Grim

by Anna Waggener

  Megan kissed the back of her sister’s hand, and Rebecca knew that all was forgiven.

  Erika sat quietly in a corner and listened to Jeremiah barter with the shopkeeper, a crookbacked woman who sat on a stool by her cash box and never lifted her fingers from her knitting needles. She tucked and tugged diligently against her roll of black yarn while muttering and shaking her head.

  Erika began to wonder why Jeremiah had brought her there at all, as she’d said nothing since entering the shop. After Jeremiah had introduced her and shown her to the only other chair, Erika’s name had been dropped. They were talking history. Law. Rules that Erika didn’t understand, even when she could make out their whispered conversation. She started to doze.

  Jeremiah slammed his fist on the countertop. Erika jerked to attention. For the first time, the old shopkeeper lifted her eyes from her work. She swiveled to the bookshelf behind her.

  “See?” she snapped, dropping her knitting in her lap and dragging a thin book from the shelf. “See?” She flipped through the pages and then set it on the counter, jabbing a ragged fingernail at the margin. “It’s written.”

  “It is written,” Jeremiah agreed. “But not in stone.”

  “Your loss,” she said, and took back up her work.

  “Maybe,” Jeremiah said. “Maybe so. But then, maybe not.”

  She kept her lips pinched shut, but tapped an old, shivering clock with the back of one of her needles.

  “I know, I know.” He laid his hands flat against the countertop. Jeremiah’s voice fell to a murmur. “There used to be whispers, Sara.”

  The shopkeeper said nothing.

  “They said that you broke through. They said that you learned how. Because of —”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, child,” she said, but she picked up the clock and slammed it down at his fingertips.

  Jeremiah looked at the crooked arrows, both inching toward the twelve. “Fine,” he said, and waved Erika over. “We have to go.”

  The shopkeeper eyed Erika without dropping a stitch. “That’s her?”

  “I told you so,” Jeremiah said. “I told you when we came in.”

  “You’re no liar,” Sara said. “That’s certainly the face that destroyed my sister.” She shifted her eyes back to the scarf. “But he won’t stand for it. Not from you.”

  “Better from me than from Michael.”

  “The second son?”

  “He knows that Michael is selfish.”

  “And he knows that you are desperate,” Sara said. “So go. Make your rules and break his. It’s your head on the platter.”

  “Thank you, Sara,” Jeremiah said, “for your time.”

  “I don’t want your thanks,” she said. “I just want you gone.”

  Jeremiah took Erika’s hand. As he opened the door, Sara spoke one last time: “They say that only one woman can read the future, Jeremiah.” He glanced back and saw her staring at him. Her needles, again, were still. “You came to the wrong sort of doorstep.”

  Jeremiah gave her a curt nod and led Erika out.

  “Was that necessary?” she asked as he closed the door behind them.

  “Yes,” he said. “But not as fruitful as we might’ve hoped.” He stepped off the porch and helped her down. “We came too late and stayed too long. We have to hurry back now.”

  “Or what?”

  He buttoned his jacket as he walked. “Or they’ll catch us,” he said, “and it really will be my head on a platter.”

  “Whose platter?”

  “Probably my brother’s good china.”

  West stuck an oar into the soft bottom of the lake to keep them steady, while Shawn helped Megan and Rebecca into the rowboat.

  Each time someone climbed in, the lake would rush up toward the lip of the hull. Shawn said nothing, but found a seat and fought back the memories of fishing with his father. He kept thinking about the first dream after his mother’s death, when he’d drowned in the cold, open waters of a summer lake without even trying to save himself.

  Rebecca sat at the back of the boat, Megan on the floor beside her. As they set out, the two sisters held tightly on to each other’s hands. Rebecca’s eyes were squeezed shut, her forehead creased as if in pain, but Shawn knew that it was for her sister and not for herself. Megan leaned against Rebecca’s knee and turned her head every few seconds as she caught new sounds of wind or leaves or water. Shawn didn’t want to admit it, but watching her frightened him. She kept her eyes open, but they were empty sockets, cleaned and soothed by West’s careful fingers, but horrific nevertheless. Shawn’s stomach turned when he looked at her, and that reaction made him feel even worse.

