“Well, think about it. Once the Author wrote the book, would he need to stay within it any longer? He just leaves the characters to fend for themselves. Whether he does this in other books, of course I do not know, but this is what he has done with us.”
“Are you sure?” Posy was skeptical. “I’m not an author, but I know that if I created characters and a story, put my work and my heart into it, I wouldn’t just walk away. I’ve heard people in my own world say that when someone creates something, they are always a part of it.”
“That makes no difference in what we have to do,” argued Kyran. “What does it matter if the Author is still in the Plot or not? Will that help us find my sister? Will it make my father and mother ... change?”
“But it does make a difference,” Posy said quietly. Things were not right in this story. It didn’t take any great insight to see that. Posy had heard Falak tell the king the Plot would be destroyed if changes were made. And here was Kyran, telling her it had already been changed, and probably more than once. Was Falak merely trying to keep his Chief Advisor position secure? And the business about the Author confused her even more. Surely, the characters must believe that an author existed. They were aware they were in a book—where did they think the book had come from? No, she felt sure they had to believe. But she thought they wanted to forget—tried to forget. Especially the king, who, it seemed, wanted to take the Author’s place as—what had he called it?—“keeper and protector of the Plot.” No, things here were not right.
Posy yawned again. “How long will we travel tonight?” she murmured, feeling her eyes begin to droop again.
“Not much longer. We are heading for the nearest village, only another couple of miles away.”
“Village? Is it one past the ... the Borders?”
“Oh, no. I’ve no idea what’s past the Borders. No one does. The Borders extend along the line of forest that you likely saw beyond the castle. But it stretches far throughout the Kingdom, and the Wild Land can be entered anywhere along it. But I wish to visit the village first. I just have an idea ... some information I’d like to get, before we head for the Wild Lands.”Posy didn’t ask what his idea was. She was tired, and she had an idea he wouldn’t have told her anyway. They rode on through the silent night.
Kyran halted his horse suddenly, and Posy’s eyes flew open. Have I been sleeping sitting up?
“What are we doing?” she asked groggily, peering into the darkness.
Kyran’s voice held a note of his usual sarcasm. “Well, I thought you may want to change from your nightgown before we enter the village.”
“Oh.” Posy looked down at the ruffled, full gown she wore. How had she not frozen? When she began to dismount, something fell heavily from her shoulders, and she saw Kyran’s thick riding cape heaped on the ground below them. How he had managed to get that on her as she slept, and from his position in the saddle, Posy didn’t know. But for some reason she found she couldn’t look at him. This unexpected kindness made her suddenly awkward.
“Check the saddlebag for a change of clothes,” suggested Kyran, leaping from the saddle and reaching down to sweep up his cape in one fluid motion. “Falak usually doesn’t forget much.”
Posy dug into the bag and sighed out thanks to Falak, wherever he was. He had packed a plain, thick dress, nothing like any of the form-fitting, frilled dresses of the princess’ that she had been wearing. Posy was longing for something more comfortable, and less revealing. She grabbed the wad of clothing and looked up to find a place to change. Kyran was a step ahead of her. “There,” was all he said, gesturing toward a high stone wall that separated the road from the wheat field beyond.
Posy clambered over it and dressed as quickly as she could, shivering violently in the chill night air. “I won’t be wearing you again,” she muttered to the nightgown, dropping it like a fluttering white ghost onto the ground.
As she approached the horse once again, Kyran looked oddly at her. “I suppose it wouldn’t do me any good to ask whom you were speaking with just now.”
“Speaking with? Oh!” Posy flushed. “I was just talking to my ... to my ... nightgown.”
“Your ...?”
“I was,” and she couldn’t stop the burst of laughter that came out then, “I was telling it goodbye.” She supposed it was exhaustion that made her feel so giddy, but she didn’t care. The look on Kyran’s face as he stared at her only made her laugh harder. His jaw had dropped open—was laughter so uncommon in this story?—and a strange look had crossed his face. But only for a moment, and then his face transformed as he smiled at her, and laughed too. It almost made Posy completely sober again to see him change so much. Seeing him smile like that did something strange to her and she felt the sudden need to catch her breath.
