by Anne Bishop
But when he started to suggest they slow down, Lee just looked at him and smiled. That’s when Michael realized the other man had settled into the same rhythm.
“Travel on your feet a lot, do you?” Michael asked.
Lee nodded. “A fair amount. Depends on how far I’m traveling and where.” He stopped suddenly and pressed the palm of one hand against his forehead.
“Is your head troubling you?” He hadn’t noticed Lee indulging to excess last night, but drink took men differently.
“Something is,” Lee muttered.
Now Michael focused on the man—and on the music inside the man. A good tune, solid and steady. Reminded him of his friend Nathan. But there were sharp riffs now that hadn’t been there last night. As if the song that was Raven’s Hill was working on Lee.
“Maybe you should go back to your little island.”
Lee lowered his hand and shook his head. “I’m all right.”
No, you’re not. If something about Raven’s Hill was so troubling to Lee, what might it be doing to Glorianna?
“It’s not much farther.” With luck, he’d catch Nathan before the workday started. Whenever he felt ragged during a visit home, a few hours with Nathan settled him again. Maybe the same would be true for Lee.
They both lengthened their strides, moving with purpose until the harbor was in sight. Then Michael stopped sharply enough that Lee took several more steps before realizing something was wrong.
“That’s Kenneday’s ship,” Michael said, pointing. “I came up with him before things…happened. He should have set sail by now.” Unless the ship no longer had a captain. Kenneday had been standing near him when that monster rose out of the water. “Come on.”
They ran the rest of the way, travel packs bouncing against their shoulders. When they neared the water, Michael veered toward a tavern that was favored by captains and merchants who wanted a drink and a meal while conducting business. Even now, with the sun barely lifted above the horizon, the tavern was open for business and filled with customers.
And there he found Kenneday, sitting alone at a table, looking ashen and years older.
Michael strode up to the table. Upon seeing him, Kenneday cried out and stood up so fast the chair toppled.
“Ah, Michael, have you come back to haunt me? I swear by all I hold dear, there was nothing I could have done to save you. When that…thing…disappeared, I took out a boat to look for you. I did look. But I’ll understand if your soul feels a need to plague me.”
Michael looked at Garvey, who was working behind the bar—and was staring at him out of a face wrung clean of color. “Can we have a pot of strong tea over here?” He waited for the nod before turning back to Kenneday and putting some sting in his voice. “You’ve told me more than once that a captain who loses himself in drink risks losing his ship. And I know you’re a man with a fair share of courage, so I know you aren’t holding your ship, crew, and cargo in the harbor because some beasty rose out of the deep.”
Kenneday’s hand curled into a fist. “If you weren’t a dead man, I’d blacken your eye for using that tone of voice with me.”
“Does he always think people are ghosts, or does this happen only when he’s drunk?” Lee asked.
“Drunk, is it?” Kenneday shouted. “I’m not so far down into the bottle as to be called a drunk!”
“Then listen,” Lee said. “If you throw a punch and hit Michael in the eye, he’ll throw a punch and lay you out on the floor, and then I’ll get dragged into it because these kinds of fights never end with two punches, and we’ll end up trying to explain to his sister and mine how we landed in the guardhouse for a fight that wasn’t our doing.”
“Are you another spirit, then?” Kenneday asked.
“I’m a Bridge, and I’m sober, and I’m very much among the living.”
And you’re getting more pissy by the minute, Michael thought—and wondered whether he should be more worried about Kenneday or Lee.
“So why don’t we all sit down and you can tell Michael why your ship is still in the harbor and why you think he’s dead,” Lee said.
“I saw him go down into that terrible darkness, didn’t I?” Kenneday collapsed into another chair at the table while Lee righted the toppled chair and Michael pulled out a third. “Saw that thing rise up out of the sea and him standing there, facing it. And then the air turned black and the sea turned the color of blood, and when we could see again, Michael and the creature were gone.”
The pot of tea and the cups rattled as Garvey put them on the table. “Your auntie will be pleased you’ve come back to the living.”
“I wasn’t—” Michael shook his head. They were going to believe what they chose to believe. “Nathan said Aunt Brighid had been taken to the doctor’s house after the fire. Is she still there?”
“She’s at the boardinghouse now on Trace Street,” Garvey replied. “Doctor looks in on her every day, even though she’s well enough not to be needing him. Grieving for you and Caitlin Marie, of course, so I’m guessing she’ll be pleased to see you.”
If the shock of seeing us doesn’t kill her. But another thought occurred to him, and he wondered if, in fact, Brighid would be glad to see them.
“As for why I’m still in the harbor,” Kenneday said, “I had cargo for the White Isle, so I went once I felt sure there was nothing to be done for you. But it’s gone, Michael. You can see it. Sure as I’m sitting here, you can see it. When you’re coming up on it, the island looks as solid and real as your own hand. But then it starts to fade away. The closer you get, the more it fades until you sail over water where land should be—and when you get far enough away, you can see it again, behind you. Can’t be reached, though. No ship can dock there. So I came back, with my holds still full, and I didn’t have the heart to go farther. Not just yet.”
“Is the cargo in your hold staples that will last or supplies that will rot?” Lee asked.
