Sisters of the Fire
Page 41
As Willow walked the familiar route up the rise to Bramble Hill, her heart thudded with excitement. Would Avaarni now be in his male body, ready to begin his training as heir to the kingship of a united, trimartyr Thyrsland?
The gate was not locked, and it opened with a rusty creak. Willow was still so full of thoughts of the glorious conversion that she didn’t notice the gardens were overgrown, that long grass surrounded the carts near the stables, that the flowering pots outside the front door of Gudrun’s house contained only dead plants.
When she removed the key from her belt and opened the door, she realised.
The smell hit her first. Empty, yeasty, faintly malodorous, as though windows hadn’t been opened in an age. But then the silence. No Penda nor Othilaf. No dogs. Not even Parsley, the cat.
‘Gudrun?’ she called, advancing into the stone-tiled front room. ‘Avaarni?’
She pushed on, her eyes finally confirming what her heart already knew.
The house was empty.
Her child was gone.
Epilogue
Rowan kept many secrets. She had learned that anyone who had power and influence in this world had to keep secrets, because they were the hidden glue that held all things together. She liked having secrets. They reminded her that her life was bigger than the daily mundanity of her existence in Folcenham.
She couldn’t complain about the trimartyr praying. Nyll’s daily prayers that the heathen magic leave had taken nothing from her. She could still feel the gates opening and closing all over Thyrsland, still feel her Ærfolc blood latent inside her, waiting for a moment of destiny to rouse it to action, the return to Rathcruick, the father of her spirit.
She couldn’t complain about Wengest, who had heard of her great feat of archery at Sæcaster and now gave her time, equipment, and a trainer to help her hone her skill even further. At the end of a boring day of sewing and reading, to stride into the garden and send arrow after arrow thunking into the targets cleared her head and allowed her to feel less trapped by life at court. Her father often came to watch her, and cuddled her fiercely afterwards as though she were still a little girl, as though they were blood, as though he were more than just the father of her memories. She loved him in her own way.
She didn’t complain about Marjory, Wengest’s new wife, who was as horrified at the notion of mothering Rowan as Rowan herself was. They seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement to pretend to like each other, while actually avoiding each other at every opportunity. She much preferred Sister Henrietta, who had been given the thankless task of helping Rowan improve her cross stitch, but who at least had some good stories to tell of the times of the giants and dragons.
She didn’t complain about how far she was from Blicstowe and Snowy, the father of her heart, because Wengest had agreed to let her go there every Yule, and that was only a few months away.
And even though she was circumscribed when she longed to be free, she knew the years would pass and her time would come and she would choose her path. In the meantime, the nights were hers and nobody had to know what she did in her sleep, when she sent her shimmering self out over fields and forests, moors and marshes, and found her mother’s body: the body to which she always wanted to return. The bed was more crowded now, with her half-brother on one side and Heath, the father of her blood, on the other. But her shimmering self took up no room, and she found her way among them, and settled happy and fulfilled there every night.
The four of them all curled together, a family that nobody could see.
Acknowledgements
My thanks are due to my support team: Anna Madill, Paula Ellery and Heather Gammage, without whom I don’t know how I’d ever get a book finished. Love and appreciation always to my cheer squad: Ollie, Mary-Rose, the Sisters and Mum. I wrote a great deal of this story on my travels in the United Kingdom in 2015, during which time I shared the delightful company of Louise D’Arcens, Lisa Hannett, Kate Forsyth and Elizabeth McKewin. A special mention to Gerald Pimm, who told me I needed a man just like Snowy in my book, and he was right. I have the loveliest people in publishing working with me, particularly Sue Brockhoff, Jo Mackay, Airlie Lawson, Anne Groell and Kylie Mason. Much love to my children, Luka and Astrid, who are patient and kind. Finally, I offer my most heartfelt thanks to Selwa Anthony, who has now been my literary agent for twenty years. Since 1996, her love and faith, her business acumen and passion for books, have sustained me and inspired me. There is nobody in publishing like her, and it is a blessing and a privilege to have her on my side.
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First Published 2016
ISBN 978 148921068 5
© Kim Wilkins 2016
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