“You’ll always be Nan,” Sigi said. “Nan is already kind of strange, after all.” She shot her a quick, shy smile and started making herself a second sandwich. “If you don’t want to lose these aspects of yourself, then I think you should fight for them, no matter what these people say. I mean, they aren’t gods, right?”
“Not exactly, but—there is a weight to all this I can’t explain. Yggdrasil feels important. And I have these memories of it….”
“New memories?”
“I guess they’re actually old memories, but new to me, yes. I remember the way the tree felt. It was so beautiful. I felt so safe there.” She shook her head. “I’m also afraid to remember more. I’m afraid something I’ve gained here will be lost.”
“Like seeing colors?”
Nan nodded. “I’d like to understand art better. Hear music the way it should be. Your pictures…I understood them.”
“They’re black and white,” Sigi said. “I guess that’s why.”
“It’s more than that. They captured humanity in a way I understood. They were lovely.”
Sigi looked away, embarrassed by praise. “You should eat something, by the way.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Sigi took a piece of bread and slapped a thick layer of butter on it. “This is an art you can try to appreciate: the art of bread-making.”
Nan realized she was hungry after all once she took a bite. Sigi was right: Eating was a pleasure of the real world, too, and she felt more like herself tasting the fresh bread and golden, salty butter. She hadn’t eaten this well in weeks.
“I’d like to have my camera,” Sigi said. “My mother might have kept it, but if you think her house isn’t safe, I could pay my father a visit. Probably should, even if we aren’t staying there. He’d give me some money.”
“I’d like to see how the city looks, anyway,” Nan said. “And if he lives on Parc, that isn’t far.”
“Oh no!” A not-quite-unfamiliar voice cut into their conversation.
Nan whirled behind her.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of leaving.” The much-mentioned Ingrid walked in, with a mysterious smile on her lips. Nan didn’t need an introduction to recognize Ingrid. She knew this girl. While she couldn’t place the details yet, everything about her was deeply familiar—her rustic accent, her soft steps, her ageless eyes.
But there was also something…different. Wrong. Like walking into her own bedroom and feeling someone had entered and moved things around.
Ingrid held a hand out to Nan. “Verthandi!”
Verthandi.
Nan shivered at the name, a buried part of her mind stirring from amnesia.
“Ingrid,” Nan said, feeling another name tugging at her. “Skuld?”
Ingrid caught her breath, and tears sprung to her eyes. “You do remember.”
Nan held up her free hand—Ingrid was clutching the other. “I don’t remember much.”
“You remember our names, though. It’s a start. I’m so glad it’s you.”
The word “sister” crossed Nan’s mind, but she was wary of voicing it. She had always been alone, abandoned by her parents, taken in by a guardian who was distant if kind. To have a sister—to have family—she hardly knew what to make of that. She would have wanted it more if it didn’t mean turning her back on everything else she’d known.
Ingrid finally let go of her hand and touched Nan’s cheek instead. “You look so very tired.”
Nan shied back from the touch. “Well, I was shot yesterday by Roderick Valkenrath, when he was trying to test my mortality. Freddy brought me back to life.”
“I see, I see.”
Sigi looked thoughtful. “Freddy brought Nan fully back from the dead,” she said. “So, if Nan died—in her life before—couldn’t you have had a reviver bring her back then?”
“Revivers are rare.” Ingrid sounded weary. “But—it doesn’t matter. When they killed her the last time, they didn’t leave anything to chance. Just rest for now. The sooner you remember, the sooner you’ll be using your powers to fight with us. You’ll remember me and the past we’ve shared.”
“Will I?” Nan glanced at Sigi, who was watching this quietly.
“Yggdrasil’s death has weakened us. It gave your human life more of a hold on you. I started to know what I was from the time I was eight or nine years old, but of course, the tree had not been destroyed at that time. I worried you might never remember. Now that we’re together, I’ll help you and you will understand everything, in time.”
“Is it true we’ve lived many lives?” Nan asked. “Do you remember all of them?”
“I remember what I need to remember. Urd is the Norn of the past. She’s the one who writes things down.”
“The Norn of the past?”
Ingrid nodded. “We each have a different role when it comes to the fates. I sense the future, you sense the present, and Urd is always looking back.”
“Is Urd here too?”
“She is still lost.”
“How old are you?” Sigi asked. “How old was the tree?”
“I’ve long since lost count,” Ingrid said, waving a hand. “The number doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we understand our purpose.”
“So,” Nan said warily, “is there something I should do?”
“I have brought water to the tree, and I have men protecting it. That’s the least of our worries. The most difficult task we’ve had through the years is keeping the tree safe from kings and rulers that want to exploit its powers. You have already acted according to your deepest instincts in saving the reviver and bringing him to me, so his powers can once again be used for good.”
“Well, I didn’t exactly bring him to you,” Nan said.
Ingrid’s eyes turned briefly hard. “Verthandi, you must remember where your power comes from and what it’s meant for. Don’t let anything distract you, or it would be the end of everything. Yggdrasil would die, all the magic in the land would die, and we would be mortal.”
