The Hidden Icon

by Jillian Kuhlmann

As he spoke my eyes probed the membranous depths behind my eyelids, that strange focus that comes when one is forbidden to open their eyes but is not truly resigned to the restfulness that closing them requires. I could imagine the spiny leaves of the trees, their tapered points ending each in a flare of light that issued from somewhere within their papery trunks. It was harder to imagine the stones and forested litter beneath our feet as charged and alive, but I pictured such things stirred by wind or water, and it was not so great a stretch to grant them a little energy, still as they were now.

  “Good, Eiren,” Gannet murmured. I allowed him the full scope of my musings, more than the little gleaning he could take for himself. He and I were grains tumbling to pebbles grown to boulders as we hastened down a mountainside, our insides fired before inevitably shattering at the mountain’s base. But we had not hit bottom, not yet. I was drawn to imagine again where we now stood, our eyes populous as the knots on the trees, as curious as the heads of mushrooms that poked between their roots. I prized from the stars the points of each of his fingers, the prints of which I could feel still on my shoulder.

  My breath caught as my eyes opened in surprise, my face and skin burning with a light I hoped he couldn’t see. But I could, and with a clarity Gannet’s touch had not granted. The night was not in the full color of day, but I could easily have navigated back to the camp, and even ahead into territory we had not yet covered.

  As it was, I had plenty to question in the man who blocked the path before me. My marvels and my terrors had their start in him. His lips were parted slightly as though he intended to speak, but a tense moment fell between us that seemed to defy speech. Our eyes locked and a chill passed through me that no amount of heavy clothing would have been able to remedy.

  “We should return to the camp.”

  I had expected something else, but foolishly. I didn’t know why it made me suddenly so angry to have him behave just as he always did. I shut him out completely before the last syllable even wetted his lips. Embarrassment didn’t settle well with me, and not with the pitch and groan in my belly and heart I thought to be Theba, either.

  If I slept tonight, it would be the hard sleep of swallowed secrets.

  Chapter 12

  Over the next several days I didn’t speak to Gannet as we rode, made easier by the fact that I was behind him this time and didn’t have to contend with his heavy gaze over my shoulder. Besides, I had plenty to occupy me in the changes to the landscape, the mountain ridge rising pale as Gannet’s knuckles on the reins. The trees and undergrowth grew first thick and then thicker, green and hardy, with soil that Circa’s hooves kicked up wet and rich. The cold was like a sentient thing, tight in every breath, stinging my fingers and toes and creeping to settle in my core. The cold weather supplies we had intended to purchase in Cascar remained there still, and I thought I would never be warm again. Pressed as close as I dared to Gannet’s back under the pretense of keeping my balance, I shivered under my borrowed cloak.

  My fatigue after that first flight out of Cascar was nothing compared to the soreness of my muscles after two and then three days of near constant travel, and when we made camp I was eager for nothing but to lie prone on my back and hope to sleep. Antares had promised that we would only be a few days traveling this way, and on our third morning out when the path allowed a little while for us to ride several abreast, he brought his horse into step with the tireless Circa.

  “How are you faring?” It was not Gannet he addressed, but me. Antares’ sympathy belied his military dress, and the question was merely a courtesy. My answer was plain as the hood I pulled continuously around my face, that I kept only one hand around Gannet’s waist when I could and warmed the other inside my cloak.

  “Death by knifepoint is increasingly preferable compared to this,” I said, gesturing weakly around us, not wanting to throw my arm too wide and dissipate what little heat I’d collected under my cloak. Antares’ brow furrowed at my weary joke, but a smile shaved ten years from his features. He seemed about to say more, but the path had begun to narrow and someone signaled for him from the head of the column.

