I felt as though I was going to faint. “What’s wrong with her?”
Hands reached for me, settled me into a chair. I pushed them away. “Give her to me! To me!”
Someone placed Evie in my lap. Bright-eyed, bright-skinned she glanced at me. Her open blue eyes seemed to recognize me. Someone, I do not remember who, pushed back the curtains, and the daylight returned. Instantly, the Evie’s glow seemed to vanish, and there she was, a normal infant, irritated by the noise about her. Filling her lungs she howled vigorously. The antechamber emptied quickly.
“Dana.” A hand touched my hair.
Lifting my head I saw Rosa, the necklace swinging from her neck. Evie stopped crying and stared at the red jewel. “Something’s wrong,” I whimpered. “She’s sick!”
“Not at all.” Rosa sounded annoyed. “She’s as normal as you or I.”
“But, he …” I glared at Jed, standing nervously in the far corner of the room. As well he might. “He showed me. Evie glows. Like a lamp.”
“Of course she does. Whatever did you think would happen? We thought you were going to die. You had lost so much blood.” Rosa looked at Evie, cradled against my shoulder. “We thought you had lost the baby, too.”
“I remember bleeding.” I glanced at Rosa. “You – you were crying?”
She nodded. “And I made a bargain. A life for a life.”
“Tell me. What happened?”
* * *
And this was when I first realized your gift, my dear, my angel. And, in that moment, I also saw where you had come from. They tell children often that they are born of a father and a mother and so they hold a little of each parent within them. But what a child will become is neither parent, but something else: special to their soul alone. Except you, Evie my darling, contain something else. You are different: rare and irreplaceable.
* * *
“What else do you remember?” she asked, her eyes intent. The ruby at her breast glowed red as blood, red as fire, and for a moment the room seemed to spin. Then Evie fidgeted and my world settled; I sat in a chair, in a small, high-ceilinged room, and the sun was high and I had my baby in my lap.
White light, red light. A song. Red fire, falling.
“Nothing,” I whispered and then, half a breath later: “Everything.”
Chapter Thirty-One
A Choice
That year spring came late, so it took time for Will and N’tombe to find a route through the snowy mountain passes. Wary of avalanches, they trod slowly. Ice cracked underfoot, and once N’tombe would have slid into a crevasse had Will not grabbed her in time.
“Thank you,” she gasped.
“Not me. It was Adianna.”
“Adianna?” Eyes wide, she gazed at the bracelet about his wrist. “Adianna, is it?”
He nodded. “She likes you, I think.”
She dipped her head to the beads. “Well then, tell her thank you.”
As they descended, the snow grew sparse and finally disappeared, until finally they reached three small, blue lakes. They circled these carefully, for the swampy ground was treacherous underfoot. As they passed, water fowl flew loudly into the air. Eventually, they came to a small brook and followed it downhill. The water-sprayed rocks were slippery, so they had to lead their horses.
“Can’t you do something to speed the journey?” Will asked once, when, exhausted, they paused to rest.
“There is no road here.” N’tombe looked up at the rocky crags. “Tell Adianna: I cannot move mountains.”
The steep river valley opened into alpine pastures. Here, the landscape was like a painting; wide meadows, shrouded in fresh spring grass and dappled with wildflowers. The horses, pricking their ears, walked faster at the smell and sight of spring. Will inhaled deeply; it was like waking from a long sleep.
“I would not become too comfortable.” N’tombe pointed to a ruined castle, perched on a crag like a half-forgotten bird of prey.
“That’s no threat,” Will said. “It’s all but destroyed.”
“Exactly.” She was still staring at the bleak building.
“What happened to it?” he asked, curious.
“What always happens to such places. War.” Glancing at a nearby pile of stones, she shuddered. “Bones. Everywhere. Look.”
He had thought they were piles of bleached stone. But as he looked closer he realized they were nothing of the sort. N’tombe tugged a bone loose from the pile. A small arm bone; probably that of a child. Will swallowed.
“I’ve seen this before.” She gestured to the mound of fragments; all that was left of the people that had lived up here, among the clouds. “The Arm of the Eternal; this is their work. This is what they did to cities that held out against them. Oftentimes the mothers threw their children from the walls before jumping themselves.” She set the pathetically tiny bone gently on the ground.
“TeSin is not like that.” He knew he sounded defensive.
“Not yet, anyway.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
She rubbed soil from another bone. “See the stains? I would guess, around twenty years ago.”
* * *
Distances in this sparse, beautiful country were deceptive. One minute they were high above the clouds, the next they were descending through fog. Eventually, emerging from gray damp mist, they reached the valley floor. They met no other travelers on the way, until toward evening, when they reached a lake and set up camp under trees. There, huddled about a campfire was a small convoy of tinkers; black haired, black eyed, singing songs to one another and laughing at the world.
Hey Ninny-Nonny-no
Where do you go?
Flying through the sky?
Silly Ninny-no
That’s no way to go –
The clouds reach up too high.