Mortal. She made it sound like such a dirty word.
It was two o’ clock in the afternoon now, at least fifteen hours since their escape from the opera house, when Marlis’s father finally found her scribbling diary entries on scrap paper in an empty bedroom.
“Come rain or shine, you won’t neglect the diary. I’m glad you’re eating,” he said, noticing an empty bowl on the nightstand.
“Have you eaten, Papa?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“What would Mother say?” Marlis chided.
“Something about vitamins.” He smiled slightly, but it faded quickly. His face looked lined and old in the low basement light, as if he’d aged years since she’d last seen him. “The people are demanding I speak.”
The sound of the crowd had been building, the dull roar audible even in this underground sanctum. There must be thousands of them, for their voices to reach here. “You won’t, will you? Surely it isn’t safe.”
“Wachter urged me not to, but I’m going to address the people through the radio. I spoke to Minister Unger, and we agree that it might be comforting for you to say a few words after I do.”
“Me?” This was truly an honor, to be permitted to address the people for the first time during such a crisis. “What should I say?”
“Unger has a short speech written for you. The people may not trust me, or any of the cabinet, at this moment, but to hear the voice of a young girl—and I thought it would please you.” He smiled and handed her a paper.
She glanced over the words, a little disappointed to see simplistic pleas for peace and unity.
“I wrote the last few lines,” Papa said. “About supporting our military. I know that’s important to you, so I’m sure you can deliver them with true passion.”
Marlis was known for her volunteer work at the military hospital. The newspaper often depicted her in that guise—the angelic nurse who sat by a wounded man’s bedside. It was half-accurate. She
cared about the soldiers, but they gave her plenty in return: thrilling stories of battle and war. This speech was the voice of that fictional girl from the newspapers. She didn’t like that girl very much. “I could say more than this,” she said, “something with substance.”
Papa put a hand on her shoulder. “The people need comfort from you. You’re the one who will tell them everything’s going to be all right after I tell them what’s happened. They want to believe every word of this speech, so you must speak with conviction.”
She understood, now: This was another version of his “Politics is a game” speech. “Are you really going to tell them what happened?”
“We’ve decided to divert the people’s attention to Irminau.”
Marlis understood—the original justification for bringing back the dead was the losses in the war with Irminau. And since that war, King Otto had remained an unpopular figure, with the papers deriding his lavish lifestyle in his extravagant palace, Neue Adlerwald.
“Won’t blaming Irminau for something we did be an invitation for another war?” she asked.
“Probably, but I’d rather go down as a unified nation fighting Irminau than have a civil war on my hands.”
“I just wonder…” She tapped her fingers on the table. “This seems like it could be an opportunity for us. In Irminau, magic users are subjected to the demands of the king, and here, magic is outlawed. Yet people now know that you still used magic when given the chance. That makes us look hypocritical. This is our chance to relax our policy and make magic users want to support our side.”
His posture turned rigid. “Princess…we can’t let magic users run free. How many people here have magic? One out of a thousand, perhaps? Think how much power that tiny minority could hold over everyone else, the resentment it would brew if they could do whatever they pleased.”
“There would still be laws, of course.”
“History has shown that when sorcerers flaunt their power, unrest is sure to follow.”
“History has not shown that. Look at the reign of King Maximillian. He employed magic users to police one another, but he also encouraged them to use their skills.”
“That was over two hundred years ago. I’d say he was lucky.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “A few sorcerers won’t change things, and they’d be more trouble than they’re worth. We need to move toward a modern world, not return to the past.”
“A few sorcerers could tip the balance.” But Marlis knew she had already lost him. She couldn’t find a way to make Papa see that this was right. He would do what he felt was right. Why couldn’t he see?
“Can you take a moment to rehearse the speech and then come to the broadcasting chamber?”
“Of course,” she said, shoving back another wave of disappointment at the thought of the speech. She needed to embrace the words, even if they weren’t her own.
Politics is a game.
Thea was changing into a fresh dress from her bag when she heard a man yell from downstairs: “The Chancellor’s speaking!” Her hand still felt numb doing the buttons, but she managed. Freddy was waiting for her in the hall. Downstairs, a few men were gathered around a radio in the front parlor.
The Chancellor spoke with gravity. “A great tragedy, one I am sorry ever had to be made known…This dark magic, I’m afraid, began during the war. It is the result of a secret spell that Irminau used upon our brave men.”
“That Irminau used?” Freddy whispered indignantly.
“We are not a magical nation, as Irminau is”—the Chancellor’s tone was faintly condescending—“and so we still do not fully understand the workings of this magic, and certainly we did not know any antidote when it first entered the country. I know some of you, last night, saw loved ones you had thought dead. I am sorry to tell you that they were dead when you saw them, in the fullest sense of the word. The magic from Irminau reanimates the dead—but they are not the loved ones you knew. They return with extremely violent tendencies and few memories of their old life. We managed to keep them contained while we looked for a cure—until last night. Words cannot express my sympathies for what occurred last night.”
For a moment, the radio speakers brought nothing but silence.
“He’s blaming it on Irminau?” asked one of the men gathered close to the radio.
