by Sarah Dalton
We will meet soon, craft-born, when we are both ready. There’s something I need you to do for me. If you help me, I will help you, too.
“Never,” I whisper. “I will never help you. I’ll die first.”
The ground is hard against my shoulder blades. My head is sore. My shoulder is sore. My side is sticky and wet.
Mae?
I feel as though I am being pulled from one dream to the next.
“Mae. You must wake. You’re bleeding”
I see the amber eyes first, then the shiny bald head. “Allerton.”
“Yes, yes, it’s me. But first, you need to dress that wound. I cannot do it for you because I cannot lift.”
When I sit up, a searing pain rips through my side. “It can’t be,” I mutter. “But it was the mechanical spider. I never… I was never supposed…”
“Mae, quickly, put pressure on the wound. You have lost a lot of blood.”
No wonder I felt woozy when I was with Beardsley. I reach for something nearby that might help stop the bleeding, the best I find is a blanket from the queen’s bed. When I tear strips, my stomach sinks. If the king finds out I have destroyed his property, he’ll have my head. But I don’t have much of a choice, it’s either this, or watch my life-blood seep into the stone floor of the castle.
I wrap the strips of blanket around my wound. It is deep, but not as bad as I had imagined when fighting the spider.
“What happened?” I ask Allerton. “How did I obtain this wound? In the vision I fought a spider. But it was just a vision.”
“I watched you writhing on the floor, unconscious yet mumbling the name ‘Beardsley’. The wound appeared in a sudden slash as though you had been caught by a sword.”
“It was no sword. It was the pincers from one of Beardsley’s inventions.”
“Who is this Beardsley?” Allerton asks with a frown.
“He is the designer of the castle. In the vision he told me the combination for the ring on the door, and we went into the tunnel behind the washroom. There is more in the tunnels than we think. He said there was somewhere to watch and find out all the secrets from the palace.”
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Allerton says. “Secrets sound like something the Nix would be interested in. As the most powerful creature in the Waerg Woods, it is always looking for ways to increase its power.”
I tie off the blankets over my wound. It smarts, but I am able to stand. I stagger over to the door to inspect the brass rings. A flash in my mind reminds me of the sickening crash as the spider’s legs broke through the metal. It makes my stomach lurch all over again.
“You need rest,” Allerton says. “You should sleep. I will try to wake you if I hear the Nix. Otherwise, we are safe here.”
There’s a burning curiosity inside me. I want to be back in the tunnel, exploring these secrets Beardsley talked of. But I know Allerton is right. I have to rest if I am to carry on. I climb onto the queen’s bed, no longer caring if my blood seeps onto her sheets.
As I am drifting into sleep, I say aloud, “The visions pull me in whenever they feel like it. I don’t… I can’t seem to be able to control them. And they are all so different. Sometimes I am aware, sometimes I’m not. And, if I can be hurt in the visions, that means I can die in them too.”
Chapter Six – The Weight of Responsibility
I wake to find Allerton sitting on the floor with his eyes closed and his legs crossed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I am communing with my body, dear girl.” One eye peeks open to reveal the pale orange beneath the lids. “I wanted to check in and make sure it’s all right.”
“Is it?”
“Everything appears to be normal, yes.” He opens both eyes and stretches out his legs. “Even as a mere soul I seem to experience the aches and pains of middle age. Perhaps it reveals the power of both habit, and the mind. How is the wound healing?”
“Well,” I say. “When I was in the Waerg Woods with Sasha, she said that I heal faster than other people. Is that because of my power?”
“Of course it is. Nature responds to your cry for help. It fills you with whatever you need to become well.”
I pat the bandages thoughtfully. With my craft abilities I rely heavily on nature. But what does my existence mean to the world? Sometimes I feel like a tornado-like force, sucking energy from everything around me. Other times I am a hurricane, blowing power outwards into the realm.
“It takes time to come to terms with the craft, Mae,” Allerton says. “When this is over you need to come to the Borgan camp and learn more about what you are. As a group, we have been studying your kind for centuries. I may personally have never worked with a craft-born like yourself, but there are older members who have. There are books and teachings. There’s much to learn, if you open yourself to the thought of learning.”
My muscles instinctively clench as I remember my breakdown in the camp. It was the moment I accepted my father’s death. I cannot think of the camp without letting grief back in. Yet I know he is right, and there is a part of me yearning to discover more about who I am. I just need to learn to distance my painful memories from the thought of Allerton. I need to see him as a man who made the wrong decision, not as the man who was directly responsible for my father’s death. Can I ever manage that? I’m not sure.
“I don’t know,” I say softly.
“Mae. You are young and you wear a heavy crown. You must come to study your craft.”
“A heavy crown?” I repeat.
“The crown of responsibility, dear. Every craft-born wears it. You wear it heavier than the king, I dare say. His is a bejewelled imposter, but yours is real. It doesn’t fit right yet, but it will. Trust me.”
