Tears gathered in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. Everything had become so awful so quickly. It wasn’t so long ago that he’d been happy at JhaPel. Now, it was all falling apart, and Cyra lay dying in his arms. Her tiny heart beat so fast, and her breath came in little, helpless gasps.
Michael closed his eyes and began stroking her again, concentrating on calming her. He’d begun to feel too odd to stand up, and he had the strangest feeling that every living thing in the garden was whispering to him, telling him their stories.
I ate too fast, or I worked too hard. Didn’t drink enough water...
He seemed to be sensing Cyra’s pain even more than he usually sensed such things, too. His body hurt and glinted with sharp, knife-like pains in his stomach and chest and his leg felt as if it wouldn’t take his weight. He felt out of breath and weaker by the moment.
I’ll rest here with her, he told himself. And she won’t be alone when she dies.
“It just isn’t fair.” He remembered his introduction to the orphanage and how Cyra had been one of the first living things he’d met within its walls. They’d shared a bond from that first meeting, and he’d often awoken to find she’d burrowed in amongst his covers during the night and was sleeping, purring happily, cuddled against his ankles.
They sat together in the deepening darkness until Michael felt the strange, shared pain fade away to nothing.
She’s dead, he thought miserably. But then he gasped, and his eyes flew open. Cyra sat in his lap, looking whole and contented. Her purring rumbled through her small body, and she was carefully licking Michael’s hand where it rested against her.
He nearly shoved her away from him but instead stared in amazement as she leapt nimbly from his lap and walked away, tail held high, and disappeared into the garden’s depths.
“What happened?” he gasped. “Did I dream this?” Looking down at his hands, he saw that his fingers were still blood-stained. Cyra had been dying. He’d felt her pain. And now she seemed as well as she’d ever been.
He climbed to his feet and hurried over to the garden’s water pump where he frantically scrubbed at the blood, trying to wash away every trace of it. The stains on his clothes wouldn’t come out no matter how he tried. The best he could hope for was that they would be mistaken for more dirt stains.
Michael stood still for a long time, ignoring the water dripping from his hands, as he tried to make sense of what had happened. Had it been a miracle from Vail? But who ever heard of a miraculous cat healing?
His mind barely could call up the word he feared might be the answer, and there was no way he could bring himself to say it out loud. It was what Mabbina and her followers believed. Magic? Did I do magic? Please, Vail, don’t let it be true!
But what if it wasn’t magic? What if it was a sign from Vail Herself? What if it had been a miracle? If I could make Ethene well, then everything would be all right again. He felt immediately foolish for even thinking such a thing, but that didn’t prevent him from continuing to think about it. He sank down onto the ground again, staring at his hands.
“I must have dreamed it,” he whispered. “It isn’t possible. She must not have been as bad off as I thought.”
But what if she was? What if...?
# # #
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pol’s uncle came for him the next day, cutting short any plans or ideas the two friends might have had about how to say good-bye to each other. Pol and Michael ate morning meal together as usual, but when Michael arrived for midday meal, Pol was already gone.
The rest of the quarter-moon passed like a bad dream where every word said is loud as a shout and very little makes any sense at all. Michael moved through his days in a state of shock, feeling as if Pol had died rather than just left.
Pol had been as close as a brother to him since his arrival at JhaPel. He’d always been there for Michael, even more than Abbess Ethene or Nanna Tierna had been. I hope he’s right. I hope his uncle means it.
The other boys tried to make Michael feel better, but Ned was about to leave for his own apprenticeship. Of the old gang, only Michael and Lee would remain, and they’d never been that close. Plus, Lee had already made friends with the boy who’d taken Jiin’s place in their dorm. Soon, there would be two more new faces and minds and sets of emotions. Michael didn’t know how he would manage even one more change.
As another moon passed, Michael tried to get used to the difficult, solitary work he was now assigned. Once in awhile, Mabbina relented and let him do more usual chores with everyone else, but this was rare.
