“When the star dismissed all of their suggestions, the birds offered to fly her up into the sky themselves and she accepted gratefully. She promised to tell many stories of them when she got back home, but the birds said it did not matter. Out of all them, a hummingbird was chosen to carry the star back into the sky.
“But the star was too heavy and, when the hummingbird plummeted to the ground from the strain, it was only the star’s arms that saved it. ‘I shall look on my own,’ the star told them. The hummingbird had scared her because before now she had never encountered death. ‘Thank you for your help.’ The star wandered off before the animals could reply. They would not have caught her unless she wanted them to, but no one knew that, not even the star.
“That night the star sought out the highest point she could find and called out to her kin in the sky above. The next night, she sought a higher point and sang laments to the other stars. The night after that, she found a higher point still and called out the wonders of the world below. On the fourth night, she found an even higher point and told the stars how she had fallen. On the fifth night after her fall, she reached the highest point of the world and she cried bitter, bitter tears and the other stars could bear it no longer.
“They gathered on the great bridge and grasped each other’s hands to form a chain that fell downward all the way to the highest point in all the world and still they could not reach her. There weren’t enough stars. The last star’s hand dangled just out of their fallen sibling’s reach. She jumped and missed several times before she jumped and caught hold of it. Then the stars began to hoist each other and their fallen sister up again.
“But her time in the world had made the star heavy and rough and the higher they came, the harder it was for her to hold on. Carefully the other stars pulled her up. Carefully they made sure their grip was good. But partway through the effort the fallen star could not hold on any longer and she fell.
“Down and down she fell back to the earth she had wanted to escape from. This time, she was too heavy and when she landed between the rocks there was no grass to cushion her fall. All the stars that remained in the sky cried and cried and cried over their lost sibling.”
Anou-minnoi fell silent and pulled the covers up around Eiryn and Innas. He was very careful to tuck Innas in with the same tenderness that he used for Eiryn. Just as she was about to say something, he said, “They still cry.” He stroked Eiryn’s hair with his left hand. “And when their tears fall into the ocean, they become pearls. But if they fall onto the earth then star-flowers spring up where the tears met the earth and so we too are always reminded of the star that fell.”
“I don’t like that story,” Eiryn mumbled. “It’s sad.”
“It is. What did your doll think of the story?”
“Innas is asleep…”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Anou-minnoi lowered his voice so that he was whispering. “I’d hoped you’d like it. I thought it was gaodansaoina magic when I first heard it and I wasn’t much older than you.”
“It’s sad.”
“Do you think you can sleep?”
Eiryn thought about it for a moment and nodded. “It was sad, not scary. Innas wouldn’t sleep.”
“Then I’m glad —” He hesitated just long enough for Eiryn to notice. “— Innas fell asleep before the end.” He smiled and leaned down to kiss Eiryn’s forehead. She smiled when he kissed the top of Innas’ head as well. “Be safe, Eiryn-dai,” he whispered and got up.
Eiryn watched him walk over to the dresser and then walk out the room and snuggled back into the covers. “Good night, Anou-minnoi!” she called when she heard him sing out the lights. Then she yawned and told the room the story about the shadowy creatures. She liked that one much better.
When Arèn heard Anou-minnoi clear his throat behind him, he’d just signed an agreement to repair the roof of the family mansion. He hadn’t been to visit it since all the trouble with his father had started. After their parents had died, the care had fallen to Amaru and if the reports were anything to go by she’d happily been letting it go to ruins. His sister never did know how to value things. The mansion was still home, even if Arèn couldn’t bear to visit it himself. He’d have to one day, to show it to Eiryn. Perhaps his niece would love it more than he did.
Reaching for the next set of papers, he said, “Thank you”. He didn’t look up from the expense report, but he could hear no shuffling. Anou-minnoi wasn’t moving.
“We need to talk.”