  “We’ll be there soon. By nightfall,” he promised over his shoulder. I sighed. Though my proximity to Gannet betrayed his keen interest in our exchange, he didn’t seem eager to take up in talking where Antares had left off. There was nothing to do instead, sadly, but brood on lesser things, and though I would no doubt be colder for it, I decided to retrieve the book from the satchel that hung on Circa’s left side. Every night I had hoped to study the book that Gannet had recovered from the barge, but there had been little light for it. I’d made hardly any progress. Balancing the tome on my thigh with one hand, I secured the other around Gannet’s waist but was careful not to brush my brow against his back as I turned to read. The temptation to rest my head against his shoulder was surprisingly strong.

  “You’re going to read?” he observed, voice quiet but pointedly lacking in intimacy. Gannet’s eyes remained locked upon the back of the rider in front of us.

  “Do you object?” For all I posed a question, my tone welcomed no judgment on his part. I wasn’t angry with him; I wasn’t sure what I was.

  “Not in the slightest.”

  Theba had nothing to do with my reasons for ignoring him when I began to read.

  The book was unlike anything I’d read before, in such an archaic form of the language we shared that I could hardly decipher it. What was legible, anyway. Much of the book was layers of text accompanied by drawings, one inked on top of the next, on top of the next, on top of the next. It made no sense to me, but I bit my lip against asking Gannet for clarification. The layers grew more numerous and more complex the deeper within the book one read, though I couldn’t call it reading. I turned to a page that had no less than six separate passages of writing scribbled over each other, and a series of symbols that I could not even be sure were paired with the text, or had singular meanings themselves. On sight alone it seemed to me that in some places I was reading a later version of the text, for the characters changed slightly the way a language will in time, though I could not read enough yet to know if the meanings changed, too. In places the variety was so wild it seemed almost accidental, as though someone had attempted to rewrite history, if this were a history.

  On that same page I recognized much altered versions of Aleynian characters – so much altered, if not even archaic, that I did not notice them at first – that spelled out Theba’s name. What little text flowered out from her mention made little sense in translation:

  And her breath is greed, and from her hands the sky pours, a god mouth bruised.

  I could not even be sure that I read it correctly, but I lingered on this passage for the little window it gave me into the book as a whole. For it was my book, as Gannet had said it was now. I was in it, after all.

  “It will make sense, in time.”

  I didn’t need to ask for Gannet to offer an answer. My eyes rose to the cut of his shoulders underneath his heavy cloak, the blonde hair raked by the wind over his collar, bright against the black. I turned the page. I didn’t want to share what I’d read with Gannet. He would correct me, or worse, would tell me precisely what terrible ills the passage promised, and coincidentally, so did I. Besides, if he were to look over his shoulder, he would no doubt find the sketch I had done of his own name on impulse in one of the few blank spaces of this page. I’d already searched the book for mention of him. It made no sense that he would carry the same name as his icon, but hardly anything about my world made sense anymore, and thus I indulged where and when I could.

  Though I walled myself against him, we were touching still, and I didn’t want him to know what I was thinking. That I was thinking of him. I drew the book closer to me, so even if he should glance aside to me he couldn’t see it. I read like this for some time, relenting and resting my cheek against his back, turning pages and steadying the tome with my chilled hands only when it was completely necessary. As a particularl
y virulent gust of wind tore across the cliff side, I thought I would lose the book entirely, but I felt an unnatural cold enter my heart when the pages settled askew against each other, one rolled into the spine by the wind. There, flowing from one page to the back of the next, one of the seemingly senseless symbols joined with the thick inked lines of a second symbol, making one I would recognize were I to trace its shape in the dark. It was a holy symbol of my people, a weather ward. My mother had sketched it in the sand for me when I was old enough to toddle over the marks, and shown me later where it stood in relief in stone throughout our home and our city. I later found it in the strangest of places, embroidered or even dyed into our servant’s tunics, and learned better the irony of its prevalence: it never rained.