He and Pol saw each other at Prayers on holy days, which was just slightly less often than he saw Nanna Tierna. Pol always said the same thing—that his uncle had promised that he was just about to file the papers—but even he looked less certain each time. Abbess Ethene did not improve.
By spring, Ethene’s condition took a turn for the worst. Mabbina, at Ethene’s behest, began summoning her especial charges one by one to make their farewells.
Michael’s turn came on an appropriately rainy afternoon. He’d actually been assigned to garden work that day, since the planting required as many hands as possible. Mabbina found him soaked to the skin and muddy, working on the potatoes. For once, she had no sharp words for him but sent him to clean up and change clothes while she waited to escort him into the nannas’ wing where Ethene lay dying.
At all other times, the children were forbidden to enter that part of the JhaPel compound. It stood a little apart from the rest of the buildings and even looked different, built in a more ancient, awe-inspiring style. The nannas disappeared into their wing and swept out of it in their long, plain, dark-blue dresses, leaving the children to imagine what mysteries must live on the other side of the wrought-iron gates and enormous double doors.
Michael followed Nanna Mabbina through the gates and doors, hardly daring to breathe for fear his very presence might be a blasphemy. Abbess Ethene’s room was near the main doors and with barely enough time to adjust to being inside the nannas’ wing, Michael was ushered into the shadowed, silent room and left alone.
Ethene’s pain and weariness filled the room, making it difficult for Michael to concentrate on anything else. How long has she been like this?
“Is that you, Michael, my dear?” Ethene sat propped up in her bed, and she looked limp, as if she hadn’t the strength even to lift a finger. Her voice shook and sounded cracked and faded. He barely recognized it.
“Yes, senna,” he whispered. “You sent for me?”
“I wanted to say good-bye to all my dear children. You know I’m dying.”
“Nanna Mabbina said so.”
“And she’s right.” Ethene smiled at him. “Come closer, dear. Take my hand.”
Michael obeyed, though he didn’t want to touch her and experience her illness even more strongly. He couldn’t refuse to, and he wouldn’t refuse. She would think he feared her disease or was repulsed by her, and he knew he’d rather suffer with her than hurt her more.
Her skin felt like brittle paper but her grip was surprisingly strong. She held his hand tightly and smiled into his eyes.
“I’ve missed you. How have you been?”
Michael hesitated before he made a reply. He didn’t want to lie to her, but it was too late for her to help him with Mabbina, and it was far too much to put such a burden on her now.
“Great.” He forced a smile. “But I’ve missed you, too. Everyone’s getting apprenticed, so I expect it’s my turn soon.”
“Yes. A nice clerkship. I’ve told Mabbina to find you a good master—someone who will really teach you and not just let you do all the busy work.”
It sounded good to him, and he smiled. It warmed him in this dark, cold-spirited place to know she’d still been thinking about him and trying to look after him even while she’d been so unwell.
“Thank you. That sounds wonderful.”
“You’re a special child, Michael.” She returned his smile. “You have so many
talents. I think you could be an artist, but I’m afraid it will have to be your own efforts that make it happen.”
“I understand. But, I don’t want you to go—”
“Hush, dear,” she breathed. “No point in arguing with Vail Herself, is there? If it is to be my time, then I will accept it.”
“Why does it have to be your time? Why can’t Vail do a miracle?” Michael asked, and she squeezed his hand.
“If Vail granted every miracle begged of her, no one would ever die. The world needs change to keep going. We cannot live forever or avoid suffering and pain else nothing would ever happen.”
Not every miracle. But maybe one? Michael thought of Cyra.
“Vail will show you your own path.” Ethene’s voice grew weaker as she reached out to touch his face. “You’ll have so many to choose from, I’m sure. The hard part will be making the choice.”
Maybe she already has shown me my path. Maybe that’s why I’m here now. What if it is?