“Mostly staples,” Kenneday replied. “There are things that will go bad, but not just yet.”
“Before you shed your cargo at a loss, give it another day,” Lee said.
“You know what became of the White Isle?” Michael asked.
Lee sipped his tea and grimaced. Since Michael found nothing wrong with the tea, he assumed the beverage wasn’t to Lee’s taste.
“Belladonna altered the landscapes to keep the White Isle away from the Eater of the World,” Lee said. “But her resonance is tangled with another Landscaper’s. Maybe that’s why the island is visible at all. It shouldn’t be.”
Kenneday looked from one to the other in disbelief. “Are you saying a sorceress made the White Isle disappear?”
Silence suddenly filled the tables around them, then carried like a wave throughout the tavern. Everyone turned in their direction. Everyone waited for an answer.
And the song that was Raven’s Hill turned dark and jagged.
Without some help, we’re not going to get out of here alive, Michael thought as he studied the faces of the men around him—some he had known for most of his life.
Lee sat back in his chair, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, smooth stone. “What does a sorceress do that a Magician doesn’t?”
Bad question. Beads of sweat popped out on Michael’s forehead.
“Are you a Magician then?” A man at the next table stood up and cracked his knuckles while he gave Lee a nasty grin.
“No, I’m not,” Lee said calmly, rubbing his thumb over the stone. “But I can tell you this. If the Magicians and sorceresses in your…country…walk away from you, you won’t survive a month. Because they not only protect you from Ephemera, they protect you from your own hearts. That thing you saw in the harbor killed most of the Landscapers and Bridges in my part of the world—and the world is going mad because of it. Before you blame someone else for your ill luck, consider this: Nothing comes to you that doesn’t live within your own heart. That is the way of the world.”
“You’re b
egging for a lesson,” the man snarled. As he took a step toward them, Lee threw the stone at him. The man caught it, an instinctive action…
…and disappeared.
Another wave of silence filled the tavern.
So fast, Michael thought. It happens so fast. “Where did he go?”
Lee pushed away from the table. Everyone in the tavern tensed—but no one dared move.
“I don’t know,” Lee said. “He crossed over to whatever landscape most reflected who he was at that moment.”
“So he’ll be able to come back?”
A sick, nasty expression flickered across Lee’s face, like a note that was out of tune and out of tempo. “Depends on whether or not he can survive what lives within his own heart.”
Michael rose to his feet. “How can you be so callous with a man’s life?”
“Callous?” Lee let out a harsh bark of laughter. The nastiness gave way to something darker and more honest—and more painful. “He comes at us, wanting to shed blood, with everything in him resonating a pleasure for inflicting pain, and you think I’m callous? Don’t stand there and tell me you couldn’t feel it. Not when you were that close to him. And the truth is, if he really belonged here, nothing would have happened when he caught that stone. Nothing, Michael. That’s how the world works. And if he didn’t belong here but wanted to stay, something would pull him away from this place, no matter how hard he tried to hold on. That, too, is the way of the world.”
“All right, fine,” Michael said, just wanting to get them out of there before the other men began to consider the odds.
“No, it is not all right!” Lee shouted. “My sister is going to die trying to save Ephemera from the Eater of the World. So is yours. So are you. You’re Ephemera’s defense against It, so you are going to die, Michael. And then they are going to die.” He swept his hand out to indicate the men in the tavern. “There is nothing they can do to fight something that was formed out of the darkness that lives in human hearts. They can gather armies to fight this thing, but without the sorceresses and Magicians that they hold in such contempt, their own fear will kill them. Their own despair will consume them. Their own doubts will devour their families. Do you know what is out there, Magician? Do you want to know what the Eater’s landscapes hold?”
No, he didn’t.
“The bonelovers look like ants, but they’re as long as your forearm. They’re called bonelovers because that’s all that’s left of anyone who stumbles into their wasteland. The trap spiders are big enough to pull a full-grown man into their lairs. The wind runners are as big as dogs and have jaws powerful enough to crush bone. The death rollers—”
“Stop it,” Michael said. “Stop it now. That’s enough.”
“—are like the crocodileans, which are native creatures that live in the rivers of warmer landscapes. But the death rollers are bigger, meaner—they are crocodileans swelled by human fear. That’s what is out there, Michael. That’s what is going to sink its teeth into your villages and your people. You think these are stories. I’ve lived with the truth of it all my life. I trained in the school where the Eater had been caged. I felt Its presence under all the currents of Light that flowed through the school. But all those currents of Light, all those hearts…” Lee’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I knew a lot of the people who were slaughtered when the Eater destroyed the school. And in the days to come, most of you will stand at a memorial stone and grieve for lost comrades or loved ones.”
“We have graveyards here,” Michael said softly.
Lee wiped his eyes and gave Michael a smile that was painfully sad. “Magician, most times there won’t be anything left to bury.”
He saw Kenneday shudder, and he thought about the fishermen who now haunted a stretch of sea. And he thought about what it would be like for men to take out the boats in order to feed their families if most of the sea was haunted with the dead, and there were only pockets of safe water left.
“Are you saying there’s a war coming?” a voice asked.
