A Promise Broken

by Lynn E. O'Connacht

  When she was only sniffling because she had no more tears left, Anou-minnoi asked, “How are the voices sounding now?”

  She hadn’t heard them. Not until he asked about them, but she could tell they were still there and she sought words to describe how they sounded. “Like…” She paused and dug her nails into Anou-minnoi’s arms. She hadn’t noticed when she’d started to hug him back and she felt like she ought to let go. Or the whispers were telling her; she didn’t know. “Angry. Like seagulls fighting.” She sniffed and tried to get to her own sash so she could wipe her nose on it. “I like it when I’m with Keilan-minnai or Arèn-minnoi. They make the voices stay away.”

  “No one else does?”

  “Radèn-minnoi does…” He made her laugh sometimes and he’d promised to tell her a story. His stories always made the world go away. “Sometimes I don’t hear the voices,” she said. She didn’t want to continue talking because she was afraid Anou-minnoi would tell her she was sifanou after all and then everything would be awful, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “They make me feel dirty and icky like… like… mud. Only worse and you can’t wash it off. It’s better when I hear dai’s voice. She makes it quiet and I miss her, but she always tells me I should come with her. She says she wants me to come with her, but I don’t hear her very often anymore. I hear her now, but I can’t hear what.” Eiryn sniffed very loudly because she could feel her nose dripping and added, “I think she’s going away.”

  It was that she’d pressed herself against Anou-minnoi and into his hug or she wouldn’t have noticed that he’d stopped breathing for a moment. She held the old man tighter, taking in the scent of something spicy that she didn’t recognise. “Is that bad?”

  “It could be worse,” the man said. He stroked her hair. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, not one that made her fret. It did make her notice, really notice, the crickets. Radèn-minnoi would try to catch one, she was certain. “We’ve caught it in time and it seems to be mostly dormant rather than vanishing, but it is weak enough. Do not fret, asafai. We’ll help you.”

  “With what? Am I sifanou? I am, aren’t I? I’m sifanou and I should die because it’s better for all the world because then I won’t destroy it and kill everyone and and and –” But she didn’t know what else sifanou did and the whispers were screaming and her mother was crying and nothing at all was right in the world and it was all set to stupid, chirpy crickets that didn’t know how to do the farakaoina properly and why weren’t they sifanou and why wasn’t she a cricket? She wanted to be a cricket. If she were a cricket then she could hop under someone’s foot and she wouldn’t be sifanou anymore and she wasn’t and she didn’t know when Anou-minnoi had started singing a farakaoina or what it was supposed to do but she had more tears after all.

  Anou-minnoi’s silk shirt was soaked through by the time she had cried herself out the second time. He said nothing still, stroked her hair and hummed all the badness away until there was nothing left but a tiredness she couldn’t shake. Eiryn screamed when a weight landed on her lap and startled her out of nothingness, but it was only a cat, pale as the moon. It turned a few times and curled up, burying its face against her arm and underneath a paw. Gingerly, she stroked the cat’s side. Its ear twitched.

  “You’re not sifanou,” Anou-minnoi said. “Why would you think that?”

  “Janyn-minnoi says so…”

  Anou-minnoi snorted. “The boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said, but after that they just sat until the cat had had enough and Eiryn thought she’d never be warm again.

  “Let’s get you to bed. You’re half-asleep.” Anou-minnoi wrapped his sash around her tightly, using the same farakaoina to make it warm again. Eiryn wondered if he could make it colder too, but she didn’t want to ask. She’d never be able to use it anyway.

  Inside, Anou-minnoi started to lead her back through the corridors. His shirt fell loose over his pants and it took Eiryn a little while to realise that it was because she was wrapped up in the sash that should have been around his middle. “Leave it,” the old man said gently when she started to tug at it to give it back. “You’re cold, child, and everyone knows me. You need it more than I do.” He patted her head and muttered that he should never have taken her out into the garden that night because he wouldn’t forgive himself if she woke up sick tomorrow.

  “I won’t get sick,” she said. She tried to sound confident and reassuring, though some persistent voice insisted she would. Eiryn stubbornly refused to listen to it. If she got sick, Anou-minnoi would feel bad. So she wouldn’t.

