by Jayne Faith
“I’ve rescheduled your fitting for tomorrow immediately following the end of breakfast service. Does that suit you?”
“Yes, that suits me very well,” I said. “Thank you.”
As I turned away and resumed my quest for Clarisse, a little twist of trepidation tightened my middle. Harbinger or not, I had a feeling Hera wouldn’t be granting me more favors anytime soon.
I found Clarisse’s room and rapped impatiently with the knocker. “Clarisse? It’s me, Maya.”
She answered. “You sound agitated.”
“You and Sytoria are both being cryptic, and it’s driving me up a wall. The two of you aren’t even friends, yet you both seem to be keeping the same secret. Sytoria said I was ignorant, that I should ask you. But I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to ask you!” I held my hands up in the air, my palms out, in a gesture of pure annoyance.
“Shh!” she hissed. She grabbed my arm and yanked it forward so swiftly my head jerked back. As soon as I was through the door, she slammed it behind me.
“Isn’t this against the rules?” I asked, looking around her room and seeing no roommate.
“Yes, it is.” Clarisse’s voice was tight, her eyes tense. “Maya, you need to be more careful. There are Calistans here who can overhear us.”
Fear quickly doused my irritation. I swallowed hard. We did have to be careful. Talking about secrets that Earthens kept from Calistans . . . that was dangerous. I was suddenly too aware of the faint throbbing of the implant at the back of my neck.
Images of Iris writhing on the floor, of Samir as he raved crazily, spun through my mind. If I triggered my implant, I would get dragged away by the Monitors. If they declared me a traitor to Calisto, I doubted anyone would care anymore that I’d miraculously survived the flame. I’d lose everything—Lord Toric, Lana, my freedom . . . a prominent place in the Return, where I could try to ensure the fair treatment of Earthens.
“How—how do you talk about . . . things without triggering . . .?” I waved one hand at my neck.
“By talking about something else entirely.” Her eyes seemed to reflect the fear I felt.
Silence seemed to thicken the air for a long moment.
“Let’s go to one of the rooms in the harem library,” she said. “There, I will tell you a story. I think you’ll find it exceedingly entertaining.”
I licked my lips and nodded, my throat too dry to form a response.
Once we were outside in the corridor, my eyes darted around as if danger lurked in plain sight. I stared at each woman we passed, wondering how many of them knew of the things Clarisse was about to tell me.
What was Clarisse going to reveal?
All I could gather was that she couldn’t tell me the straightforward truth. I’d have to be clever enough to understand the information encoded in her “story.” If it was something traitorous, I would have to keep it secret from Lord Toric.
My heart pounded, the beats swift and hard enough to make me feel even shakier. I focused on my breath, trying to calm myself.
When we reached the library—I didn’t even know the harem quarters had one—part of me marveled at the rows of actual books lining the shelves. There were also stacks of reading tablets.
We passed little reading nooks, heading toward a wall full of narrow doors. Clarisse went to one with a small illuminated sign in the middle that read “unoccupied.” She opened it to reveal a small desk with a chair pushed under it, plus another chair in the corner.
She closed the door softly and then turned to me.
“Are you ready for a story, Maya?”
I nodded, feeling my eyes go wide as I watched her go to the desk chair, pull it out, and sit. She tipped her head at the other chair, and I pulled it forward and lowered myself onto it, perching on the edge.
“In a beautiful valley with lots of sunshine, rainstorms, trees, and mountains, there lived a colony of field mice. The mice were clever creatures. They learned to build little mice huts, make little mice clothes, and grow the grains and fruits they loved to eat.”
Clarisse’s words came in a sing-song cadence, almost as if she’d memorized the story word for word. My entire body was pulled tight as a wedding day corset as I tried to absorb every nuance. When she said “rainstorms,” the word triggered an achingly vivid memory of the spring rains on Earthenfell.
“The mice were quite happy, but they weren’t the only ones who wanted to live in the beautiful valley, and danger came from every direction,” Clarisse continued. “Huge hawks wanted to kill all the mice and then nest in the valley. Giant wolves wanted to kill all the mice and build their dens in the valley. Long, thick boa constrictors wanted to kill the mice and live in the lovely trees in the valley. There was a colony of giant winged rats that lived in a city in the clouds. They, too, wanted to live in the beautiful valley. But instead of trying to kill the field mice, the winged rats offered to protect the mice. They offered to hunt down all the predators that threatened the beautiful valley. In return, the winged rats asked the mice to share the food from the valley. They also asked the mice for blood sacrifices to show the depth of their appreciation. Twice each year, several young mice were killed in an offering to the rats. And other mice were sent to the city in the clouds to serve the rats.”
My blood went cold just as Clarisse paused for a long moment. Her eyes were locked on mine, and she seemed to be waiting for some kind of response.
I gave her the tiniest of nods, my mind skirting around the connections I dared not make for fear of triggering my implant. “Go on,” I whispered.