Michael stopped trying to resist Ethene’s pain. He reached out and touched his free hand to her cheek, echoing her own gesture as he closed his eyes. Her pain filled him immediately, spreading into every corner of his being and blotting out everything else. He gasped and returned her grip, clinging to her hand as if it were a lifeline. He knew that she was speaking, but he didn’t hear her words.
When he thought he could stand the pain no longer, it began to recede, slowly ebbing away until, after an eternity of suffering, it was simply gone.
Michael sank to his knees, so exhausted by what he’d just done that he had to lean against the bed or else fall over.
“Michael...” Ethene began. “What—?”
“What have you done?”
Michael turned to stare at Mabbina, overwhelmed by her horror and revulsion. He hadn’t expected such a reaction, in spite of his own first fear that he’d done magic to heal Cyra. He’d since convinced himself that healing must be a gift from Vail. A miracle.
“She’s well,” he said, his eyes wide with fear. “Vail healed her.”
Mabbina came at him, and he shrank back against the bedstead but couldn’t escape her. The blow she delivered knocked his head sideways and split his lip.
“Blasphemy!” Jerking him up from the floor by his collar, Mabbina shook him hard, choking him, then threw him toward the door. Michael fell sprawling on the floor, half-in and half-out of Ethene’s cell, and didn’t move but tried to catch his breath. By this time, a few of the other nannas had come running to see what was happening.
“Dear Vail!” Ethene climbed out of bed and moved to stand protectively in front of Michael. “Mabbina, leave the boy alone! Can’t you see he’s—?”
“You’re standing!” Mabbina shrieked. She turned her wild gaze on Michael who flinched. “You did something to her. She’s standing!”
“Mabbina!” Ethene sounded more irritated than alarmed. “Just stop it—”
“He’s a witch! Whiltierna brought a vile little witch into this sacred place, and now he’s damned us all!”
“This is madness.” Ethene turned to include the growing crowd of nannas, none of whom seemed to know what to do or say.
Mabbina whirled on Ethene and caught her by the shoulders. “You were dying! Vail meant for you to die!” Her eyes were wild. “Vail chose this death for you, Ethene! That accursed child performed magic to thwart the will of Vail!”
Everyone drew back from Michael, their shock slapping against him. He crawled away from Mabbina and Ethene, pulling himself up against the corridor wall where he huddled, gasping and trying to swallow.
“What if he’s right?” Ethene snapped. “What if it is a miracle? It certainly felt like one.”
“Abbess Ethene,” one of the younger nannas ventured. “Magic is evil—all magic. Isn’t that what we’re taught?”
Ethene glared at her and demanded, “Can you tell the difference between magic and a miracle? Who can judge that?”
Mabbina shook Ethene, her fury burning so hot, Michael feared the room would catch fire. “That’s enough! You’re raving! He has committed the gravest heresy and brought his own curse down on your soul, Ethene! You cannot live a life born of magic!”
At Mabbina’s final shake, she released Ethene who dropped back onto the bed where she sat, slumped on the edge, her face filled with confusion. Her eyes flickered over to Michael who looked at her, his expression pleading.
“He is so beautiful,” she breathed. “And so sweet. I cannot believe he—”
“Evil has many faces,” one of the other nannas opined, prim and disapproving. “It can seem very beautiful, indeed.”
Feeling Ethene waver, Michael struggled to his feet and moved toward them, mouthing, “no,” and shaking his head against what he knew Mabbina was going to do.
Mabbina looked over her shoulder and saw him. His eyes met hers, and her hatred burned into him. “Leave us,” she ordered. “For the good of the order, this must be done.” Two of the older, hard-faced nannas pushed through the crowd and joined Mabbina. “Hold her.” Several of the nannas seemed to think Mabbina was right but a few seemed uncertain, confused, frightened.
“NO!” Michael screamed.
Mabbina spun, took two long steps across the small room, and backhanded Michael. Drops of blood spattered across the wall behind them as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his face.
“Stop that!” Ethene struggled against her former subordinates, shouting and furious and still unaware of what Mabbina intended. “Do not do as she says!” she commanded. “This is foolish! We must have an inquiry—”
Mabbina’s hand flew out and struck Ethene this time, and the abbess staggered back against the restraining hands of her captors.