  When they reached a hall that Eiryn recognised, she froze. She didn’t want to go to Arèn-minnoi’s chambers yet. Anou-minnoi had taken another step before he realised she wasn’t following and turned to face her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling to look into her eyes. It took him a bit of effort and he’d grimaced a little as he moved. But Anou-minnoi knelt and didn’t let Eiryn look away from him. His eyes were a dark, dark green and they were very worried, even if he was smiling softly and stroking her hair as if to say nothing was wrong.

  “Radèn-minnoi promised me a bedtime story.”

  The man chuckled. “All right. We’ll go and find him then.” He rose and held out his hand for Eiryn to take. “He’ll probably still be in the banquet hall. We haven’t been gone that long.”

  To Eiryn, it had felt like most of the evening had disappeared, but she followed Anou-minnoi down large halls and smaller, more hidden ones, that he insisted were shortcuts. Eiryn just wandered along, her hand in his. She was too tired to pay attention and too tired to care. She wanted to go to bed, but Radèn-minnoi’d promised her a story and she wanted it tonight, now.

  Finally they arrived not at the small corridor they’d left through, but at the great doors to the banquet hall. They stood open and Eiryn stared. It seemed much busier than she’d remembered at the banquet table now that everyone was wandering around the room and she turned questioningly to the old man behind her.

  “Have you changed your mind?” he asked.

  Eiryn shook her head.

  “In you go then.”

  She didn’t want to go. Not alone. There were too many people and she could feel her heart in her throat.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “We’ll go together.” Anou-minnoi didn’t ask her why she was scared. He didn’t tell her not to be scared either. So Eiryn tried to manage a smile and a nod for him. She could find Radèn amidst so many people.

  Together, Eiryn and Anou-minnoi entered the great banquet hall. He’d taken her hand and she was torn between holding it tightly and being a big girl. Thinking she saw Janyn, Eiryn slipped her hand free. Tugging her hair back in place, she raised her chin to make her feel less afraid, but all she wanted to do was hide. Even though she couldn’t see anyone that looked like Janyn anymore now, she wanted to go.

  Anou-minnoi was standing beside her, talking to someone she didn’t know. She took a step closer to the old man. He looked down and smiled at her. Eiryn smiled back. The tawny stranger crouched down in front of Eiryn and held up her hand. “Greetings,” she said, her voice as low as most men’s, sash or no. Her kerisaoina was so heavily accented it took Eiryn a moment to work out what she’d said.

  She put her hand against the woman’s and said, “Hello.” She didn’t know what else to say, but Anou-minnoi was already explaining that they were looking for someone. Eiryn didn’t quite catch all the words because he was talking in gaodansaoina, but she heard Radèn’s name clearly enough. The stranger looked at Eiryn again and smiled. Eiryn didn’t understand what she said next, but she rose as smoothly and lazily as one of the garden cats and bid them both a good evening. Eiryn wanted to watch her go, but Anou-minnoi took her hand in his and told her that he’d spotted Radèn-minnoi’s father.

  Turning in the same direction that Anou-minnoi was pointing, Eiryn rose onto her toes, but she didn’t see anything. Still, she let A
nou-minnoi lead her through the crowd. Most people had divided themselves into small groups that were talking to one another and many called out greetings or invitations to Anou-minnoi as the two of them wove their way through the hall. There were more people than during the banquet, Eiryn realised. She could see some who were still wearing their work sashes, though she didn’t know what most of the colours meant. Some were wearing blue sashes, for mourning like she was, and Eiryn felt a stab through her stomach and looked away from those people. Maybe they’d lost their dai too. She didn’t want to know. Some were wearing yellow sashes, which meant they worked with Keilan-minnai, but Eiryn couldn’t see the woman anywhere at all.

  She did, eventually, spot a bright red sash. It stood out sharply in the sea of grey that surrounded it. Red was the rysharoi’s colour. There were no children visible in the group surrounding the rysharoi, but Anou-minnoi kept walking towards them anyway. Eiryn wasn’t sure what she wanted, but before she knew it they’d come to a stop at the edge of the group and Anou-minnoi had already cleared his throat and spoken. Her heart fluttered in her chest as the speaker fell silent and everyone, not just the rysharoi, turned to look at them. Anou-minnoi was silent and nudged her gently.