  Heedless of the cold, I lifted the book with my free hand so that I might better see it, and what might briefly have seemed coincidence was upon closer examination intentional. I could even see now the creases in the paper where it had been drawn over one page and onto the next, muddying the lines beneath it in bold strokes. Circa’s step caused the bound corners to bump against Gannet’s back, and he stirred, chin raised as he glanced back at me. Growing by the moment more fond of my secrets, I took note of the place in the book where the symbol lay, and tucked it back into my satchel.

  “Your studies in Ambar will be far more extensive,” he observed, though he couldn’t keep his eyes off the path without risking an accident and turned again.

  “And you’ve said I’ll have teachers,” I returned, nerves giddy at my discovery and in trying to hide it. “It will be easier to study when I can make some sense of what I’m reading.”

  “You assume that’s the point of study.” Tone oblique, Gannet didn’t offer me anymore, and I swallowed the retort that rolled between teeth and tongue. I didn’t need to argue with Gannet to hasten the hours, and I sat as straight in the saddle as the needled trees we passed, arms and legs wound around him enough only to keep from falling off. With wondering over the presence of the symbol and the memories of my family it stirred, the hours we spent on the track seemed slim indeed. Antares delivered on his promise when we slowed well before sundown, my eyes sweeping over the vaulting landscape before us. I had sense enough to appreciate that the time we would take traveling through the mountains would be much less than what would be required to cross over them, but I didn’t think the caverns here would be kindred to those I had called home the last few years in Aleyn.

  Circa seemed uneasy as we came to join the others in circling a wide, crude opening in the mountain’s side, like a mouth agape and stained wine-dark. I was far from easy myself.

  “We’ll hold here for now,” Antares said, loud enough for all assembled to hear. I could feel his anxiety, like an animal leashed tightly, begrudgingly controlled. Already two of the soldiers had dismounted, the reins of their horses given to others: the scouting party. Circa’s discomfort was like a current passing from her haunches to mine, and I was grateful for the prospect of firm ground. We dismounted, Gannet going first and offering me his hands. This contact was strangely more unnerving than what the ride had demanded, and no more welcome. And unlike the ride, this brief contact flooded me with his feelings. He was a man cornered, resigned to the nearness of something that was making him extremely nervous. I could not, in so sudden and abrupt a touch, ascertain whether or not that something was me, or whatever lay ahead of us in the caves. I looked at his face, but there was nothing there, not even when he met my eyes.

  “We’ll have a fire and bread and beer before we go in,” Morainn announced, suddenly upon us both. Her enthusiasm for this turn of events was evident, though I wondered how severe our trials were to come if we were rationing so much already. The three of us joined Triss and Imke, the latter crouched, busy making a fire. I couldn’t keep my gaze from returning to the entrance of the Rogue’s Ear.

  “How did you move so many into Aleyn using such a narrow path?” My question was for no one in particular, and I avoided using language that expressly invited too much conversation about the war.

  “We didn’t,” Morainn offered casually, as though she spoke of a trade route and not the massive movements of troops. “There’s another way, and many that have come this far with us will turn and take the road to the east. We will not see them for many weeks after we have reached the capitol.”

  “But we don’t have that much time,” I murmured, eyes snagged on the dark opening again, like a rent in my vision. I didn’t want to go in, but wanted to know very much what waited within.

  “We can’t reach Jhosch quickly enough.”

  This from Imke, whose face peeked above a blaze that had only just begun to lick the kindling she had gathered for it. Her fervor was matched among many of the soldiers, and even Morainn quelled excitement at being so near her home. That she didn’t answer Imke’s enthusiasm was a gift to me: I could not hope for such a homecoming.

  The beer was poured into sturdy, resin soaked vessels that could be nestled in the ash and earth near the fire to warm the drink, but not burn our hands when we retrieved them. Though tough, the bread was pitted with nuts and dried fruit, and I found that the meal was not an altogether unpleasant one, crowded around the fire for warmth and exchanging bolstering looks with Morainn when I did not stare into my lap or the darkened entrance to the caves.