“You must be tired.” Arèn didn’t turn around. He knew it was rude, but if he were honest with himself then he had to admit that he didn’t want to have a conversation about his niece right now. It was late, after all, and the banquet in Anou’s honour had taken up much of his time already. He’d hoped to get through the entire stack on his desk before going to bed, but there was no chance of that now. “Please excuse me. I have a lot of work to do.”
“Running away won’t solve anything, Arèn-doi.” The words cut, though the tone was gentle enough. He’d had that conversation once already. Arèn scribbled some notes onto the page he was reading and glanced at the next one on the pile. Imprinted on the wax seal was the shape of an eye between two towers and he let out a soft groan. Letters from the bridge watchers always brought trouble with them. Perhaps it truly wasn’t so terrible to get the conversation out of the way now. If nothing else, he’d be more prepared for the meeting in a few days’ time.
When he turned to face Anou, he found that the old man had seated himself on one of the chairs at the small dining table. “You’d have sat there all night?” he asked as he cleaned his quill and stoppered the ink bottle.
Anou shrugged slightly. “I remember a young woman who refused to move for an entire day because she wanted to be heard. I would prefer to avoid following the example, but if I must…”
Shaking his head at the hint of rebuke, Arèn got up from his seat. “It was worth it.” And it had been. Many times over. He walked over to where his old mentor was sitting and sat down in the opposite chair. Anou looked at him from across the table. “What’s so important?”
“She was too young to attend the funeral, Arèn.”
“I know.” Arèn sighed. “I know, but Eiryn needed to see.” He looked down at the table and then dropped his head onto his arms. “She wouldn’t have believed me otherwise.” Shifting to find a position that hurt his arm less, resulted in a sleeve muffling his words. “I know she was too young, Anou-minnoi. I knew even before Keilan tried to talk me out of taking her with me. I knew the risk.” And, he thought, might still find it worth the cost in the end, but he wasn’t certain and he’d almost killed her twice already. “How can I run away from that?” he asked aloud.
Anou patted the table and only stopped when Arèn looked up at the old man. “Some people lose their lives running away from what they did. Others their sanity.” The man reached out to brush past Arèn’s cheek. A strand of hair fell in front of his eye too. If he’d felt less miserable, he might have tried to blow it away. “You were always strong, Arèn.”
Taking Anou’s hands in his own, Arèn just stared at the old man across from him. Anou-minnoi had been his teacher and mentor long ago and they’d been friends since that time, but there was something distant in him now that Arèn could only just discern as disapproval. “Fasaoi should restore itself around her with time.” Whether the reprimand in it was genuinely there or not didn’t matter to Arèn. It was something that he should have noticed and acted on. It was something he should have done a long time ago if his father had been anywhere close to right. Arèn looked down at the table, not seeing. If his father had been right…
Anou’s hand slipped from his and Arèn startled. The old man was rubbing at it and flexing his fingers. Arèn frowned. “Did I hurt you?”
“You could have squeezed a little less tightly.” There was no reprimand in the voice, only sadness. Arèn wondered what Anou was thinking, but he didn’t dare ask lest the old man knew more t
han Arèn had ever told anyone. Not even Amaru had known and she’d been his twin. Only palmbound couples were closer. He missed his sister then, every bit as much as he had at her funeral, and he realised he had been trying to shove people away. He’d been running, after all, and now it was catching up to him. Sitting at a bone-pale table, a room away from his little niece who needed him more than anyone had ever needed him and a bit of an arm’s length away from the man who’d taught him all he knew of fasaoi. Arèn’s sight blurred with tears for all that he tried to hold them back and forced down the sobs. Eiryn wouldn’t be asleep yet. He needed to be strong for her now. He didn’t want her to see him cry.
But he was crying and it wasn’t just for the loss of his sister. It was for all the things he’d locked away. All the feelings he thought he’d confronted and dealt with were still there waiting for something to let them back in and they’d found it. He didn’t know when he’d risen or when Anou had wrapped his arms around him like he was just a little child again; he just sobbed into the white silk of Anou’s shirt and stood taut lest his noise summon his niece or his movements injure his friend.