“Good old Nikki, can’t fault him for consistency,” said a man with bushy eyebrows. “A liar to the end.”
The Chancellor went on, “With the assistance of our scientists, we were able to develop an antidote to the violence and madness that these unfortunate citizens had succumbed to. However, a dose of this serum lasted for mere hours. We could not let them go free. We were hoping to develop a cure, but when last night’s outbreak occurred, for public safety, we were forced to use any means necessary to stop them—”
Behind Thea, Nan and Sigi entered the room. “Feeling better?” Nan whispered.
Thea lifted her hands. “Good as new.”
“Better be,” Nan said. “They shot you, and I still don’t understand why.”
Beside Thea, Freddy murmured, “He’s dragging Marlis into this?”
The Chancellor had just introduced his daughter.
“Do you know her?” Thea knew the Chancellor’s daughter from reading the society pages, although they had a dutiful and almost disappointed tone when they reported on Marlis. She never hosted costume parties or balls, and she was never spotted out at nightclubs. She was mostly seen at political events, and they tried to describe her dresses in glowing terms, but there seemed to be only so many ways they could call something “delightfully simple” or “basic, but elegant.”
“She was about the only kid I was allowed to play with growing up,” Freddy said.
“Really? You played with Marlis Horn? She seems very serious. What did you play?”
He rubbed his chin. “Battle, usually. I was the only one who’d play that stuff with a girl. I don’t think it was ever just a game to her, though. She wants to go into politics like her father, and I bet she’d aspire to the military if she was a boy.”
“I never knew. The paper just says she doesn’t dance and loves to knit. The reporters don’t seem to like her.”
“Knit?” Freddy laughed, and then paused. “Wait. She does knit socks and scarves for soldiers in the hospital. She’ll clean wounds and talk to dying people and everything. I can’t think of any other politician’s daughters who would do that.”
“Should I be jealous?” Thea smiled.
“If I ever give you reason to think I have feelings for Marlis, you’d better suspect something’s wrong with my head. She was always too patriotic for me, but I do wonder what will happen to her, if the Chancellor is removed from power.”
On the radio, Marlis was speaking in a measured tone that contrasted with the youthfulness of her voice. “Last night, when I realized what was happening, I was scared. What will happen to my country? What will happen to me? But fear is not our way. We are a brave nation, a nation that rises to a challenge. We have fought for our land and for our voices to be heard. It’s in these dark hours that we are tested. I know we will not fail, not even in this moment when the odds against us seem greatest….”
“It seems so strange,” Freddy said, “to think I was around these people just yesterday. I feel a million miles away now.”
“Good thing,” Thea said. She felt a little giddy, just feeling safe. Maybe it was an illusion, but the walls of this building seemed so secure. She was surrounded by men who were mostly her father’s age, with her father’s accent, and sometimes even a suggestion of her father’s features. They had plenty of food and all her friends were here. Except Mother.
Mother—
She kept feeling like there was something she needed to tell Freddy. To remember.
Father—
No. Why are you thinking of Father? She twisted her hands, replacing the grief with the soothing image of Yggdrasil’s branches above her head. Don’t think of Father. Don�
�t think.
“I just came from Republic Square.” A man with white-blond hair staggered into the front parlor where Freddy was still hanging around the radio long after the Chancellor’s speech. The man’s clothes reeked of the acrid smoke that had been faint on the air. “They’ve been bringing the dead to the square and burning the bodies. Hundreds of them.” He gripped the arm of the fellow who was trying to help him out of his coat. “It’s horrible.”
“Burning them?” Freddy asked, the faces of all those men and women he had revived flashing through his mind.
The man didn’t even seem to hear him. “The bodies were everywhere. The smell was everywhere. I’ll never forget it. It was worse than anything I ever saw in the war.”
“Come on, Ulrich,” one man said gently. “Let’s get your coat off, get you a drink.”
Sebastian came in with a few papers in his hand and leaned in the doorway. “Listen,” he said, “I’ve gotten an update from the UWP. They built the funeral pyres for the workers. This morning the military was piling the workers in trucks, carting them off to a mass grave.” He pulled off his brimmed gray cap and crumpled it in his hand. “People started bringing the bodies to Republic Square as a spontaneous protest.”
“So the Chancellor could choke on the smoke of what he’s done,” an angry-looking man with thick round glasses retorted. “That’s fitting.” Some of the other men hung their heads. Freddy edged to the door. No one was looking at him, or speaking of his involvement, though it wouldn’t be much of a leap.
“Even though this isn’t an ideal burial,” Sebastian said, “it is progress. The people aren’t just accepting the Chancellor’s lies. They’re pushing back. I hope you will all try to pull yourselves away from the radio and eat a good dinner while we still have fresh food, because the next few days will be busy.”
“Dinner!” Thea grabbed Freddy’s hand. “Let’s go. I barely got any lunch. And you’re always hungry, aren’t you?”
He let her tug him along, but she was definitely too eager. The news of the burning pyres—that might include her father’s body—hadn’t registered.
Glittering Shadows Page 5