  West rowed them out to the middle of the lake, without talking. Water dripped from the oars each time they surfaced, leaving rippling trails in their wake. He kept his eyes on the bottom of the boat as he paddled, and took slow, deep breaths through his nose. Maybe that was why Shawn saw her first.

  She was mostly submerged, but her arms and chin were propped against one of the rocks that stuck out above the water’s surface. Her skin was dirty gray and dead-looking, her hair a dark seaweed knotted through with moldering leaves. Her eyes were closed when Shawn spotted her, but at his glance, they popped open, yellow with fever. She parted her lips in a slick snake’s smile and slipped from her rock, hardly making a ripple as she sank into the lake.

  Shawn cleared his throat.

  He was debating whether or not to say anything when the boat began to rock. The swells were low at first, hardly noticeable since they were still moving forward. Shawn glanced at West, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention. He pulled the oars from the water and tapped them off, one at a time, with a measured patience. Then he put the pillow of his left thumb, where there was a raised callus, against his teeth and began to nibble at the thick skin. The waves, meanwhile, were growing, and Shawn was getting nervous. The boat tipped from side to side, nearly capsizing several times. When West succeeded in popping his callus, he held his hand over the water and pressed against the base of his thumb, squeezing a few drops of blood into the lake. The water stilled. West picked the oars back up and began to force them round and round once more.

  Shawn cleared his throat again.

  “I’d offer you some water,” West said calmly, “but we forgot it onshore.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Shawn replied.

  Rebecca and Megan were nestled together at the back of the boat. If they’d noticed anything, they didn’t show it.

  The clip of Jeremiah’s footsteps against cobblestones grew faster as more and more of Limbo’s lost souls appeared in the streets. It was past noon, according to the sun. Services had just let out. They were running out of time.

  Erika followed close behind as Jeremiah struggled to walk faster while appearing nonchalant.

  “Pick up the pace, Jeremiah.”

  At the sound of Uriel’s voice, Jeremiah grabbed Erika’s hand and spun around.

  “Up here.”

  Uriel and Selaph were perched on the mud-brick rooftop of a two-story house. A basket of apples sat between them, and they each had one of the blood-skinned fruits in hand. Uriel chewed slowly, smirking a salute.

  Erika felt Jeremiah tense, like a shock of static through her skin.

  “You’re just a scared little fox, aren’t you, Jeremy?” Uriel chided. “With all the dogs bearing down.”

  Selaph slipped from the roof and turned into a cloud of black smoke that drifted, swirling, to the ground. His skin reraveled as he touched the cobbles.

  “Hello, Erika Stripling,” he said quietly.

  Jeremiah turned on her. “You know him?”

  Uriel laughed from his place on the roof. “My God! You didn’t tell him.”

  “Tell me what?” Erika felt his grip tighten around her fingers. “Erika, tell me what?”

  “We dropped by yesterday, Jeremy,” Uriel said. “She’s a sweet little hostess. A better one than you,” he added. />
  “Erika …” Jeremiah dropped her hand.

  “I didn’t know,” she whispered. “They said that they were your brothers.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It didn’t come up.”

  “Oh, Jeremy,” Uriel pleaded with a mock whine, “don’t disown us!”

  Jeremiah looked back at his blond brother. “What do you want?”

  “I think you know.”

  “I know that I’ve been away for a few years,” Jeremiah said, “but when exactly were you demoted to page boys? Was it before or after your mother fell from the High Kingdom?”

  Selaph stiffened.

  “Calm down,” Uriel said, and his eyes flicked back to Jeremiah. “It was after,” he said, and stepped lightly from the roof. The tips of his feet turned to smoke and re-formed as he landed on the street with a soft patter. Ignoring the fashions set by the council wasn’t allowed, but as a prince, Uriel was also one of the few who might be allowed certain indulgences. As always, he had his cloak pinned at the shoulder with a polished crossbow fibula. “But at least our mother didn’t kill herself.”