Will’s heart leapt. He’d met tinker folk before, at the Crossing as a boy. They’d tended his pots and, for a silver coin, a woman had read his palm and him told his future. He smiled, thinking of her prophecy: Remember us, Lord, when you come into your own.
A woman wearing gold earrings called: “Want to know your fortune, do you?”
“You know,” Will said, amazed to hear the truth in his voice, “I really don’t.”
“Hark at the brave one!” Getting to her feet, the woman walked over to them. She wore a red headscarf and her long, fringed skirt hung above her ankles. Her feet were bare. Picking up his hand, she surveyed his palm. For a moment Will felt strangely lightheaded.
“An empress without a heart, or a princess with a star. Which do you choose, young Lordling?”
He thought of Dana: her laughter as she swung at him in the practice arena, her gray-green eyes, dew-flecked; of her body as she rose naked from the pool. And, a private dream, of his alone; the week they’d had together. Before she’d left him, even though he’d begged her to stay.
Don’t make me choose, she’d said then. Don’t make me choose.
“I choose her,” he said.
The woman smiled approvingly and pointed at a small path, near on invisible behind some half-grown birches. “Go that way. It will lead you to the sea.”
He pressed a coin into her palm, but she waved him away.
“I have enough.” She inclined her head to N’tombe. “Sister. Well met. Your travels are nearly over. Soon, you will be at peace.”
“I have not paid you anything,” N’tombe pointed out.
“You will, though, my dear.”
“Before we leave,” Will asked, “can we trade you some clothing?” He plucked at his fur-lined jerkin.
The woman winked at N’Tombe. “See? What did I tell you?” She waved them over to the caravans, parked in a ring about the campfire.
* * *
“Baker-lad are you?” A bluff ship’s captain, all beard and bright-eyes, glanced at Will, dressed in aged tinker garb, and at N’tombe behind him. “What you doing with those clothes, then?”
“We was set on by pirates,” Will said
. “These were all they left us.”
The captain spat loudly and comprehensively into the gutter beneath Will’s feet.
“Ain’t no pirate ever boarded my boat,” he said, like a challenge. “Very well then. Bed for you and your horses, and you make three meals a day for me and my men. Understood?” He spat on his palm, held it out. Gingerly, Will shook it.
* * *
The next three days passed in a haze of seasickness and smoke. N’tombe remained on deck, but Will, bound to the galley, was miserable. It was only when the coastline grew large upon the horizon, and the clouds drifted about the Snow Mountain, that Will realized; he was indeed nearly home. He had made the right choice.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Story
Spring arrived with a blast of wind and rain. Nurse and I set the maids a-scurrying with mop and broom. They removed my old desk and the blackboard. Workmen painted the walls, and hung curtains of fine gauze that blew in the breeze. I raided the paintings from the storage and set images on the wall.
A few weeks later, Nurse brought the ferryman in to me. He stopped on the threshold. “It’s been many a year since I was here last. Certainly changed since then.”
“Her ladyship wanted to feed the babe in peace,” said Nurse.
This was true. There were too many prying eyes, and too many whispers in Mother’s solar. This white-gold ex-classroom had become my sanctuary. I did not feel like sharing Evie with my mother’s critical maids.
“Sensible.”
“Won’t you come in?” I asked. “Please, take a seat.”
The ferryman’s face held new wrinkles, and his cheekbones seemed more prominent. Like Nurse, he was getting old.
He settled himself into a chair. “My,” he said, stroking the arms. “This is comfortable.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t tell him that my seating had been selected for the purposes of breast feeding; somehow I doubted he would understand.
Nurse closed the door quietly and left us alone.
“Rosa said you had questions?” the ferryman said.
“I do.”
“Well then.” He spread his hands wide. “Ask. And I will try to answer.”
I hesitated; did I really want to know about the thing beneath the castle? But if I did not know, then how could I tell Evie when she asked? She was a babe now, but babies grow, and I didn’t want her to grow up with secrets, as I had.
So taking a deep breath, I asked: “That thing I saw in the pond. What was it?”
“A survivor.” He stroked his chin. “Many years ago, there was a terrible war. Princess, you’ve seen conflict. You know what devastation it can bring. Imagine, battles that last for millennia: whole worlds burning. The war ground on and on until eventually the cause of the conflict was forgotten; the war became the reason for itself.” He took a deep breath, as a man takes a deep breath before plunging into cold water. “A few, though, could see the futility of the conflict, and the inevitable destruction. So they made a choice. They sent one of their own, a child, out into the void, to who knew where, in the hope that perhaps the child might survive.” He paused, and added, “But their enemies sent their soldiers to retrieve her. And that is where you come in.”
“Me? How?”
He smiled. “I say a child, but they are not children, at least, not as we understand the term. They are formless; made of light, not flesh. They can appear in any shape they wish. They are very long-lived. But they can be killed. And they can suffer.”
“This person, this thing. Did it have a name?”
“I called her Starr. She seemed to like it.”
“She? She was a female?”
“Male and female do not really apply. ”
“She lived within you?”
“Not only me,” he said. “She –”
“Starr.”