There it is. The word that hangs between us. Trust. A word that is earned through actions. There have been so few positive actions between myself and Allerton, that I am unsure if trust can ever blossom. We started in the worst possible way—from rage and hatred. I am trying, but it is harder than anything I have ever tried before, and I am new to trying, new to growing, and new to friendships. I turn away from him and stare at an ornate tapestry on the wall. It depicts the crowning of a young prince: Ethelbert the Third, if I remember rightly from my father’s books. I have seen a sketch of the tapestry in the books. Father would be proud to know that I am in its presence. A twinge of pain crosses my heart. Perhaps it is my injury that is wearing me down, but I cannot ever imagine a friendship with Allerton. Deep down I still blame him.
Allerton lets out a long sigh. “You will learn to trust me. It will take time. I wish we had more time to bond, but I am afraid that we will never have enough. All I can do, is show you that I am here as your guardian, in the same way your white stag is.”
“Anta?”
“Yes, dear. He is a protector like I am. He has watched you since you were a baby, and I am sure there is something of the Ancient spirit inside him. The beast is a magical one. I’m almost certain of it.”
Pieces begin to fall into place. I always felt safe and calm around Anta. He has been a constant in my world. He has always been there for me, even when others are not. Of course he is magical. That’s why the villagers were afraid of him. They felt it. They felt the magic in me, too. That’s why they have always been wary.
A deep sadness tugs on my heart. If that is true, everyone I ever meet will feel that same wariness. They will harbour a deep suspicion, even if they don’t know why. All my life I’ve hidden a secret, and believed that I’ve hidden it well. Now I know that isn’t true. They all knew. Everyone I’ve ever met has always known. I’m different. They just don’t know how different.
“Is it possible to sense magic?” I ask Allerton. “When I meet other people, do they know what I am?”
His eyes half close in thought. “Yes, I think they do sense it. They might not know what they are sensing, however. I certainly felt your power the moment I saw you.” He reg
ards me for a moment. “You feel alone, don’t you? That’s the crown, my dear. That loneliness is its weight.” He moves closer to me and lifts a hand as though to place it on my own. Then he thinks better of it and tucks it back into the sleeves of his robes. “As there is only ever one craft-born at a time, you will never quite rid that feeling of loneliness. But it is important for you to know that you are not alone. The Borgans are here to—”
“The Borgans are forced into protecting the magic for the realm. It has nothing to do with wanting to be around me. You’re obliged to be around me.”
“And what a great honour it is. You’re special, Mae.”
“Because of the magic, not because of me, not because of my character or beauty, because the Gods know I have little of both,” I say, without meaning to sound self-pitying. It’s a fact as plain as day. I could choose to ignore the fact I am not beautiful, but somehow that isn’t in my nature. “Even the prophetess from the Ibenas said I was a normal girl, that there was nothing special about me apart from the magic.”
Allerton straightens his back and frowns. “And do you plan to let a mentally ill teenage girl speak for who you are and who you intend to be? Because if you do, you will never become anything of any merit. Is that what your father would have wanted?”
My head snaps up. Hearing him mention my father brings some of the heat back into my veins, leftover anger from the grief I’ve carried for weeks.
Allerton purses his lips. For a fraction of a second, I think he is hiding a smile. It’s as though he wanted to anger me. “Ah, now that’s the Aelfen spirit.”
“The Aelfen spirit?” I ask.
“Yes, that’s right. The Aelfen spirit. Your ancestors, dear. They were a fractious bunch. Even before humans invaded Aegunlund there were wars between the tribes. Territory was important to Aelfens, but even more important was a sense of loyalty. If that loyalty was broken, their tempers flared. Oh yes, they were a race who saw very little middle ground, moral to a fault.”
“Do you think I’m like that?” I ask, thinking of my desire for revenge after father died, and for the way I struggled to see the perspective of the Borgans.
“Who knows,” Allerton says. “I don’t believe we are defined by our blood, at least not in an absolute sense. Our surroundings have as much impact on us as anything. As do those who factor in our lives. Perhaps there is a little of the Aelfen hot-tempered morality lurking within you, but mostly I see a girl who observes and learns.”
I open my mouth to speak, and then pause. I’ve never felt as though I fit in with the people around me, which means I’ve never figured out how I’m built. This one nugget of information is like a huge piece of the puzzle being put in place. Sometimes I feel like a broken vase that must be mended bit by bit. Whether I trust Allerton or not, I know that he is right when he tells me I need to learn more about my ancestors. I need to know what it is to be craft-born.
“Shall we open that tunnel now?” he says.
My stomach growls as I climb out of the queen’s bed. I’m still in the bloody shirt from the night before and I head into the washroom to change my clothes. The dressings will need to be changed and I should check the wound on my side. I’m relieved to see there is no infection, and I find proper bandages in the bathroom. Then I take another tunic from her majesty’s wardrobe and hope that she does not have my head on a spike for theft.
Before leaving the bathroom, I run my fingers over the notches, memorising their size and frequency, before heading back to the door. The loops face me. I shudder at the memory of the mechanical spider lunging through the door, its pincers biting into my side. I shake the memory away and work on the rings, bringing the symbols together. When it’s over, the mechanism gives a quiet click, and a cool breeze spreads through the chambers.
“You did it, Mae,” Allerton says. He nods his head as though impressed.
“Beardsley helped in my vision.”