  “My mother did not kill herself,” Jeremiah growled.

  Uriel smiled. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “You killed her.”

  Jeremiah shook his head, disappointed. “Remember when we lived in the same house, Uri?” he asked. “And we used to play pranks on Michael and Gabriel? We had our lessons in the courtyard. And the tutors wanted so badly to please us because of what our father could do.”

  Uriel laughed. “I do remember,” he said, a sweetness creeping into his voice with the memories. “And we were top in scores, but they always gave Gabriel higher marks because he was the eldest.”

  Jeremiah felt himself relaxing. He dredged up another memory. “And the walnut tree?”

  “How could I forget the walnut tree?” Uriel turned to Selaph. “Remember that? We would climb up and throw shells at the maids, but they still loved us because we were only boys.” He smiled. “Oh, and I’d almost forgotten.” He looked back at Jeremiah. “Remember —” He touched his forehead with the backs of his knuckles as he laughed. “Remember how Father called us into court that afternoon and we were so excited because we thought he was going to give us a holiday? And remember how he told us …” He snorted. “How he told us that you were a bastard?”

  Jeremiah’s face fell.

  “No, no, listen,” Uriel said, still laughing. “Remember how he tried to tell us about your mummy, but he couldn’t because he was so upset? And how my mother looked like she wanted to tear out his throat? Remember that? And we finally realized that all those years were lies, and that she really had hated you, but was too afraid of Father to say it?” He wiped dry the corners of his eyes. “And remember how he said that he loved you? And then he turned you out of the house anyway?” Now Uriel’s smile was fading too. “And remember how you still tried to come home, Jeremiah, but no one let you in? How you tried to follow us to services, but the guards wouldn’t let you through? Gabriel was your last ally, but he gave up too, didn’t he?” Uriel shook his head. “You can’t win, Jeremiah,” he said. “So don’t try. It only makes you seem more pathetic than you really are.”

  “Then why not finish me?” Jeremiah asked. “Now? Here?”

  Uriel’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You know why not. You know very well why not.” He sighed. “But you can’t stay in Limbo forever. We almost had you last time and then, well.” He nodded at Erika. “You’re lucky, Jeremiah. That’s all. That’s the only thing your mother gave you, because she was awfully lucky too. Until she died.” He leaned in, bringing his lips right up to Jeremiah’s ear. “What does that mean for you, Jeremy?” Then he straightened up and tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves. “Give him the papers, Selaph.”

  Selaph pulled a sealed letter from his pocket and held it out to Jeremiah, who accepted it without a word. He turned the envelope over in his thin fingers, picking at the red wax seal and the pale satin ribbon.

  “It’s from Daddy dearest,” Uriel said. “We would’ve given it to you yesterday, but you never came home. Where were you, I wonder?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard.”

  “You’re right. It’s not so bad being the messenger, you know. We hear all the gossip, hardly ever get shot, and it’s a shoo-in for Gabriel’s cabinet later on, which is more than I can say for you.” He took a step back to end the conversation. “Love to chat, but we’ve got too much to do. I’ll put in a word to Gabriel if you’ll do the same to Jegud. We miss him on the hill. Tell him that our hearts are always open as long as he keeps his shut. Tell him that Father still doesn’t know. Good afternoon, Jeremy. And you, Miss Stripling. I think that we’ll be seeing both of you again quite soon.”

  Selaph and Uriel floated off under the afternoon sky, their cloaks trembling in the wind.

  Jeremiah turned away and headed back for his own house once more, Erika trailing behind. “Always,” he hissed under his breath. “Uri always makes me argue with him.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t want to all on your own?” asked Erika.

  Jeremiah cut her an angry look and lifted his hand to quiet her. The stamped seal, against its bed of white, flashed bloody between the two of them. The rest of the way home, Jeremiah kept his mouth closed and his eyes on the ground, but all the time he measured the weight of his father’s letter. The crisp, expensive paper rustled as he slipped it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Around it hung a dark, sweet smell of incense.