He smiled, briefly. “Yes. Starr could spread herself through many hosts. In some she appeared more strongly than others. The Guardians, for example. They had a strong affinity with her. And the fey, of course.”
“The fey? What of them?”
“She gave them power. There were others, too.”
I considered him for a moment. “How old are you?”
He smiled tiredly. “I really have no idea.”
Thousands of years, I thought; he has lived for a long, long time.
“You mentioned – others? Like you?”
He nodded. “You know who I mean.”
“Nurse. You mean my nurse, don’t you?” She was looking older every day; like the ferryman, aging in front of me.
He nodded. “And the guards.”
That was a surprise. “You mean Reg?”
“And Gregor.”
“Can you tell them apart?”
He smiled. “At first, yes. But people grow to resemble those they live with. So actually, it grew harder to tell them apart, not easier.”
“What is it like?” I asked abruptly. “To live so long?”
A long pause. “You are the first to ask me that.” He stopped. “I suppose it is like being in a never-ending dream. Something happens: a visitor to the kingdom, perhaps, or a festival. A threat. I react. And after it is over, I wonder, did this really happen, or was it my imagination?” He lifted his hands, dropped them back into his lap. “Tiring,” he said abruptly. “You want to know what it’s like to live forever? It’s exhausting, Princess. Eternal life – it’s tiring.”
“Eternal.” I thought suddenly of the Kamaye, the blackness smelling of death, and the old man who’d sold his soul for immortality. “The Emperor. What of him?”
“Ah yes.” The ferryman rubbed his forehead. “You remember, I told you there were soldiers sent to find her. The enemy, if you will. They also came to this world. They searched long and hard but we kept her secret close. We shielded her; kept her hidden. In turn she protected us. It was a fair bargain.”
I glanced at the corner of the room, where Evie slept soundly in her crib. I couldn’t see her glowing, for the sun was out and the room was bright enough on its own. But come the night time, ah, then she gleamed like a lamp. And although I found this useful, still it worried me. What happens to a girl who is different? Well, I knew that, didn’t I? That had been my life.
“Why do that to her?” I was surprised at the anger in my voice.
“There was no alternative.”
“You could have asked.” You could have let me die.
“Tell me,” his voice was gentle. “Did you really want that?”
I heard Evie’s soft breathing. Sometimes she held her breath and I held mine, and then she would start again, and my heart would settle. I was aware of her at all times. Like there was an invisible tether between us.
I shook my head. “No. I suppose not.”
“Your daughter is still your daughter.”
“Will she be all right?”
He smiled. “Most of the time, you will not even be aware that Evie is anything other than a human child. And she is a human child, don’t forget that. She holds within her a visitor, that’s all.” He paused. “Starr was, is, a gentle soul. Think of her as a ghost, a memory. Really, that is all she is now. She, too, is tired. She will sleep inside your daughter, and keep her safe from harm.”
“You miss her. Starr, I mean.”
He nodded. “But it was time for her to move on, and it is time for me to go. I have lived a long life.”
Impulsively, I grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. There were tears in his eyes, but still he smiled. “Don’t be.”
We sat in silence for a moment, after all, what do you say to someone staring at his own death. Then he said, in quite a different tone, “I came to ask you for a favor. My position.”
I must have looked blankly at him, for he smiled and added, “I am the ferryman.”
“You guard the land.”
“Yes.”
I felt like laughing; all this time, everyone thought the Guardian occupi
ed the tower, and yes, doubtless that was part truth, but had anyone ever stopped to think about who really stopped folk from entering this kingdom? Not the Guardian; no, it was the ferryman, living in his humble hut by the strait, who had always been the true protector.
“When I die,” he held up a hand at my protest. “Why be afraid to speak the truth, Princess? Everything ends. But there must be someone at the straits; if not to guard, then to assist travelers. There are rocks, you know, and the tides are dangerous.”
I frowned. “You want me to do this?”
He laughed loudly. “You?” He glanced about my newly refurbished chamber, at its comfortable chairs and gold-framed portraits. “I think such grandeur would be a little out of place at the straits, don’t you? No. I would like you to appoint my successor. This is your task, Princess. Do you accept it?” His eyes were intent.
I nodded solemnly. “Of course.”
He clapped his hands on his knees. “Good. And,” he added suddenly, “don’t be afraid of the necklace. It is not without malice, of course, but it will not be required for much longer. Your actions saw to that.”
“My actions?”
“The necklace was always a weapon,” he said, “but you destroyed the enemy, and so the weapon is no longer required.”
“What should we do with it, then?”
He shrugged. “Hang it on the wall?” He glanced about my room again, and pointed to a gap between the portraits. “There, perhaps?” He smiled at the paintings of the Guardians. I had found Rob and Suzanna and placed them together, which I thought they would like. “It might enjoy the company.”
Evie snuffled, her small sound of waking.
“Goodbye, Princess,” he said quietly. Crossing to the crib, he touched my half-asleep baby’s hair gently. “Be well, child.”
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 75