Clouds had darkened the sky considerably when Arèn was finally out of tears. He wiped the last of them away with the back of his hand. Irrationally, he wished it was hairier like Baesou-minnoi’s hands were. He’d always been happy with his own. He choked out “What will happen? To Eiryn. What will happen?” just to distract himself, but he needed to know. It was why Anou had come.
Arèn’s voice sounded dead even to himself and he promised Amaru’s memory that he would try to do no more work that night. He’d deal with this, wait for Eiryn to be asleep and go straight to bed. No matter how much he felt like his pyre had been built alongside his sister’s and he was just waiting for it to be set alight. Arèn had only once seen a twins’ funeral. His father had taken him and Amaru to the Plaza of Ashes since the women were townspeople. Their bodies had been burned together; after one of the sisters had died, the other had died of grief. It hadn’t happened to Arèn and Amaru when they were younger and it wouldn’t happen now.
Arèn stepped away to look into Anou’s eyes. They were filled with little more than concern. “You still look like a lost g– child sometimes.” It was only because Arèn knew his mentor and friend so well that he noticed the near-slip at all. He hadn’t thought he could have hurt much more, but he was wrong.
“I’m just worried,” he muttered. His words were thick with the effort of focusing on the present. Now wasn’t the time for the past, especially not the girl he’d left behind him long ago. “What did she tell you?”
“Everything we hoped she’d say. She wants her mother, Arèn-minnoi. Why does she cling to that?”
“My sister promised. Eiryn doesn’t understand we can’t always keep our promises.”
Anou started to walk around the room. It wasn’t quite pacing, but it was a close cousin. When Arèn realised the old man was shivering, he fetched a blanket from a basket in the corner only to find his friend batting it away when offered. “Just the cold of the night, boy.”
The fire in the hearth was still blazing merrily, but Arèn didn’t press. He knew how much Anou hated being mothered. Instead he put the blanket down on the table. He’d probably want it himself eventually.
“I cannot guarantee the faslaeraoina will vote in Eiryn-dai’s favour, Arèn, but I think they will. Get some rest. You need it.”
“I do.” He sighed. “My heart is hurting so much I don’t know how I’ll ever get to sleep tonight.”
“You’ll find a way.” Anou turned and walked to the door. Arèn beat him to it and put his hand on the handle. Quirking his eyebrows, Anou asked, “Are you going to trap me here?”
“Only long enough to thank you. You’ve always been a better friend than I deserve. Thank you.”
For a moment, he thought Anou was going to say something in protest, but his mentor only inclined his head in acknowledgement. Arèn opened the door. Anou didn’t grumble once about how he wasn’t decrepit and certainly capable of such a task as opening a door, but Arèn smiled when he caught the old man stifle a yawn. “Good night, Anou-minnoi. Thank you for looking after Eiryn tonight.”
“She’s a bright little girl, Arèn. Your sister raised her well. I’m sure it’ll turn out for the best.”
I hope so, he thought as Anou wished him good night and left. Arèn closed the door behind him and pulled a hand over his face. Perhaps he shouldn’t have let his friend leave on his own. The hallway outside had been almost dark and would be difficult to navigate without more light. Yet he knew Anou would have tried to chase him off and he wasn’t certain either of them wanted the company. He stayed at the door for a while, though, and listened for any sounds from outside.
There was nothing and eventually Arèn walked over to his desk. He straightened out his papers, putting the bridge watchers’ requests a few reports down. He longed to put it somewhere near the bottom of the pile, but it was probably a good idea to deal with it sooner. Placing it fourth or fifth in this stack would ensure he’d already gotten into the rhythm of the work. He made sure that the rest of the desk was tidy, in order and ready for the next day and then he decided it was time to go to bed.