“Evanthe always has hated those frilly nightgowns,” he breathed. “I used to tell her”—and he began to laugh again—“that between those things and corsets, she was more of a warrior than I. She was always longing to wear what I did. She even tried, once.” His voice lost its mirth then, as he remembered. He fell silent, turning to stroke Belenus’ neck. He finally continued, quietly. “And that was only the beginning of the things Evanthe fought against.”
Posy drew a slow breath.
“Evanthe and I have always been children. Well, I am eighteen, and Evanthe is sixteen—not really children, I suppose, but we’re seen that way by most. In a book, the characters don’t age, you see. We always have taken what happens in the Kingdom as natural.” The prince pushed back a lock of his black hair. “I think it has always been there in the back of my mind, the fact that things didn’t have to be as they are now. But how was I to know? I’m a prisoner of the Plot, too. My life is spent pointlessly dallying around the castle while waiting for another reader to come.”
“But Evanthe knew, didn’t she? She knew the Plot could change without being destroyed,” Posy asked softly. “That’s the real reason she left.”
Kyran raised his dark eyes to Posy’s face, and for the first time Posy saw openness in them, no mockery or cynicism. She saw ... Kyran. He nodded his head miserably and dropped his gaze to his hands. “Yes,” he murmured, “I think she did know. She never spoke with me about it ... if only she had!”
Posy shook her head. “If she had made up her mind to leave, she wouldn’t have wanted to put you in danger by telling you.”
“Yes, you’re right. That’s exactly what Evanthe would have thought and done.” Kyran looked up at Posy, scanning her face with an odd expression on his own. “How would you know that?”
“Because,” Posy said, and she felt sadness overwhelm her, “I have a sister as well, and I would do anything to protect her. I know. Even if it means protecting her from those you thought you could trust.”
Kyran got up from where he sat and walked to Posy, his dark eyes brilliant with a new emotion. He took her hand and bent over it, his shoulders slumped. He’s going to cry, Posy thought with a feeling of panic. She didn’t know how to deal with her own tears—how could she respond to his? But he didn’t cry. He lifted her hand to his face and kissed it. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice heartfelt. “I am sorry I have been cruel to you. I was only angry with my father and mother—not you. I didn’t even know you. Angry that my sister left, without a word to me.” His eyes looked down into hers, and Posy felt her heart flutter like a wild bird in her chest. When was the last time anyone had cared so much about her feelings, or asked her forgiveness for something they had done to hurt her?
An alarm inside of her seemed to be buzzing ... danger. This wasn’t something she could afford to feel, not in a story like this, not knowing she eventually would have to go back to her own world. She fought it, shoved it away.
“Do you forgive me, Posy?”
She could only nod, hoping the words she couldn’t seem to speak were plain enough on her face for him to see.
* * *
So, there was peace between them and they had found common ground. That is what
Posy told herself. They had found a sort of comradeship. Both of them had been hurt. Both of them had been deemed unimportant, their voices and hearts silenced in the scheme of others’ plans. Each of them had a sister whom they loved and wished to protect. With such strong cords to bind them together, where was there room for the skepticism of before?
They came to the village soon after. Along the cobbled street, the tiny cottages were cloaked in the silence of night and sleep.
“We will stay here tonight,” Kyran whispered over his shoulder. “A stretch of the Border is not far from here, and we can enter the Wild Land from there in the morning.”
As they made a turning in the road, Posy saw craggy hills stretching beyond the village and downward toward a darkening of trees. The forest grew thick around them. It threw jagged, dancing shadows across the rocky ground.
Kyran reined in Belenus swiftly and turned to place two fingers on Posy’s lips, mouthing, “Be silent.” He turned again and pointed silently, and Posy could feel his back stiffen in alert. She squinted into the darkness and after a few moments saw what Kyran was seeing. Dots of lights moving—lanterns. The dim outline of men and horses. Several tents scattered in the shadows of the woods, not visible to the casual eye.
