Mirror of Stone

by Corie J. Weaver

  Hope crossed his face. He leaned over, brushed her lips with his, pressed further.

  She forced her mind to be quiet, to be still, and focus on the city, on anything else. He pressed his chest into hers, wrapped his hands over her shoulders and pulled her yet tighter to him. Then, as Eleanor surrendered to the path she had chosen, his lips stiffened against hers. Doug stopped, pulled his face away, searched her eyes.

  “You don’t want this, do you?” He scrambled away and stood. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me, do this to yourself.”

  She goggled at him, unable to speak.

  “You can’t stay there anymore. And if this,” he flung his hand out at the room, “was your only other choice, what are you going to do now?”

  She had no answer.

  Chapter Three

  Eleanor didn’t try to speak with Doug again. She did her work and brought food to her father and went to her room and sat blind at the window. If she said nothing, did nothing, she could build a quiet shelter in her mind where nothing could reach her.

  Four days later Eleanor went from the front room to the kitchen to heat the stoves. Susan said something, but she didn’t hear her, the words didn’t register. In the kitchen she heard the whoosh of the outer door as it opened and she wandered out to see who had arrived so early.

  A woman Eleanor had never seen before stood in the doorway, scrutinizing the empty tables. Her steel gray hair swung at a sharp angle below her chin and a fine latticework of wrinkles covered her cheeks. Eleanor guessed the woman could be anywhere from fifty to ninety, and her sharp gaze didn’t miss much or allow for any slack.

  “May I help you?”

  The older woman blinked, then her face softened and resolved into the impression of being someone’s favorite grandmother. “Are you open, dear?” She flitted a hand around as if somehow Eleanor had not noticed the empty room.

  “Yes, of course. It’s a little early.”

  “How pleasant for me, then.” The older woman stepped forward, paused, glanced over her shoulder. “May I sit anywhere?”

  Even though it scarcely mattered, Eleanor hurried forward to guide the woman to a table and pull out a chair for her.

  The woman sat down, arranged herself just so and then beamed up at Eleanor.

  “Well, this is all very nice, isn’t it?”

  Eleanor hoped her smile covered her confusion.

  “Now, what should I order-” She was interrupted by a delicate cough. Eleanor prepared to recite the list of dishes she could prepare from the supplies on hand.

  “Actually, dear, it doesn’t matter. I’d like a cup of panosian tea, if it’s not a bother. My throat seems particularly dry today.”

  Eleanor went to prepare the drink and passed Susan where she sat in the kitchen.

  “Who’s here?”

  “I don’t know. Just a customer.”

  “Humph.” Susan pushed herself up and waved off the vid. “I guess I’ll take a look, make sure all’s well.”

  Eleanor rinsed and warmed the teapot, bruised the panos leaves and poured steaming water over them.

  “I’m perfectly capable of seating someone for dinner,” she muttered, but shrugged. Whatever. It didn’t really matter.

  Eleanor arranged the tea things on a tray and backed out through the swinging door of the kitchen. In the dining room behind her she could hear Susan laugh in response to something the stranger said.

  Then she heard the next words from the woman.

  “Now I should get down to business. I have a little proposition that I need to speak with the owner of this establishment about. The records show a Mr. Greg Weber? Is he present?” Each sentence ended with a little lilt, as if gently asking, not wanting to put anyone to any trouble.

  Eleanor hurried forward with the tea tray in her hands to answer for her father but to her annoyance Susan shooed her away and sat herself at the table with the woman.

  Susan paused to wipe her meaty hands on her apron. “I’ll be running it in the future, ma’am. This will be a fine place again, I’m sure. I’ve always had to step in for that man, even when we were children.”

  “Wait a minute.” Eleanor sat the tray on the table, willed her hands to not shake and cause a clatter. “It’s not your business, Susan, it’s ours. Mine and Dad’s. You keep talking like he’s dead, but he’s not. And even if he were, I’d take over for him, not you.”

  The woman and Susan both regarded her, the surprise on their faces as clear as if a dog had recited poetry.

  The woman’s bland smile and syrupy tone made Eleanor’s hands twitch to wrap around her throat. “Of course, dear. But you’re a bit young to take this on all by yourself, aren’t you? Fresh out of school, you should have more experience first.” The smile sharpened, blue eyes bright. “Besides, I believe the record shows that you graduated a year early on a hardship leave. Technically, you’re too young to sign a contract. You can’t take over here, I’m afraid.”

  Eleanor turned on Susan. “You don’t even want it! You’ve always complained about working here.”

  Susan sniffed. “I’m sure with a little work it can be made quite pleasant, much more respectable.”

  “Respectable!” Eleanor snapped. “It’s always been a perfectly respectable inn. We’ve never had any problems until you came to ‘help out’ with your bossing and your complaining and trying to take over. We don’t need your help!”

  The older woman cleared her throat softly. “Goodness. Young lady, I really do think you should reconsider your position here. You’re still a minor, still under the supervision of your parent,” she nodded to Susan, “or appointed guardian. If you need to be sent to one of the training schools, I’m sure it could be arranged.”