  Eiryn looked up at Anou-minnoi, who only smiled at her. “H-hello,” she said. She clasped her hands together in front of her and bowed. Her hair fell in front of her face and she was afraid Anou-minnoi’s sash would slip from her shoulders, but it didn’t. “Have you seen Radèn-minnoi?” she asked hopefully. The rysharoi shook his head.

  “Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked and Eiryn didn’t know an answer. Her cheeks grew hot when she heard Anou-minnoi explain that she wanted Radèn to tell her a story since he’d promised. But no one laughed at her or told her not to be such a child. It didn’t make the rysharoi know where his son was, though. None of the people with him could tell her either. And, when Arèn-minnoi joined the group, he told Eiryn sternly to go to bed.

  “I’ll take her,” Anou-minnoi said and there was a stiffness to his voice Eiryn hadn’t heard before. The old man bid everyone a good night and only barely gave Eiryn the chance to do the same, but she managed. She spun around to hurry after Anou-minnoi and almost lost his sash and her balance both. Keeping up was harder this time since the old man didn’t match his pace to hers like he had previously. Eiryn had to match hers to his and it was hard. His legs were still much longer and he was walking very fast.

  When Anou-minnoi slowed again, they were near the great doors leading onto the hallway. “I am sorry,” he said, though Eiryn wasn’t sure what for. All she knew was that she felt tired. “It would seem you will need to wait for your bedtime story. Shall I tell you one?”

  “Would you?” she gasped. She was certain that Arèn-minnoi would’ve been too busy to tell her a story. He’d have returned to his papers and told her to go to sleep and not disturb him.

  “Otherwise I wouldn’t have offered,” the old man replied and walked out of the banquet hall. This time, he did match Eiryn’s stride and they stuck to paths that Eiryn knew well. They were darker than she was used to, with the low lights casting shadows all over the walls. If she looked really carefully she could imagine there were glints of whatever made the wall shiny and those glints were the eyes of shadowy creatures studying them as they walked. She’d never heard a story with shadowy creatures before, so she imagined that they were like the garden cats and usually very shy of people.

  They were waiting, lurking in the walls, and hiding from them as they passed. Maybe, if they stayed really still and waited for the lights to go out, the creatures would come to them like the white cat in the garden had come to Eiryn’s lap and they’d be soft and furry all over except for their face and tails which were covered with scales, like a fish.

  “Why a fish?” Anou-minnoi asked as they came to a halt outside of Arèn-minnoi’s chambers. Eiryn startled and tugged on her hair. She hadn’t realised she’d been talking! She hadn’t meant to be. Eiryn looked down to hide her face better even though Anou-minnoi didn’t seem to find her story ridiculous or silly.

  When she glanced up at him, he seemed curious. It was hard to tell since he was difficult to see and Eiryn was a little jittery. She pulled his sash off her shoulders and, bunching the fabric in her hands, held it out in his general direction instead.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Eiryn didn’t answer. Arèn-minnoi would have sighed. Keilan-minnai might have too. The old man only took his sash and tied it around his waist before opening the door. “I thought they sounded like splendid creatures,” he said as he gestured for Eiryn to enter. Cautiously, she did. Arèn-minnoi wasn’t there and it was dark enough that Anou-minnoi had to sing the lights on with a farakaoina.

  Eiryn all but bolted into the bedroom, followed by Anou-minnoi’s chuckle and then the man himself. He helped her untie her sash and get out of her dress. Since he didn’t know where her shift was, Eiryn had to fetch it herself. She refused to let him help her with it and was rewarded with a very solemn apology for thinking her a child who couldn’t dress herself yet. Eiryn laughed. Anou-minnoi’d sounded so serious even though there was a grin to his face and she knew it wasn’t aimed at her but at himself. She fetched Innas from her own bed, bounded over to Arèn-minnoi’s and snuggled under the blankets.