“They are soldiers. The king’s soldiers.” Kyran’s voice was a mask.
“Why are they here?” Posy asked quietly.
“I have no idea,” he answered unhappily. “We have never had soldiers patrol the Borders before now. Why now? And why have I not heard of it? Now we will be unable to get into the forest—at least here. Perhaps if we moved a mile or so further ...”
“Kyran ...” Posy said uncomfortably as he wheeled Belenus around on the path. “I ... I heard something—something your father spoke of, with some of his advisers.”
“What?” Now he was all attention. “When did you speak with my father?”
“I wasn’t speaking with him. He didn’t even know I was there.”
“You were spying on him?” Kyran turned in the saddle to give her an incredulous look.
“No!” Posy said swiftly. “I received a note—I think it was from Falak, but it wasn’t signed. I was to meet him in the Audience Chamber. But when I arrived there, the king was speaking with Falak and Egbert. They spoke of holding a council of war because of trouble on the Borders ... trouble with creatures from the Wild Land, trying to cross into the Kingdom and interfere with the Plot.”
“Why did you not tell me of this before!” hissed Kyran, spurring Belenus on toward the inn that was the only place in the town with lights in the windows. “A council of war? And Falak knew of it? I knew he was a traitor to the Kingdom.”
“Falak knew I was there listening,” Posy explained quickly. “I think he was only pacifying the king by what he told him. I don’t believe he thought war was a good idea. And Falak was the one who rescued me, remember? He could have left me in the Plot to die, couldn’t he?”
“Posy,” Kyran said with forced patience, “You do not understand. You have not been here long enough.” Posy thought she had heard these words before. She sighed. Kyran continued, “Hardly anyone here is whom they appear to be. We are—all of us—actors and deceivers. My father and Falak are probably the worst. If Falak rescued you, and if he sent us on our way to find the princess, you can be certain he has his own reasons. Whether his reasons coincide with ours, or with the king's, or with anyone else’s ... well, that is hard to say. But he would never do anything out of mere kindness—not Falak. He has sent us on this journey for a purpose, and most likely not the one he told us. If I had known of the council of war before we left!”
“And what would you have done if you had known?” Posy asked, hurt that Kyran thought she was so naïve.
“I don’t know,” Kyran said, shaking his dark head. “But I am sure there is a connection. I am sure there are reasons beyond what we are seeing now. We simply have to get more information.”
“But where will you get that?”
“Here.” Belenus came to a stop.
“At the inn?”
“What better place for gossip?” Kyran said, swinging his leg over the front of the saddle and sliding down. He pulled Posy down after him and began to tie up the horse. Posy groaned as she straightened her stiff legs.
“You’ll get used to it,” Kyran reassured her without turning around. “Now come on.”
* * *
The smell of sweat filled Posy’s nostrils as Kyran led her through the inn’s low wooden door. She didn’t cringe from it. It was an honest smell, here in this homely, warm place. And beyond the smell of it, she could smell stew cooking on a fire somewhere. It made her stomach want to howl; she felt she hadn’t eaten in ages.
A middle-aged rosy-cheeked woman bustled up to them with a cheerful smile as they entered. “Well now, and what can I get you to eat tonight? Or have you come only for a room?” Posy suddenly remembered whom Kyran was, and wondered if it was possible anyone might recognize him. She saw he had brought a plain green cape, and had pulled it tightly over his clothing, which may have given him away.
“Food and a room, if we may,” said Kyran, producing a gold coin. The woman’s eyes widened for a moment.
Two rooms, Posy wanted to nudge him, but she couldn’t seem to find the strength. The warmth of the room seemed to seep into her, and she found all she wanted to do was sit in a comfortable chair next to a fire. But it wasn’t to be for now. As the woman walked away, she saw Kyran’s eyes become alert, though he didn’t turn his head. He was listening to something, Posy thought, and she soon heard it too.