  Eleanor glared at the two women aligned against her. I can’t win this by myself. The battle would be lost if she didn’t get reinforcements.

  Tears of anger stung her eyes as she ran upstairs. Without stopping, she crashed into her father’s room. “Poppa, Poppa, please! You’ve got to wake up! You’ve got to tell them. . .”

  Tell them what? The sight of the shriveled wreck her father had become forced the rest of her words to leave her like a faint drift of air as she slumped against the wall. Nothing he could possibly say or do would make the slightest difference. The father she remembered, had run to for help, had disappeared somewhere she couldn’t follow. She couldn’t bring him back.

  As she stepped away from the bed, he reached for her arm.

  “Martha?”

  Empty inside, Eleanor placed his hand back on his hollowed chest.

  “No. Not Martha.”

  And closed the door behind her.

  Eleanor sat in her room, eyes fixed on the wall. She’d braced a chair under the doorknob. Hours ago Susan had stopped yelling up the stairs for her to come down. If her aunt wanted to claim the bar, she should run it herself.

  Lights flickered on in the street under her window and startled her.

  I’ve been in here all evening. What am I going to do now?

  The idea of staying and working for Susan repelled her, but to leave, to go elsewhere... She could have found refuge with Doug. She buried her face in her hands. She’d burned her bridges well there. Burned them and chopped the ropes into little pieces and tore up the map so she could never find her way back. Even if they could go back to being friends, pretend to forget that horrible afternoon in the back of the store, things between them would be awkward, uncomfortable. Eleanor shook herself. That would be another trap right now.

  She couldn’t enlist; the recruiters had left with the trading ship. Even to join SecDept and be a policewoman wouldn’t be an option for another year. The old woman had been right, she was too young. Besides, she didn’t want to. I’ve had enough fighting for the rest of my life
here. How did she know so much about me? But the answer didn’t matter, couldn’t, not now.

  Eleanor stared out at the empty streets and wondered about the ships that had left weeks ago. Until lately, with so many people about, she never could have found another place working on a farm or even in another tavern. But with fewer people around there might be an opening somewhere, even for someone a little underage.

  This could work. She’d head out of the city, pick a direction and walk. And she’d ask if anyone needed a new hand. Someone would take her on. She couldn’t run farm or mining machinery yet, but she’d learn. She’d have to.

  What direction to go? She considered the map on the wall downstairs, but couldn’t face Susan. Not yet. Especially when I’ve got a map right here. She pulled the map out from the battered pack, smoothed it over the bed.

  The marked spot drew her eye. But maybe, maybe I should take a little detour first.

  Eleanor shook her head. She had no reason to believe the spires of the city rose behind the eastern mountains. Nothing like it had ever been spotted, ever reported. People would have talked about such a thing, in class or on the vid or rumors in the bar. She’d never heard of a city like that, anywhere, on any of the colonies. Maybe on Claro, but she didn’t think so. A tattered map and an old man’s ravings weren’t proof.

  But she closed her eyes, saw the towers rise before her, more real to her now than anything left here.

  All right. I’ll go take a look and then once I know for sure, I’ll start looking for work. Who knows, along the way I might find a place, have a job waiting for me when I come back.

  Decision made, she smiled a little as she planned what she would need for the journey.

  Late that night, Eleanor sat on the floor of her room in the dark. Hours had passed since she heard Susan slide the bolt across the front door and trudge up the stairs. Eleanor crept out into the hall and slid on stocking feet towards Susan’s room. She paused at the door, strained to hear.

  Nothing but heavy breathing, slow and deep. She waited, shaking where she crouched. The whole building seemed to hold its breath with her. The silent, still air chilled her skin.

  If she catches me…. She couldn’t even complete the statement in her mind. The faded bruises that still marred her cheek would be as nothing compared to what would happen. She bit her lip, straightened. Then I just can’t get caught. All there is to it. A hysterical giggle threatened to escape and then subsided as she eased open the door.

  Susan lay on her side. The faint light from Ladril revealed no clutter, no extra furniture to hide behind if Susan woke. Eleanor slid inside and pulled the door shut behind her.

  I don’t think I’ve been in here since she came to live with us.

  She knelt by the foot of the bed, hoping that if Susan woke her form would be harder to discern around the angle of the mattress. She judged a small table by the bed, a dresser on the other side and a desk with three drawers that stood in the corner, the most likely possibilities for the vidplayer to be hidden.

  Eleanor crawled towards the corner, paused every few inches to hold her breath and listen. Nothing changed. She reached the desk and patted down the surface, felt for the weight of the vidplayer. Nothing. Please let it be here. I don’t want to go closer to the bed.

  The first drawer squealed as she opened it, louder even than the sound of her heartbeat in her own ears and she froze. Her eyes returned to the sleeping figure. Susan rolled over, but didn’t yell, didn’t open her eyes. Eleanor sagged and examined the drawer. Data crystals, receipts, miscellaneous junk that meant nothing to Eleanor. No vidplayer. The search of the other two drawers proved just as fruitless.

