Of Midnight Born

by Lisa Cach

  “I don’t know how long I walked the length of that room, with its new tapestries on the walls, its huge wooden bed with no sign of woodworms or bedbugs. He was as rich as Thomas and I had suspected, and his chamber was furnished in a manner Clerenbold Keep had never seen.

  “He finally came in. He had been drinking with his men, but not so much that he was impaired—just enough that he felt free to do whatever he pleased, which he was free to do anyway, short of killing me, now that I was his wife in the eyes of God.

  “If he was surprised I was still dressed, he did not show it. ‘Take off your clothes,’ he said. ‘Let me see the mare I’ve been forced to purchase.’

  “I shook my head no.

  “‘Looks like you’ve got a fine pair of breeding hips on you,’ he said. ‘Now it’s time to put them to use. You can’t have crops without first planting the seed.’

  “I backed away from him.

  “‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Isn’t this what you wanted? Isn’t this why you were so wild to get me as your husband? You’ve got what you wanted: you’ll be ridden from sundown to sunrise, and at noon, too, if the mood hits, and I expect you to bend over and lift your skirts and say, ‘Yes, master, please,’ every time you see me.’

  “The facade of civility was gone now, and I could see the look of hatred in his eyes that he’d had when he was locked in our cellar. He continued to insult me, telling me how ugly I was and how grateful I should be that he would deign to mount me. He said he couldn’t stand the sight of me.

  “I had signed myself over to him, and he knew it. The only thing that surprised me was that even while trying to intimidate me he made reference to siring children. It gave me a shred of hope that whatever else he might have planned for me, he would at least keep me sufficiently intact to bear his child, and would care for that child when it came.

  “Not that it was a great comfort, at the moment. That would be many months ahead at the soonest, and for the present I was terrified of what he planned to do with me.

  “I didn’t know much of lovemaking, but I did know that if the woman was unwilling, it would go badly for her. I had even heard of young girls who, taken repeatedly against their will, had died of the experience.

  “He came at me. I dodged, sidestepping him, my training with my brothers finally coming to some use. He came at me again. I feinted, and then he snatched me by the arm. Even half-drunk, his skills at battle were far better than mine.

  “He kicked my feet out from under me, and we went down on the ground. I was as helpless beneath him as I had been on the bank of that stream, his weight holding me however hard I bucked or kicked, his strength under that fat greater than mine would ever be.

  “I stopped thinking. There was no thought of submitting left, no thought of future children or filled larders, no thought of starving in the winter. All I knew was that I was trapped and the creature atop me was going to harm me.

  “Is that how men in battle feel?” Serena asked him suddenly, and he shook his head, for he didn’t know. “Or perhaps it is closer to what an animal feels, put at bay by the hunters with their hounds.

  “I had one arm free, and in my scramblings I caught hold of something familiar: the hilt of a dagger. It was tucked into his belt, the same as any man wore, and most women.

  “I yanked it out, and stabbed it into his shoulder.

  “He screamed and rolled off me, his hands reaching for it, seeking to pluck it from his body.

  “I saw what I had done and lay stunned, awakened for a moment from the blind panic that had possessed me. He started cursing—terrible words, threats, worse than I had ever heard from my own brothers—and I saw that he was in no mortal danger from his wound, but was instead furious.

  “I feared for my very life. I scrambled to my feet and ran out of the room, bumping into and then rushing past a serving wench who had been closest, and the first to respond to the shouts of her master. I could hear others coming down the hall, and the bellowing rage of le Gayne behind, coming after me.

  “As I came to the head of the stairs I turned to see how close he was, and he was right there. He reached for me and caught at my arm. We struggled, and he struck me across the face with his good hand. His other arm was too weak from his wound to hold me, and I came free of his grasp. He struck me again, and I lost my balance. That is when I fell down the stairs, to the hall below.

  “It didn’t hurt,” she said, looking at him now. “Isn’t that strange? I felt the impacts as I tumbled down the stairs, the force of my body against the stone, but I didn’t feel the pain.

  “I lay there for I don’t know how long, not thinking anything, not moving. Then I saw myself lying there, as if I were a person standing above my body, looking down at that poor half-dead thing. I was still part of that body, though. I knew I wasn’t completely dead.

  “Then le Gayne, bleeding shoulder and all, was above me, and his men, too. He went down on one knee and held his hand in front of my mouth, feeling for my breath. I don’t know if he felt anything. My eyes were closed, and I could not open them, could not move.

  “‘She’s dead,’ I heard him say. He ordered most of the men away, but kept two by his side, who helped him to carry me out into the garden. There were saplings there waiting to be planted, and a hole half-dug for a cherry tree. The men dug it larger, and dumped my body there on le Gayne’s orders. They began to fill it in with dirt, and to place the sapling atop me.

  “Le Gayne stood at the edge of the hole while they worked, staring down at me. ‘If you want my castle so badly,’ he said to me, ‘have it. You can spend all eternity here, for all I care, and may the devil eat your soul.’

  “He wouldn’t give me a proper grave, would not bring his priest to pray over me. I think he knew I was not dead, however close I may have been, and this was his vengeance for everything I’d done to him.