A man was sitting a few tables from them, with a group of other men, near the back corner of the room. His broad shoulders and bulging muscles set him apart from any other person in the room. His voice was not raised, but the look of anger on his face was hard to mistake.
“And now they are here, here, where our own wives and children live,” he was saying, his eyes moving from one man in the circle to the next.
“Yes, but they have done nothing yet, and perhaps they will be gone as swiftly tomorrow as they came two days ago,” another man interjected.
The large man waved a hand in the air in abrupt dismissal. “You are a fool if that is what you believe.”
“Alvar,” another man said in frustration, leaning forward, “I am as concerned as you. There are certain ... items that will be unavailable now that the king’s men are here, and that will make it difficult for me to make ends meet. It will make it difficult for many of us.” Several men in the group nodded and made noises of agreement. “But what can we do? You know very well we are helpless to do anything against this.”
“Helpless,” Alvar’s low voice seemed to growl, “is not a word I am fond of.”
“And nor should you be.” Posy heard Kyran’s voice from next to her, and realized he had been inching them nearer to the group of men. He pulled out a chair for Posy and then seated himself next to her.
“And you are, young man?” asked a white-haired man with a grizzled beard. He sat straighter in his chair.
“My name can’t be spoken here, gentlemen, but you may trust I am a friend. And I agree with your friend Alvar here. You are never helpless. That is a word for cowards.”
Oh, no, Posy thought.
“A coward, is it?” One of the men rose menacingly from his seat. “None of my other ... friends call me a coward.”
Alvar motioned impatiently for him to sit. “Not to your face anyway, Garin.”
Garin stared at the larger man for a few moments, then threw back his head and laughed. Alvar smiled, a thing that seemed to turn him into a different person altogether, Posy thought; someone not quite so terrifying. Then he directed his gaze at Kyran once more.
“Where do you come from, boy? And why have you turned up here, now?”
Kyran smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either.”
“That can only mean one thing,” Alvar said. “You must be a character well-known to everyon
e. Eh? Otherwise, why not tell us?”
“Perhaps,” Kyran’s face gave nothing away.
“And why have you shown up now, only two days after the soldiers?”
“That’s a mere coincidence, I assure you. I am as curious and ... concerned as you are. It has never happened before, has it?”
Murmurs of denial moved throughout the group.
“No one has told us a thing,” Garin said angrily. “The king treats his characters as children. No, as prisoners. What has happened that he feels the need to station soldiers near our village?”
“The Wild Land creatures are trying to destroy the Plot,” Posy heard herself say as if in a dream. Every head turned to her in silence. Kyran gave her a look she couldn’t interpret.
Alvar spoke first. “Well, young lady, I don’t know where you got that information, but if it’s true ... well, it’ll be the first sign of anything real happening in this story in an age.”
Whatever response Posy had expected, it hadn’t been this one. She found she was staring at Alvar. His short-cropped hair shone fiery red in the firelight as he threw back his head and roared with laughter at her expression. “Think I’m a traitor, lass?”
“No,” she whispered, suddenly feeling weak. How many hours ago had supper been? Too many.
“But a traitor to whom?” Kyran asked. “The king or the Kingdom?”
“Can you tell me without riddles what it is you mean, boy?”
“I don’t speak in riddles,” Kyran fixed a look of intensity upon Alvar. “I only say what I mean, that following the king no longer means doing what is best for the Kingdom or its characters. You know it as well as I.”
The circle of men grew strangely quiet. Posy saw downcast eyes and tight lips. But she noted that even if they were too fearful to admit the truth, they would not deny it. That was something, wasn’t it?
“Alvar is right to question the king,” Kyran continued, heedless of the men’s awkward behavior. “The king takes too much power, and the power he is entitled to, he abuses. And the characters have been weak and afraid and ignorant. Think of the Plot ... really think.” Kyran gestured toward the man with the white beard, the oldest in the group. “Do you not remember a time when things were not as they are now?”
The Word Changers Page 6