  She inched closer to the bed to approach the dresser. The bare surface held no small boxes or trinkets littered across the top. The drawers, silent this time, held nothing more than clothing.

  She crept along the floor by the side of the bed, paused when it creaked as Susan rolled again. Halfway to her goal, Susan’s arm slid out from under the covers to dangle centimeters from Eleanor’s nose. She ducked her head, afraid that even her breath on her aunt’s hand would be enough to wake her. She edged to the side, towards the center of the room and scurried to the other wall to approach the table from the side.

  She examined the nightstand. Light tan with a drawer across the top and two doors beneath, the top of the table held an ugly lamp and a full glass of water. Wish I had thought to bring poison.

  The drawer contained photographs of Susan’s husband, a kind-looking man Eleanor remembered with fondness. Why keep them, if you can’t bear to look at them?

  The photos of the younger, prettier Susan reminded Eleanor of years ago, when she had been very small and things had been different. Her aunt and uncle had visited in the summers and they had sat with her mother and father downstairs after the guests had left, talking and laughing late into the night. What happened to all of that? She shook herself. All long in the past.

  She eased open the cabinet doors, reached into the dark compartment and felt about. There, the familiar shape of the vidplayer. Her fingers ran over the strange raised flowers that decorated its borders, traced the holes that ran down the side. When she pulled it out, a spill of silvery light fell into her lap.

  A necklace with a pendant shaped like a hoori flower, surrounded by silver wings that twisted for the sky. A brooch with enameled petals of midnight. A ring of braided silver wire. Those are my mother’s. Eleanor ran the links of the necklace through her fingers. My mother’s.

  Eleanor’s hands squeezed the pile of jewelry until the pin of the brooch pricked her finger. I’m leaving. Nothing else I can do will hurt you more. And nothing else I can do will stop you from hurting me.

  She slid the chain of the necklace over her head and shoved the rest back into the dresser. With the vidplayer clutched to her chest she crept out of the room. She stole down the hall, breathless with fear. Once she reached the safety of her own chamber she sat on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the winged pendant.

  Where are the rest of my mother’s things? Did Susan sell everything else? Am I going to walk down the street, see another necklace of my mother’s around some stranger’s throat? Is mother’s furniture in some new settler’s house?

  It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except escape. This isn’t my future. It’s not even the past I remember.

  She placed the vidplayer deep within her pack. From years of making breakfasts before the guests woke, she knew where to walk close to the wall to avoid making noise, which stairs to skip all together.

  Downstairs she filled her pack from the kitchen stores, foodbars, water, a small amount of smoked meat and fresh cheese.

  It’s not stealing. Not if this is my home. And if this isn’t my home, someone owes me a lot more back pay than a few food bars.

  As Eleanor stepped from the kitchen into the courtyard behind the inn she glanced up at her father’s darkened window.

  Goodbye, Poppa. She bowed her head. I think you left me behind a long time ago.

  Eleanor adjusted the straps of her pack over her heavy coat and started the long walk east.

  Chapter Four

  By the third day Eleanor wondered if she had made a mistake. A slow rain had begun in mid-morning and, although her mind recognized the effect of the atmospheric controllers scrubbing the air, she found it hard not to take the downpour as an insult. Soaked and miserable, her boots squished and the mud tugged at each step.

  Every few hours she stopped to take another reading with her compass, checked the GPS, and kept herself aimed towards an ice-topped peak in the far distance. A dark line below it must be the beginning of the eastern forest.

  Faced with fields of waist-high orange nu-corn she wished again the road she had been traveling on the first day hadn’t curved south. It had been easier walking on the cleared ground,
but the change couldn’t be helped. If she wanted to keep her original direction, she’d have to press on and hope for a place to rest ahead.

  An hour later the lights of a farmhouse rose out of the fog, warm and welcoming.

  I could ask for shelter. She wiped the rain out of her eyes. There wouldn’t be a problem. Really.

  Still, Eleanor avoided the main house and with chilled hands lifted the latch to one of the outbuildings.

  A single window set high on the far wall lit the small room. The warm smell of cut grass filled her with an odd sense of contentment, and she peeled off her backpack and sagged with relief. She sat braced between it and the wall and contemplated the ranks and rows of tools arranged opposite her. Sleep came without warning, then Eleanor found her arm shaken by a very small child with an untidy mop of blond hair.

  “Are you playing hide and seek too?”

  She blinked at him, unable to understand his words through the cobwebs wrapped around her brain.

  “Why are you in my hiding place if you’re not playing?” The little boy frowned, as if Eleanor posed the greatest puzzle in the world.

  Eleanor pulled herself to her feet, ready to run. But before she could slip out, a laughing girl with a pair of long braids came running in through the door.

  “Found you, Jeremiah! You always hide in here. I’ve told you and told you to find a new spot.”

  The laughter stopped as the girl noticed Eleanor. Her dark eyes narrowed as she stepped between Eleanor and the little boy.

  “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Eleanor tried to sound reassuring. “I was passing through and needed to get in from the rain. I’m leaving now.”