“The mice had no choice but to agree. Otherwise, the hawks, wolves, and boa constrictors would have wiped them out of existence in no time. So, for many, many seasons the great flying rats protected the mice. The mice learned to live with the sacrifices. After all, allowing a few of their own to die was better than the alternative. But there was one problem. The great rats didn’t want to stay in their city in the clouds. After all the predators were gone, the rats planned to descend from the sky and live in the beautiful valley.”
There was a rustling noise outside the room, and I gasped. Clarisse stopped speaking and leaned forward, her eyes whipping to the narrow window next to the door.
Even though an overheard snippet of the story would probably be meaningless out of context, I was suddenly filled with paranoia. I couldn’t help it, I reached up to touch the small metal disk of the implant at the base of my skull.
We waited in silence for several breaths, both of us watching the window.
Apparently satisfied that it was safe to resume the story, Clarisse turned back to me, speaking in a lower voice than before. She opened her mouth but hesitated.
“Where was I?” she asked.
“After the flying rats kill all the predators, they’ll move into the valley.” I winced a little as I spoke, afraid that somehow my implant would discern the true meaning hidden within the fable.
“Ah yes.” She shifted, settling back into her chair. “Many of the mice accepted their fate, knowing that one day the rats would invade the beautiful valley but not truly knowing what would happen then. Would the mice and the rats live side by side in peace? Or would the rats turn out to be no better than the other predators? Would they even allow the mice to live at all? Some of the mice were not satisfied with this uncertainty. So they began to organize themselves and form a plan.”
Clarisse leaned forward slowly, and her eyes pierced mine. “And then, the mice discovered something. They discovered that after the flying rats descended to the beautiful valley, they planned to kill all the mice living there.
She stopped again, leveling a hard look at me. I knew she was trying to gauge my reaction.
I gulped. “How . . . how do the mice know the flying rats are planning to kill all of them?”
“They got word from one of the rats.”
Clarisse seemed to be waiting for some indication of solidarity from me. My mind was whirling, and I had to focus h
ard to force my thoughts in terms of the story. To do otherwise would trigger my implant, which somehow was able to detect traitorous thoughts.
The problem was, if I said I supported the mice’s plan I didn’t truly know what I was aligning myself with. How did the mice know for sure?
My temples were beginning to throb with the mental effort of keeping my thoughts in the context of the story.
My breath became shallow as I picked my words with extreme care. “I can certainly understand why the mice want to protect themselves. If I were one of the mice, I would want to ensure the continued safety of my colony. How . . . how many mice are there?” My voice was trembling by the end.
“Several among the servant mice in the clouds and many living down in the valley.”
Her answer lacked specificity, but I supposed it didn’t really matter.
“And what do they plan to do?” I asked. “It seems the giant flying rats are much stronger and more powerful than the poor little field mice. What kind of chance would the mice have in an uprising against the rats?”
A line of cold sweat was forming across my forehead. Part of me wanted to flee, to forget I’d ever heard Clarisse’s story. But running wouldn’t solve anything. Now that I knew, there was a constant danger of allowing a traitorous thought.
“The mice are at disadvantage, clearly,” Clarisse said. I could tell she was choosing her words with care, too. “But they’re not about to be blindsided. The organized mice are going to try to gather as much information as possible about the rats’ plan.”
“Sytoria, she . . . enjoys this—this story, too, I take it?” I spoke haltingly. This must have been what Sytoria was referring to, when she’d said I should get Clarisse to illuminate me.
“Yes.”
“Who else in the harem knows the story of the field mice?”
“Every woman who was trained for the Tournament comes to Calisto knowing the story. A very few others, like you, learn it later.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, pressing my fingertips over my eyelids until red spots danced across the darkness.
I did not want to know this. I did not want this weight in my mind, this pressure that made it feel as though my brain were straining against the unyielding confines of my skull.
Clarisse touched my wrist. I let my hands fall to my lap and opened my eyes.
“You wanted to know. Now you do.” Her tone was gentle and held no blame. If anything she actually sounded sympathetic.
“So the mice would try to kill the rats to ensure they can stay in their valley?” I asked.
“If that’s what it takes, don’t you think they should?”
I frowned. “The rats have every advantage. The mice wouldn’t survive a battle with the rats, even with the element of surprise working in their favor.”
“If the rats are just going to kill them in the end anyway, like the wolves or the hawks, they have nothing to lose.”
Defiance flared hotly in my chest. “But if you don’t even know—”
Clarisse’s hand moved so fast it was little more than a blur. Her open palm smacked the side of my face, not landing clean on my cheek but a bit lower on the edge of my jaw.
My mouth dropped open in outrage as I palmed the stinging patch of skin where she’d struck me. “What do you think you’re doing?” I nearly shouted the words.
Her eyes hardened and her lips pulled tight over her teeth as she spoke. “If I detect even a hint that you might lose control of your words again, I’ll hit you ten times harder.”
Emotions roiled through me with a violence that made me sick to my stomach. Still holding my offended cheek, I stared at the floor while I tried to calm myself.
She was right. Her slap had shocked me, but that had been the point of it. I blinked several times and drew a long breath in through my nose.
When I’d composed myself, I looked up at her. “I think I need a bit of time to absorb the story,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm.