  While I sat next to Gannet, he seemed careful not to brush against me, or perhaps I imagined that he did. He had said nothing, done nothing, that gave me cause to believe he knew I had perceived his anxiety so briefly before. I felt as guilty for it as I did any inadvertent reading of something so intimate as fear. I remembered that when I was very young, I would run and wiggle between my eldest sister’s bedclothes when I had a bad dream. She would coddle me and cradle me and I would sleep again, but one night, when I was surely too old for it, I stole into her bed only to touch her slim arm and feel with a shock the certainty of her racing heart, her mind heat-clouded over the young man who was apprenticed to our court physician. I had withdrawn from her as though burned, and never said anything to her about it nor gone into her chamber at night again. My sisters had teased her ruthlessly over him, and I supposed she fancied him. But we hadn’t any need for a court physician, or even a court, when we were exiled. I never knew what became of him.

  Somehow, I didn’t think Gannet would appreciate my discretion.

  The men and women under Antares’ direction did not seem to rest much, but patrolled the perimeter or secured our packs and rations with the horses, who would be led through the caves as a group, tethered together. Only when the two who had scouted ahead in the caves returned, appearing like ghosts in the tunnel’s entrance, were any decisions made regarding our next course of action. A flurry of whispers passed among the guard, and Morainn, not to be ignored, approached Antares directly. When she returned, she brought her anxiety with her, chill as breath from the cave’s mouth.

  “He says we can’t go together. Is it true?” She looked at Gannet, and I sensed in him the faintest flicker of surprise.

  “They’d have no cause to lie,” he returned, his eyes cutting despite his words to the two men who stood conversing softly with Antares.

  “Haven’t you been here before?” I was beginning to feel some of Gannet’s nervousness. He gave me a look that suggested I should’ve known better.

  “Yes. But it’s not always the same.”

  His explanation was a sorry one, but he offered nothing more, not with Antares now approaching our fire. With various degrees of scrambling, we were all on our feet. Morainn had remained standing, and nodded impatiently as Antares sketched a bow before speaking.

  “We’ll have to take the paths in threes,” he submitted, clearly distressed by the news he had to deliver. I had expected perhaps three groups, but he meant for us to travel three at a time. I was surprised that we would be so divided.

  “Why only three at a time?”

  Gannet shot me a look.

  “Consider yourself lucky w
e don’t have to go one at a time.”

  He must’ve considered that explanation enough, for Gannet didn’t say anymore. Perhaps the Rogue’s Ear was no more bound by the rules of the mortal world than it was fashioned for mortal travel.

  When Antares continued, it was with a greater measure of confidence.

  “If you would permit it, I believe you should travel with me, Dresha Morainn.”

  Morainn inclined her head in agreement, and her response assumed a tone that suggested she had come upon the idea herself. “I insist upon it, and Han’dra Eiren, too.”

  Before her sentiment could be fully fleshed, however, Gannet took a step forward. His posture neither challenged nor demanded, but I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

  “Han’dra Eiren cannot enter the Rogue’s Ear without me.”

  His response was met with resistance from Morainn, but he didn’t indulge it. Neither did he return the probing look I turned on him when he finished speaking. Triss and Imke remained silent, no doubt coveting the place I would’ve taken at Morainn’s side, and at the side of her skillful captain.

  “Kurdan will go with you, then,” Antares named one of the guard, a stone-faced man I’d never spoken with taking several steps forward. “And you’ll be the last three to enter.”

  With nearly an hour between each parting and Morainn, Antares, and Triss among the first, it was a dull time, simply waiting there, watching. I didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself, even with my imagination running wild as it was, so I didn’t seek to entertain us with a story, nor did I open the book again. I wasn’t sure I could give either my full attention, anyway, contemplating four days in the dark with Gannet and Kurdan, each strangers in their own way.

  When Imke and two soldiers whose names I didn’t know passed into the depths of the tunnel, Imke’s bright hair like a loose flag swallowed in the dark, I stood. I wanted to be ready.