  “As I was buried in the dirt I felt my last ties to my body loosening, breaking up. Soon I would be free of it, as the last of my life left it. At the same time I could feel the roots of the sapling spread around me, full of new life, and the power to grow and endure. I clung to those roots. I refused to go. I could not let le Gayne win, and I could not let it all end this way. It was unfair. I had fought so hard to survive for so long, I could not give up. I still wanted to live, still wanted to have children, and to experience everything that a life was supposed to hold. I simply could not let go.

  “Somehow I became entwined with the cherry sapling. My soul, or life—I don’t truly know what—became dependent upon it, like mistletoe on an apple tree. As it survived, so did I.”

  “But it’s dying now,” Alex said, a sick knot forming in his gut.

  “Every time I appear to someone, or speak so they can hear me, every time I move an object or make a noise, I take strength and life from the tree. It supports me, but it is fragile. When I draw too heavily upon it, I hasten its end.”

  It made sense to him now, her tie to the tree, and why she would hang the medallion there rather than anywhere else. “Ben Flury has grafted a branch onto a new sapling. Will you be able to draw from that as well?”

  She shook her head, a silent no. “I would have felt the change if that were so. It is the tree whose roots go through my soul that matters, and that cannot be replaced.”

  He sat forward abruptly, holding her in his arms. “You’re killing the tree right now, by being here with me, aren’t you?” How long had he let her sit there, talking? It felt like it must be well past midnight now. How much time did she have left?

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. It will die soon whether I hasten the end or not.”

  “You can’t hurry it along! Go transparent, or invisible—whatever it is you do.”

  She touched his temple, smiling gently. “It cannot be stopped. Let me end the way I wish, with you, here.”

  “But you can’t go! It’s too soon.”

  “Too soon for what?”

  “For you. For me. You can bar
ely write your name. There is too much yet for you to learn,” he protested, unable to say what was in his heart, barely recognized but there.

  “I think I’ve learned what I needed to.”

  “What was that?” he asked, but just then she turned her face upward, her lips parting in surprise.

  “Look, Alex! Look!”

  He tilted his head back, and saw a shooting star streak across the heavens, and then two more. Several began falling at once. “It’s like the night I first saw you,” he said in hushed awe. He looked at her. “I was thinking this evening, when I saw you come into the drawing room, that that faint scar on your face looks like nothing so much as the trail of a falling star.”

  She reached up and touched the line on her face. “You make it sound almost beautiful.”

  He leaned back in the chair, pulling her with him, until they were close against each other, gazing up at the raining storm of stars overhead. He tried not to think of the future or of how long they might have left together. He simply tried to stay where he was, right now, Serena in his arms, silent streaks of light above them in a moment that was, he hoped, perfect enough to last an eternity.

  She began to lighten in his arms, to grow less dense, his hold on her slipping; then she lost all solidity and his arms fell closed on nothing.

  “Serena?” he asked, turning his eyes from the stars.

  Her hair was loose and flowing again, its tangled strands spread around them, floating on the night air, and she was wearing her old white and pink clothes. The blue-and-white gown she had been wearing lay beneath her, flat and empty, the silk flowers from her hair lying now on his shoulder.

  “Do you know what it is I learned?” she asked him, her voice a whisper on the wind. “I learned what it is to love. I love you, Alex Woding.”

  And then she was gone, her face fading into the streaking stars, her dark eyes blending into the eternity of night.

  “No!” he shouted, the suddenness of it, the reality of it ripping at his heart. “Nooo!” She couldn’t be gone, not yet. It was too soon.

  There was no answer to his cry, the night silent under the streaming light of the stars, the vast emptiness of the heavens stretching above him. The skies held no magic without her, had no wonders to compare to her. “I love you, Alex Woding,” she had said. Those words were more miraculous than any number of falling stars, and they pulled at his heart in a way that no astronomical marvel ever had.

  He remembered something else she had once said to him, about his quest to decipher the workings of the heavens. “You believe that if you could unravel this mystery, you would be unlocking a secret of the universe. You believe that if you could understand this, you could understand what your place is on this earth.”

  He hadn’t comprehended her meaning at the time. He thought he did now. Her love for him had unlocked the greatest secret of the universe, the one he had utterly failed to understand: that a life without love was not a life worth living. It was love that gave life meaning, love that gave one a place on this earth.

  “Come back to me, Serena,” he said softly into the night, his voice rough with tears. Let it be even a day more with her, he would give his very soul for it. “I love you. Come back.”

  And as if in answer one star, a brilliant fireball, suddenly fell directly toward him, its brightness making him throw up his arm to shield his eyes as he stumbled to his feet. He heard a sound like the crackling of flames, and in a brilliant flash the fireball streaked past where he stood atop the tower, so close he could feel the heat of it, and before he could even turn to follow its course, it had struck with a crashing roar that shook the very foundations of the castle.

  The cherry tree in the garden was aflame, the ends of its dead branches burning like torches. The trunk was partially split, half the tree listing at an angle. On the far side of it a large section of the garden wall was missing, the ground a furrowed crater.