“That’s understandable. But you need to know that the story I’ve told you is secret. Whether you love the story or hate it, you must not repeat it to anyone, ever.”
I gave her a curt nod.
When I stood, it was almost as if I’d forgotten how my limbs worked. Or perhaps it was because I’d been forced into a radically different frame of awareness, and now I had to learn to function all over again in this new context. I looked around me for a moment, expecting . . . what? The outer world to reflect my inner change?
But as I followed Clarisse back through the library and into the corridors of the harem quarters, everything was the same. That in itself seemed strange.
I retreated to my room, suddenly exhausted, and was relieved to find that Kalindi was elsewhere.
I sank heavily onto my vanity stool, crossed my arms on the vanity, and let the weight of my head rest atop my arms.
Then I bolted upright. Kalindi had been trained for the Tournament. That meant she knew the story of the field mice. I never would have guessed that she and Clarisse shared any sort of . . . interest.
Careful, careful.
I gave myself a stern internal warning to guard what surfaced in my mind, and then I groaned. How did the other women ever become so disciplined with their thoughts? I was afraid I’d never be able to let my mind wander again, for fear of losing focus and letting my thoughts slip and activating my implant.
I sighed deeply, trying to calm my anxiety.
I needed a distraction. I reached for my tablet and resumed my study of the harem life rules. After a while, my mind relaxed into the task, and I’d never been so grateful for a boring assignment in my life.
That evening, I was again grateful for further distraction as I changed into my silken robe and fixed my hair. In the past several hours, I’d discovered that focusing myself as fully as possible into the present moment helped keep my thoughts under control and also subdued my anxiety about what I’d learned from Clarisse through her tale.
As I left the harem quarters, it occurred to me that I had yet to spend a night in my bed there. It certainly would have simplified things if I could have moved back into the apartment within Lord Toric’s chambers. Part of me wished for that, but another part of me believed that I needed to be among the harem women. I needed to be in a place where I could learn more about the field mice and their plans.
My heart thumped hard when I realized that I truly wanted to be in a position where I could affect the story of the field mice.
Up to that moment, I hadn’t been sure because it had felt disloyal to Lord Toric. But if I could help tell the story of the field mice, help steer it in a direction that would avoid violence, I was serving both the mice and the great flying rats.
That felt like a worthy intention.
I pushed the fable of the field mice to the back of my mind and focused instead on the goal of gaining information about the Return. Last time I’d spoken to Sytoria, I hadn’t yet fully understood how this goal would serve more than one purpose.
I gave my head a slow shake, marveling at how different life felt now than it had only a day ago. A veil had been lifted. My understanding of everything had changed. It was terrifying, if I let myself dwell on that aspect of it too long, but there was no going back.
When I arrived at Lord Toric’s bedchamber, I spotted him on his balcony. He sat at a table, his shoulders rounded forward and his head bent over a tablet. He was so intent on his work, he didn’t notice my approach.
I stopped a few feet away so I wouldn’t startle him too badly. I cleared my throat softly. “Good evening, my Lord.”
He looked up, and for a moment his eyes were far away as he was obviously still absorbed in whatever he was doing on his tablet. One hand had covered the tablet in a protective gesture, and he powered the device off before he stood.
“Maya.” His voice was low and warm with affection. His focus sharpened and trained on me.
With newfound curiosity, I couldn’t help a glance at his tablet
over his shoulder when he lifted me off my feet in an embrace. His lips met mine, and my curiosity and worries flitted away like birds startled into flight as I lost myself in the heat of his kiss.
He set me on my feet, and my hands slid down from his shoulders to his arms. “Might we sit on the balcony for a bit, my Lord?” I asked. “It’s a beautiful evening.”
“Of course.” He inclined his head, clearly pleased to grant my wish.
Outside, the refreshing evening air washed over me and the fading light of two suns bathed us in a pink-orange glow. I’d grown accustomed to the sterile, dry air of Calisto, but missed the rich scents of Earthenfell with a deep ache of homesickness.
He sat and pulled me onto his lap.
“My Lord, at the risk of talking about worrisome things, I have to ask you about something,” I ventured.
His expression turned to one of concerned interest. “What’s troubling you?”
I placed one palm on his chest near his heart and felt the steady throb of his pulse. “It’s the Return, my Lord. I’ve been wondering so many things. What are my duties as the harbinger? How will everything work? What will happen afterward, when we get to Earthenfell? I hope it’s not too improper to ask such things.” I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t brush off my questions with vague reassurances.
His brow tensed and his eyes grew serious. “No, it’s not improper,” he said. “And you bring up a valid point. You do have a part to play in the Sequence, the ceremonial steps that we’ll have to take to reclaim Earthenfell as our home. You will need to be prepared.”
When he said “we,” I wasn’t sure if he meant the two of us, or the Calistan race. I suspected the latter, and a faint prickle of apprehension ran up my spine. If Lord Toric, and the Calistans in general, didn’t see Earthenfell as the home of my people as well . . . I cut off my train of thought, realizing I was treading dangerously close to something that might trigger my implant.