All the same, he found himself pacing the bedroom. Eiryn was sleeping in his bed, again, curled up around a pillow and her doll pressed against her cheek. Arèn didn’t have the heart to wake her when she seemed so peaceful. He himself wasn’t. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never wanted children, had never been good with them. Amaru would have known what to do. She’d have known how to handle a grieving toddler. Scrubbing at his eyes like he was one himself, he sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Eiryn’s hair from her face. She looked so much like her mother that his heart ached. What would she do? he wondered, but nothing held answers. Perhaps he could ask Dernyri when the gaondansai was in Lir again. The woman had always been closer to Amaru than to him and she’d always seemed good at handling children.
For now all he could do was help his niece forget, he supposed. Encourage her to spend time with her friends and do things she enjoyed. Perhaps not all the things she enjoyed since her love of farakaoina had already gotten her into immense trouble. Surely the faslaeraoina will see sense.
Arèn yawned as he got up and resumed pacing. He tried to focus on each step and each movement to avoid thinking about everything that would happen if they didn’t. The effort only made him more agitated. He knew he should rest and go to bed, but he needed distraction. He had a whole pile of papers to sort through and deal with on his desk and the stack would most likely grow even taller tomorrow.
Best to get as much of them done as he could. If nothing else they’d distract him from his own thoughts. Arèn planted a light kiss on his niece’s cheek. He rose and turned to leave, then turned back and carefully kissed the head of Eiryn’s doll too because he was certain his niece would appreciate it.
Walking to his desk, he was smiling lightly and in a better mood. He was still tired, so he did separate out the easier reports, the ones where he was certain all he needed to do was read over them to double-check the figures or the recommendations.
As he only had the hearth’s light to work by, he hummed a farakaoina to brighten the lamp on his desk too and started to work through the stack again. Arèn put the items he didn’t tackle aside. When he reached the bottom of the pile, he was feeling much calmer. He’d gone over about a quarter of the papers and selected a letter he would start the morning’s work with. It had come from the family mansion and discussed an attempted burglary. It wasn’t enough that his sister had never done anything to address the problems of the building itself. He grumbled softly. He’d have to arrange a proper visit to deal with that particular problem. It would soothe the staff still employed there and it was his duty, now, to sort the whole mess out and come up with a suitable punishment for the thief.
Arèn wasn’t ready to go home yet. Eiryn certainly wasn’t. If he made her leave the city now
, he was sure she’d be upset to leave her friends and the ghost of her mother behind. It was too soon yet. Her distress would only continue to ripple through the fasaoi and they’d be right back where they were after Amaru’s funeral. A second time and the faslaeraoina would be even less sensible about the matter. Suppressing a shudder, Arèn folded the page and rested a stone paperweight on it. It was a silly thing, but it paid to be careful. It also paid to act without haste and not to take decisions whilst yawning widely. Perhaps they could employ the thief to fix the roof, teach them a trade. He wasn’t sure that was wise. He’d have to visit and talk to people to see what was and was not feasible. Eventually. First he was going to tidy the rest of his papers again.
Eiryn awoke to an empty bedroom the next morning. Innas had squeezed aos way under the pillow, though Eiryn had no idea how, or why that even seemed like a good idea. Dolls were strange creatures, but at least Innas was there. Eiryn didn’t know where her uncle was, and Mayry-minnoi still wasn’t back. Not sure that she wanted to try getting dressed on her own, she tried to fall back asleep. Clutching Innas close, Eiryn rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. She felt very rested, though, and she wasn’t tired at all.
She got up, pulling the blanket with her because it was cold. Peeking through the archway, Eiryn called out her uncle’s name, but received no response. She pressed Innas against her cheek because she couldn’t see anyone either. Though there was a bottle on the ground and a puddle of black ink spilled around it. Eiryn held Innas more tightly. Her uncle wasn’t messy at all. He hated mess. If there was spilled ink… If there was – She’d inched so far into the room now that she could see her uncle lying slumped over the desk, one arm dangling to his side.
Eiryn screamed.
A Promise Broken Page 10