  “No!” he cried out in horror. Not the tree, not the cherry! Whatever trace of Serena that might remain was in it, in the very flesh of the bark and the roots that reached into the ground.

  He ran for the steps, half fell down them, ran through his study, downstairs, through halls where people were emerging from doorways, questions on their lips, downstairs again and out the door to the courtyard, barely aware that Rhys followed behind him, tying shut his robe. He sprinted across the cobbles, through the garden gate, and to the flaming tree.

  “Serena!” he screamed at the flames. “Serena!”

  And then he saw it, in the center of the black crack of the trunk that had been partially split by the fireball. There was a wedge of paleness, bare and new as a baby’s flesh, something there inside the trunk that could not be part of the shattered wood.

  He lunged for the trunk, grabbing the opposing sides of the split in his hands and pulling them apart, forcing the split wider. Rhys grabbed at him, trying to pull him away, but he snarled, shaking his cousin off. When the wedge came wide enough he jammed his foot in, using the strength of his leg to pry the wood apart. It cracked under the pressure, sparks and cinders falling on him from the burning branches above. Rhys was shouting something, but he did not know what, and did not care.

  At last the tree fell wide open, half of it crashing to the ground as Serena, naked as the day she was born, fell out of the burning wood and into his arms. He heard a shout of surprise from Rhys, and then his friend was beside him, helping to pull Serena out and away from the falling sparks, her body covered in sticky sap, her lovely hair gone, only the short blond fuzz of a babe covering her tender scalp under a coating of sap.

  “Serena,” Alex said softly, cradling her in his arms, wiping at her eyes and mouth as Rhys draped his robe over her. “Serena. My love.”

  Her eyelids fluttered, then opened, and her irises were as blue as a butterfly’s wings.

  Epilogue

  Spring

  Serena walked the garden path to where the grafted sapling had been planted, where the old cherry had once stood. Its unusual pink double blossoms were on schedule with those of the other fruit trees, the grafted branch strong and healthy on its new base. Alex had finally found the tree in a book of botanical prints: the cherry hailed from the Far East, the lands of China and Japan. How le Gayne had ever gotten hold of such a specimen, she did not know.

  The charred remains of the other tree had been hauled away many months since. She hadn’t liked to see it go, but the new tree that was part of the old softened the loss. Alex had hesitated about having the stump torn out, roots and all, fearful of what might be found entangled underneath. She had insisted, though, knowing somehow that whatever had remained of her old body was part of her now, used in the forming of this new one.

  She touched the place on her face where the scar had been. It was no longer there, nor were any of the scars she had gained over the years of her previous life, however small or large. It was as if she had been born anew, a babe fullgrown emerging from the womb of the cherry.

  Instead of a skeleton, what they had found when they pulled up the stump was a golden chain: the girdle that had belonged to her mother. She wore it now, loose around the waist of her pale blue gown. Beth and Sophie had assured her that it was all the fashion to add medieval touches to one’s wardrobe—which was a good thing, as she still could not bring herself to dress completely as most women did, with their corsets and ridiculously full sleeves.

  She was learning, however, the beauty of shopping, and of female friendship as well. Alex sometimes gave her a mock-frightened look that had nothing to do with her past, and everything to do with packages and a growing fascination with dress designs. It was as if she had spent her life locked away from girlish pleasures, and had finally been set free.

  Clothes were only a small part of what she was discovering, though. Her reading skills had progressed rapidly, and half of any given day found her in the newly filled library, stacks of volumes around her, bits of this and that stuck between the pages to mark her plac
e.

  The other half of the day invariably found her on the back of a horse, Alex riding at her side. The valley she had watched from above for so long she now knew again from up close. They had ridden to what was left of Clerenbold Keep, as well. As she suspected, nothing was left of it under the trees and shrubs except for a few stones. It didn’t sadden her, as she thought it might. It was too far in the past for her to feel that, and she’d had too much time already to dwell on what was lost forever.

  Beezely suddenly appeared out of nothing, sauntering down the path toward her. He brushed against her skirts, passing through the edge of them. “Meow?” he asked up at her, purring.

  She squatted down, holding out her hand, and Beezely tilted his head, trying to rub the top of it against her. He went through her hand, but didn’t seem to notice, his purring uninterrupted. He lowered himself to the ground and rolled onto his back, his belly to the sun.

  Serena stood, feeling the breeze ruffle through her short white-blond hair, paler now than it had been when she lived, more the color it had been when she was a child. Sophie had bought her a beaded net to wear over it until it grew out, as well as a number of pretty white caps, but she rather liked the feel of it blowing free, so light after the heaviness of her long hair.

  “Serena?” Alex called from the courtyard, where she knew the carriage was waiting, Nancy at the reins. They were to leave today for Bristol, and from there they would take a ship to the Americas. It was his wedding present to her, a trip to see the world, although she knew it was something he himself had longed to do since a child.

  Alex’s sisters had eventually come to accept their marriage, although they thought of her as a woman from no family—all except Sophie refusing to believe what she had been. His brothers-in-law, from what Alex said, tried not to think about it at all. Rhys believed she was who she said, though, and after several weeks of looking wide-eyed at her whenever she was near, had eventually begun to relax in her presence.