  Jeremiah dismissed Erika as soon as they made it through the door.

  “I need to be alone right now,” he told her, and left the hall before she could protest. Erika watched him stalk off, her heart sinking. When she turned to go up the stairs, she saw Kala sitting in the cage, preening her feathers, the morning hyacinth wilting in one of her claws. Erika poked a finger through the silver bars.

  “Does anyone ever watch after you?” she whispered.

  The bird twittered softly in her throat and dropped the flower as she tucked her beak under one wing and closed her eyes.

  Erika went on up the stairs and locked herself in her room, where she took off her filthy clothes and stepped into the bathroom, bracing for a shower cold enough to numb away the guilt.

  After a few minutes longer on the lake, Shawn noticed the spread of light creeping down the prow of the boat, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Then a burst of summer sun forced Shawn to close his eyes. Spots danced inside his eyelids. When he opened them again, the twilight had vanished, leaving the lake bathed in a silky afternoon gloss.

  He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the whole world was lit — West and his crown of burning curls, and the shore they’d come from alive with green. Shawn couldn’t see West’s cottage through all the trees, but he did see crowds of bushes that he hadn’t noticed before, their branches bowing to sip the lake water.

  West dipped his head lower to shade his eyes, and kept rowing. A trickle of blood slipped down the left oar, leaving a sinking trail of cranberry red in its wake.

  “What happened?” Shawn asked.

  “We made it,” West said easily, and continued to push the oars into the lake with smooth, even strokes. The shore, their destination, sparkled yellow-gold in the daylight, the blades of grass on the steep bank dusted with shadow. A little stone house, stitched over with ivy, perched on the top of a low hill. On this side of the lake, everything was jubilantly alive.

  West stayed in the boat when they reached the beach, but helped Rebecca and Megan to shore with his uncut hand.

  “The friend that I told you about lives here,” West said to Shawn. “His name is Laza. He’ll keep you. Give you something to eat.”

  “Thank you.”

  West shook his head. “Nothing to thank,” he said. “It’s my job.” He pushed out with the flat of his oar. “Good luck,” he called.

  Shawn turned back. “With what?”

  “With everything.” West
drifted back a few more feet and began to slip away into thin air. When the tip of the boat’s prow vanished, Shawn took his sisters by their hands and led them up the hill to the little cabin, where pale curls of smoke drifted from a brick chimney.

  Jeremiah sliced through the wax seal with his pocketknife and unfolded the letter, pressing it flat on his desk.

  In silence, he hunched over the heavy parchment. After reading it once, he picked it up and leaned back in his chair, pressing the paper against his knee and taking in each measured loop of the letterhead. Sent from a king, not a father. A god, not a man.

  Regarding the Concerned:

  We of the Council of the Throne, on this thirteenth day of this eleventh month in the standing and final year of our Crown, do issue a decree on behalf of the people of the Middle Kingdom:

  Be it sanctioned by the progeny, and so enacted by the commonwealth, His Magnificence the Throne shall preside at the coronation of his heir, the Crown Prince Gabriel, on a date so to be debated and elected.

  However:

  Whereas the law of this Council does necessitate, and His Magnificence the Throne does still so seek, it has been deemed compulsory by the Council that pains be taken by the progeny to establish a consort in procession.

  Whereas the law of this Council does necessitate, it is so considered requisite that all members of the progeny concur, or so render the proposition moot, on the point of coronation.

  Whereas the law of this Council does necessitate, in relation to birthright, an establishment be made among the progeny due to discrepancies, as the Small Queen, mother of the Sixth Prince, was so removed from interment in the sepulcher of the Throne and thus her title has been renounced, but not that of her child and of His Magnificence the Throne.

  Whereas the law of this Council does necessitate, despite the legislation proposed by the Fifth Prince, so named Prince Jegud, debate has now arisen in accordance to sections seven and thirteen regarding the legality of the sixth head of the progeny, so named Prince Jeremiah, and it is at the request of His Magnificence the Throne that the Sixth Prince renounce his title and his standing without further concern to establishment of consort and without further concern to outside concurrence.