Michael looked toward the door. Nathan stood there—and the dark, jagged notes that had filled the tavern faded away, replaced by a rhythm that was as strong and steady as a heartbeat.
“It’s already started,” Lee replied wearily. “And it’s already reached your shores.”
Kenneday stared at the table for a long moment, then looked at Michael and Lee before nodding sharply. “I’ve got a duty to my ship and my crew, so I can’t be putting aside all my cargo runs. But she’s a good ship, and they’re good men. I’ll put them all at your disposal whenever I can to haul cargo or passengers. Whatever you need.” He stood up and looked around the room. “I sailed through the haunted water, and I was glad to have Michael on board.”
“Ill-wisher,” someone muttered.
“That’s enough,” Nathan said sharply, coming into the room. He tipped his head toward Lee. “I don’t know this man, but I heard what he said. And I’m wondering if we haven’t misunderstood some things about sorceresses and Magicians—and the world—for a long time now. So I for one am willing to offer a hand in friendship.” He held out a hand to Lee, who clasped it.
There was no actual sound in the room, but Michael could hear a dissonance shifting into the harmony of a different tune.
Something has changed.
He looked at Lee, who sank into a chair at the table, and he thought about the woman climbing the hill with his little sister.
Neither Glorianna nor Lee understood the world as he knew it—but they understood it in ways he’d never even dreamed.
Who was this woman? Caitlin wondered as she watched Glorianna study the outer walls of Darling’s Garden. What kind of person talked about resonances, dissonances, and currents of power flowing through the world?
And what kind of power flowed through Glorianna Belladonna that she could change the physical world simply by asking it to change?
“Ephemera, hear me,” Glorianna had said.
Caitlin stood beside her, trying not to look at the burned husk of the cottage that had been her family’s home. In front of them, the rust-colored sand had swallowed even more of the meadow.
“This sand does not belong here,” Glorianna said. “This landscape is not welcome here.”
Listen to her, Caitlin thought as fiercely as she could. Please, listen to her.
A quiver along her skin, as if the air had asked a question. Glorianna watched her, waiting.
Feeling self-conscious and foolish, Caitlin stared at the sand and said, “This is my place. The sand that comes from that dark…landscape…does not belong here. It is not welcome here. I do not want that sand to touch what is mine.”
Something rippled through the land, then flowed through her, making her feel as if she were being lifted up to ride a wave in the sea. And then she watched the land change right before her eyes, and within moments, bare earth replaced the sand.
Filled with a blend of delight and disbelief, along with a helping of fear, Caitlin laughed nervously. “Isn’t Ephemera going to fill in the bare spots?”
“Yes,” Glorianna said. “The meadow will reseed itself, as it does every year.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I know. But there is a difference between being playful and being careless with what you ask of the world.”
“This garden is loved,” Glorianna said, brushing her fingers over the stones.
“I tend it as best I can,” Caitlin said, pleased that she sounded modest—and puzzled that Glorianna could tell what she’d done to the garden when they hadn’t gotten inside yet.
“You repaired the mortar?” Glorianna asked.
“What?” Now that it was pointed out, she could see signs of recent work.
“Maybe Lee’s ability to impose one landscape over another isn’t unique after all,” Glorianna said. Then she smiled at Caitlin. “The garden doesn’t actually exist on this hill. It’s here because you need it to be. But it is grounded somewhere else—
and it is loved there, Caitlin.”
“Then…it’s not mine?” It hurt to consider it. The garden had been her friend most of her life.
“Of course it’s yours. It wouldn’t be here if it didn’t resonate with you.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Something in the air between them. Something in Glorianna’s eyes. Compassion? Knowledge? Caitlin couldn’t put a name to it, but she understood with unshakable certainty that whatever happened in the next minute would change her life—and would change the world.
“I think you should find out where this garden is rooted. Where you’re rooted. It isn’t here, Caitlin Marie. I’m not even sure this is one of your landscapes. This village and the surrounding land should be one of the pieces of the world that is in your keeping, but something isn’t right here. And I don’t think this is really home.”
“No,” Caitlin whispered. “It’s not. We never quite fit in Raven’s Hill.” A different place where the other girls wouldn’t see her as a sorceress and the boys wouldn’t think of her as the new village whore? “How do I find this place?”
“Let’s take a look inside the garden.”
Michael was the only person who had seen her garden—and Michael hadn’t understood. This was different, exciting, strange, terrifying.
“At this time of year, it’s not at its best,” Caitlin said, twisting her fingers as Glorianna studied each bed.
“No, it’s not,” Glorianna said absently. “You’ll have to work on that. You want balance reflected through the seasons, just as you want a balance between the currents of Light and Dark. This.” She stopped in front of a stone. “This came from the White Isle.”
Caitlin gaped for a moment. “How can you tell?”
“I can feel the island’s resonance in the stone.” Glorianna studied the stone a moment longer, then looked at Caitlin. “Why did you put it here in the garden?”
Flustered, Caitlin felt her face burn. “My aunt Brighid used to tell me about the White Isle and about Lighthaven, which is the heart of the island. For a while she thought I might be accepted into training there, but…”