Allerton’s impressed expression fades into a frown.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It could be nothing,” he says. “I just have a bad feeling in regards to those visions.”
We head into the tunnels, pulling the lever to close the entrance. The lantern is in exactly the same place, and I light it and hold it aloft. It is exactly the same as in the vision, so alike that it is uncanny.
“Beardsley said there was a viewing place. That there was something I needed to see. What do you think that means?” I say. “It has to be connected to the queen in some way. There must be a reason for her to have a secret door to this tunnel. Beardsley adapted the old castle and used his inventions to customise it to how the king wanted it. He said the queen asked for these specifications in her chamber. He said that he presumed she wanted an escape route for her family. But why would she keep it from the king?”
“Perhaps she is afraid of the king,” Allerton suggests.
“That makes sense, he is scary. But he is the father of her children. Why would he hurt his own children?”
“Why do men do anything? For money or love, and I can’t imagine that man loving so much as a kitten, let alone his own children. I imagine he could stamp on a disabled duckling and feel no remorse.”
I try to hold back my chuckle but fail miserably. “He would have us beheaded if he heard us. The first thing he did to me was shoot me with an arrow.”
Allerton chuckles this time. “Imagine if he knew the truth. If he learnt that he had shot the craft-born with an arrow… after his utter obsession with finding the craft-born… well. What a fool he is. If there is one thing more dangerous than a tyrant king, it’s one with an empty head.”
We press on through the damp tunnels. The mouldy stench drifts up to my nostrils as I walk, turning my empty stomach. How long has it been since I ate? The memory of steak pie and chocolate cake makes my mouth water. We should take a detour to the kitchens soon. Perhaps there is something untouched by the curse that I can eat.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Allerton asks.
I’d been following the same path I walked with Beardsley in my dream, but now we came to the point where the vision had ended and I’d been brought back to the queen’s chambers. It was here that we talked of the king, and of how Beardsley has done bad things for him. My gut tells me that there is some significance in the words Beardsley said to me.
The things I have done…
All the secrets…
And these things he has done, they were for the king, for something he requested. If the Nix is showing me the vision, and then inside that vision Beardsley brings up the king, then surely the king is the key to all this? But the other visions showed me different things, like Cas and Ellen and her father… all of them seem to involve bullying in some way. My head spins as I try to make sense of it all. There is no sense.
“This is as far as we came,” I say. “I don’t know where to go from here.”
“But you know the basic structure of the castle. You can follow the tunnels in a general direction. This is where you begin to use your instincts, Mae. You must call on your powers to help.”
“Then I think we should go to the king’s chambers. The palace designer mentioned something in his vision and I want to follow it up. He mentioned secrets. Also, he said that both the king and the queen had secret doors leading to the tunnels. Perhaps I can find it.”
We hurry on, negotiating bends and twists. Three times I have to stop and think. During my time in the Red Palace I have explored almost every nook and cranny, but I have not been inside the king’s chambers. I’ve been near them, and I’ve quizzed the poor waiting staff who deliver his breakfast every morning, but I’ve never been inside. My palms tingle with anticipation. I’m ready to learn more about the king and his motives for the castle. I want to know why he wants the castle running on magic. There must be a reason, and Allerton is right, it has be to do with money or power, or both.
As we follow the tunnels, which dip a
nd rise between stairs, sneak between walls and duck underground.
“I think we’re close,” I say, squinting through a thin gap between stones. “That is the corridor next to the king’s chambers. If we take a left here… yes… here it is. Another door! And the lever is in the same place.” After a tug on the lever, the wall scrapes sideways, revealing an entrance into the king’s bathroom, in exactly the same place as the queen’s. “Both the king and queen have matching hidden tunnels without either of them knowing. Can you believe that?”
“I can. Court members like to keep their ears to the ground and their eyes hidden in the shadows. Perhaps the queen has been spying on the king,” Allerton suggests. “She would want to keep that secret.”
My pulse quickens as we step into the king’s chambers. It’s one thing entering the queen’s room when I know she would treat me kindly if she knew the circumstances, it’s a different matter when you know that the king would have you executed without a second thought. This is real danger now. I am risking everything for more information. I hope I find something to fight the Nix.
It is a vast chamber, and as flashy as you would imagine. The king has spared no expense when it comes to his own comfort, despite the hungry families we passed on the way to Cyne.
Luxurious silk drapes hang from ceiling to floor. Unlike the rest of the castle, these are clean and new. The stone floor is covered in deep, soft rugs that feel spongy underfoot. His bed is huge, twice the size of the queen’s bed.
His desk is a behemoth of wooden architecture, stacked high with papers. It seems strange that out of the entire castle, the king would work on business matters in his personal chambers, but that might be an indication that he has business he would prefer to keep from his confidantes.
The room is not unlike the others in the castle, but there are slight ornate touches on the arcs of the windows and the sills. It strikes me as typical of the king to want his room to be better than any other, that perhaps his sense of worth lies in the way the world perceives him as a man. He wants to be someone who is above any other person. While I could feel pity for a man like that, I have a scar below my ribs that only reinforces a bubbling hatred worming its way within me.
