indigo’s hand closed over the lodestone, which she had taken from its pouch and held in her hand for a while. The stone felt warm, and the golden pinpont was now quiet at its center. She had watched the tiny light tremble, shifting towards the stone’s edge to point northward; but at sight of it something had risen in her; a sense of strength, a sense of certainty. She would not be commanded. The lodestone had been her master, and she had danced to its tune. But now, that would change. The lodestone would be a master no longer, but a servant; and as a servant, it would also be a friend. She would follow where it led; but in her own way and her own time. And that time was not yet. She would stay a while, for here she had found friends, and had learned again what it was to be happy.

  Silently in her mind, Indigo said: No. And the golden pinpont quivered, and obeyed.

  She had the power. Strange that it had taken an entity whose watchword was illusion to reveal such a truth to her; but the lesson had been profound. She was beginning to understand a little of what she truly was—and perhaps a little of what truly lay behind her enduring quest. And as time went on, as she embarked upon new journeys, she would continue to learn.

  An image slipped fleetingly past her inner eye. Fenran. One brief moment, one precious touch. Her strength had brought him to her. Her strength, alone. Then in the wake of that knowledge a new image formed, and she smiled as she slid the lodestone back into its pouch. Golden eyes and silver eyes; and between them, her own young-old, blue-violet gaze. Three disparate entities. Or were they? she thought. Or were they?

  Footsteps sounded on the van steps, and a shadow fell across the half-open door. Indigo looked up, and saw Forth.

  “Behind the moon?” He smiled at her, still a little tentative although, slowly, the diffidence was fading.

  Indigo smiled back. “Just daydreaming, Forth.”

  “Food’s ready. And then we’d best be getting along to the square, or our public will get restive! And—” he hesitated.

  “And?”

  Forth’s smile broadened into a faintly sheepish grin. “There’s to be dancing in the square after the show’s over. I was wondering if you might partner me in the first reel?”

  She looked into his eyes, and felt a blend of sadness and thankfulness. Forth loved her; but he understood now that she would never be for him. Fenran, whether ghost or man of flesh and blood, had shown him that truth; he was learning to accept it, and youth and resilience were already coming to his aid. He’d find another love, an enduring love, in time. And until then he was content to be her friend.

  Indigo rose to her feet and held out a hand, squeezing his fingers lightly. “Yes, Forth,” she said. “I’ll be honored.”

  Scanned and proofed against paperback. TK June 2013 HTML v1.0