  “Your hair,” Anou-minnoi said and Eiryn sat up, surprised and slightly confused before she remembered that there were still a few bone pins left in it. Not all that Keilan-minnai had done had been the work of a farakaoina. Anou-minnoi sat down on the bed beside Eiryn and motioned for her to turn around, so she did. Humming a farakaoina Eiryn didn’t know under his breath, he carefully combed through her hair to catch all the pins. For once, Eiryn didn’t pay much attention. It didn’t sound like any farakaoina she’d ever heard, but she just wanted her story and to go to sleep.

  She yawned so widely that tears sprang into her eyes and Anou-minnoi fell silent. He couldn’t have seen the tears, but she couldn’t hide the way she wiped them away with a fist. The old man stroked her hair and said, “I’m afraid I don’t have a very long story to tell you, but I hope you’ll like it as much as I did when I learned it.” Toying with the pins in his hands he didn’t look at Eiryn and he didn’t speak. He seemed to be thinking. “I haven’t told it in a very long time.” His voice was quiet and Eiryn rubbed at her eyes again because there were more tears.

  She was almost asleep when Anou-minnoi’s voice jolted her awake again. He was weaving a farakaoina under his breath as he spoke, telling her a story that she’d never heard before. “Long before the city of Lir was built,” the old man began, “long before the kerisaoina even came into this world, only the gaodansaoina lived here. This story, little one, is one of their stories.” His voice hadn’t hardened, but it had changed. It wasn’t the farakaoina — Eiryn wasn’t sure what it was — but it made her listen more carefully. “It was told to me by a gaondansai who died a long, long time ago. I was very young when she told me this story, not much older than you.” For a moment his voice trailed off and then Anou-minnoi cleared his throat. Eiryn lay back down and snuggled into the blankets.

  “She told me that the stars we see each night are people who live in the sky and that, sometimes, they fall. She told me that the stars have one great bridge to connect the moon and the sun and, sometimes, a star walking along that bridge will fall off, but she couldn’t tell me why. It so happened that one night a star did fall off the bridge and ao tumbled all the way down to the world.”

  “Why isn’t ao a girl?” she asked. “Like me.”

  “Do you want the star to be a girl?” Anou-minnoi turned his head to look at her and Eiryn shrugged.

  “I always think of stars as tarènaoii, but I suppose they would be all genders just like us…” Anou-minnoi tapped the bone pins in his hand on his thigh. “All right. The star’s a girl, just like you.”

  “But I don’t want the star to be a girl.”

  “Well, she’s a girl now.”

 
“Whyyyyyyy is she a girl?”

  “Because I said so.” Anou-minnoi sighed. “Do you want me to tell the story?” Eiryn nodded. “Then be a good girl and let me tell it.”

  Eiryn snuggled back under the blankets with a grumble and hugged Innas close to her chest. Anou-minnoi said nothing. He waited so long to continue that Eiryn almost believed he didn’t want to tell her the story after all.

  “One night a star did fall off the bridge. She fell and fell and fell until she landed on a high cliff. Because she was a star, the fall didn’t hurt her too badly. But she was very tired and the grass was very soft. She slept until dawn and all sorts of creatures had gathered around her while she slept. There were gulls and hummingbirds, lions and panthers, and wolves. There were butterflies and bees, horses and donkeys, and spiders. There were swans and ravens, mice and rabbits, and ferrets. All of them had gathered in a big circle around the star as she sat up and rubbed dust from her eyes. The star’s dust shone even brighter than our walls.

  “She didn’t ask the animals any questions until much later. Because she was a star, she had never seen such animals before —”

  “I haven’t either,” Eiryn mumbled, but Anou-minnoi ignored her.

  “— and she studied them all in turn. None of them were like her, but this was a time when all creatures could speak the same language and so it did not matter. ‘How do I go home?’ she asked. The star had seen what she had seen and she had no curiosity about the world around her. It wasn’t home and that was enough for her.

  “But the animals that surrounded her could not tell her how to get back to the stars. ‘You should jump,’ said the frog, but the birds told her to flap her strange wings and catch the wind as it blew. The star tried to jump, but she could not jump much higher than you or I because the fall had made her heavy. The star tried to beat her arm-wings like the birds showed her, but her feet never left the ground. The mice told her to stay and make a nest and the wolves suggested she seek out others like her.