“She raves,” Mabbina said to the room. She’d become very suddenly calm. She looked at the nanna who’d said all magic was evil. “Take him away. I’ll deal with him later.”
Nannas scattered, some into the room, some away to whatever purpose they thought best at this time. Some were crying—sobbing. Michael heard screams and shouts as the women started to fight amongst each other.
The nanna assigned to deal with him, however, stayed calm and waved another woman over to help her. Each caught an arm and propelled Michael, confused and hurt and stumbling, half-blind with tears and horror, through the corridors of JhaPel.
“This way,” said the first nanna when the other began heading in the direction of the main entrance.
“We need to throw him out,” the other argued. “Mabbina isn’t thinking clearly. She wants to have an inquisition, I’m sure, but we can’t let that happen. They’ll find out about Ethene.”
The first stammered the beginnings of an argument but subsided after only a moment. “All right,” she agreed.
They’d gone only a few more lengths when Ethene’s death overtook Michael, and he went slack in the nannas’ arms, dropping to the ground and gasping. He tried not to scream.
They were merciless, however, and yanked him back to his feet, dragging him out through the front gate and across the square to the public pump.
“I’d run as far from here as I could if I were you, child,” the second nanna whispered, and then they left him there. As he watched them go, every instinct wanted to chase after them, to scream and beg for another chance. But his chances had all died with Ethene. And Mabbina killed her.
# # #
CHAPTER NINE
Jarlyth couldn’t believe his ears. He felt the flush burn up his neck and to his face as he stood in the middle of what seemed to be the entire Court.
He’d imagined it all going a different way. When he’d walked into the throne room to make his official petition, Jarlyth had been confident of the king’s continued support.
Flannery, Evander, and a few of the other “prince’s guard” had come with him in a show of solidarity. They may have to drag me out.
After all the moons spent chasing around after pirates had ended with cathartic punishment but no actual progress
toward finding Nylan, Jarlyth decided to go back to King Teodor to request more people for his search team.
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?” Jarlyth managed. Maybe he had misheard.
“I have indulged you long enough, Lord Denara.” Teodor’s eyes flicked past him, dismissing Jarlyth as if he’d been offering the king some unwanted refreshment and not pleading with him to do even more to find his lost son. “He’s dead. His murderers have finally been punished. Let this go.”
“He is not dead, Majesty!” He shouted it, his voice cracking. Jarlyth’s eyes flicked over to where Durran stood but the prince studiously avoided meeting his gaze. Whispers and titters and comments loud enough to be heard but low enough to be overlooked began to rise up all around.
“I am his warder, Your Majesty!” Jarlyth insisted. “Warders feel their charges’ lives as certainly as we feel our own. Vail Herself—!”
“Yes, Lord Denara. Yes.” Teodor waved his hand as if brushing away an annoying fly. “We all know the tale.”
The laughter grew louder. They all think he’s dead, and I’m mad—A mad fool.
Jarlyth tried again. I have to keep trying.
“If I could have just a few more men and women to help—”
“Enough!” Teodor’s shout held no note of patience.
“You made a vow to Queen Vedalanna, Sire...” A hiss came from the gathered courtiers, as if everyone of them had sucked in their breath at the same moment.
Teodor shot up from his throne and flew down the dais steps, stopping when his nose was all but pressed against Jarlyth’s. “Do not say her name, Lord Denara.” The words were bitten-off.
“I loved her more than my own life. More than my throne. And she is dead. I have had to accept that; you must accept your own loss, and move on.”
He knows. Of course, he knows. I should have seen that the day Nylan was born. He’d been young, though, and still not at ease with his powers. He’d mistaken the king’s bitterness for impatience and worry. He’d naïvely believed the king’s love for his dead queen might transfer to concern for her son.
SanClare Black (The Prince of Sorrows) Page 12
