by Am Hudson
Every sound came back as if I were standing inside a small box, and I’d turned around so many times now, I wasn’t sure where was here and where was there. I knew the river was to my right, I could hear it trickling, hear the subtle splashes of slimy creatures swimming its shallow waters. I just didn’t know which way led back to the City.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, or maybe not, a lullaby had been playing—haunting and empty, sorrowful as a sad tale. I knew the tune from somewhere, but couldn’t place it. Perhaps it had been played on a violin by a man named Arthur. Perhaps it lilted from a tiny silver box. Something about it felt like a pull—drawing me somewhere by my heart. I wanted to follow it, but I wasn’t sure where it was coming from.
I decided then that, not only was I now lost in the fog, but my mind was starting to wander. So I walked sideways, like swimming out of a rip in the ocean, and headed to a place hopefully outside of this fog. I needed to regroup, to think, to process all of this and come up with a plan.
But the fog had no end. I walked for a while, my bare feet hugging the muddy lumps of dead grass, wondering if, at some point, the river had become a swamp.
“Hello!” I called, my voice echoing this time. The space sounded empty, as if there were no trees and no sky. No sun to show the time. For all I knew, sundown had come and gone in my world, and my baby… well, I just couldn’t think about that. She was my hope. My light. My… my light!
It occurred to me then that my mind had, in fact, wandered too far away from me—making me forget the most vital piece of advice I’d been given. Use your Light.
Both hands lit up with the blue glow of my Cerulean Magic, and like looking through the thin smoky fog on a dance floor, I could see the shape of things around me—see the ghostly flickers of souls wavering like thin trees above and all around me. They glowed slightly as I turned my light to them, shrinking away as it touched their forms for the first time.
I laughed, spinning around to take it all in. I should have been, but I wasn’t scared. Not at all. I felt worried for these souls—wanted to stop and help them right now—but there were more important matters to attend. Like, where would Eve be?
She once told me that, if her crux failed, she would be stuck here forever, wandering around and watching those she loves live their lives, never actually knowing who they are or who she is. Paraphrasing, yes, but that was the gist of it. I wondered if she knew—if she’d seen the place she would go—or if she just assumed she would wander around what she implied would be Loslilian.
And that was it! That was the one place I hadn’t looked. Loslilian. The manor. The Other Layer over the Natural Realm.
I just assumed that a lost soul—eternally walking the Fog of Purgatory—would actually be lost in the Fog. But we had ghosts at the manor—I’d felt them. Maybe that’s where she went when her conscious mind left her soul.
As if by pure will, when I imagined Eve standing by the window in her old chambers, a bed and bookshelves manifested around me, the thick fog sweeping away in a light breeze until I was left standing there looking at Eve’s window in the darkness of her empty room. I could hear voices around me, whispers of spirits, mingling with the voices of the living—up and moving for the day. Among the familiar sounds of life, though, I could hear that tune—louder now—each note straining against the metal points within the mechanism.
“Eve?” I said softly. “Are you here?”
“They told me she was my sister,” a very small voice said.
My eyes whipped around the room, but nothing was there. The little wooden horse on the rug rocked on its own, and a gentle breeze blew through the closed window, moving the curtains like ghostly fingers toward me.
Over on the dresser, a sudden snap ended the lullaby, and I looked to see the lid of the jewellery box close.
“Are you talking about Morgana?” I asked no one. “You know, don’t you? That they lied. She was never Lilith’s daughter; never your sister—”
“She was yours.”
My eyes questioned themselves as a small girl, no older than five, stood at my feet, looking up at me with a pair of large round eyes, her curly golden hair soft and kind of fluffy, like fairy-floss.
“Eve.” I squatted down to her level. “I’ve come to take you home.”
“Home?”
“Yes. Would you like to go home?”
“I am home.” She walked away and jumped up on the bed, hugging the little cloth doll she’d left there.
“But there’s no one here.” I stood up. “Wouldn’t you like to have friends to play with—to climb trees again and feel the wind on your face?”
Her tight little brow indented with thought. “Could I bring my dolly?”
“Eve—” I offered her my hand, “—if you come with me, right now, you can bring anything you like.”
The little girl seemed happy with that arrangement. She nodded once pragmatically and hopped down off the bed, the cloth dolly tucked under one arm, and came to take my hand. “Is it far—home?”
“No, it’s not far. But you may need to walk by yourself for a moment when we reach the green grass. Do you think you can do that?”
At first, she seemed unsure, but on consideration, she gave me an enthusiastic nod and a cute little smile.
“Good girl,” I said, patting her chubby little hand. “You’re going to be happy, Eve. I promise you that.”
“Will I have a new sister?”
My stomach dropped. The true answer would be no. I could never have another child, for she too would be soulless. But I lied and said, “Yes, Eve. You can have a new sister.”
“You promise?” She looked up at me, her eyes filling out with hope.
We manifested by the edge of the River, with the white glow of the city behind us. I couldn’t look at Eve as I deliberately ignored her question. I had to hope it would be a wish that one day faded.
I brought myself down to her height again and took her hand. “We can’t go into this water, Eve, because we need a special door to take you home. So I want you to wait here until I call for you, okay? This is very important. You must not go in that water.”
Her eyes danced on the swirling surface of the River with a look of uncertainty.
“Eve? I need you to tell me you understand,” I prompted, turning her face back to mine. “You must stay away from that water.”
“I will,” she said, hugging the dolly to her chin. “I promise.”
“Good girl.” I smiled softly at her. “Now, when you hear my voice, and I want you to follow it—close your eyes and just follow it. All right?”
“All right.” Her tiny voice trembled a little.
“That’s a good girl.” I stood up and gently stroked her head, tucking my hand under her chin to take a long look at her face. “I’ll see you very soon, Eve.”
***
David walked toward me, leaving the baby safe within the raised roots of the tree. “I was starting to worry,” he said, and when he hugged me, I noticed the white sleeve of the nightdress I’d been wearing when I left this realm.
“No need to worry,” I whispered, holding him so tight I thought I might be hurting him.
“Then you found her?” he asked, his deep voice hopeful, muffled slightly in my neck.
“I did.” I drew back, taking a breath of him with me. “She’s waiting.”
His green eyes sparkled with tears, but he blinked them away, restoring his masculinity. “Are you ready then?”
“I am.” I took his hand, really noticing it, really feeling the wrap of his fingers around mine and the warmth of his skin. After walking the Spirit Realm, everything out here felt magical and more real than it ever had before. The colours were richer, the sounds were more prominent, the sun, even though it was an icy cold day, felt warmer.
While I was gone, the snow had fallen thickly on the forest, blanketing everything in white—except for the small circle of warmth under the tree—and the sun sparkled down on every surface, making
magic of an otherwise dreary day.
I knelt down by the naked little baby, her pink skin warm under the glow of the Tree, and smiled at her. So much had happened since her birth, and though I knew she was a pretty little baby, I hadn’t taken the time to really look—to see just how beautiful she was. Her head was perfectly round, with that light tuft of fluffy hair sticking up on top, and her jet black eyes were framed by the longest brown lashes I’d ever seen on a child. I wondered what colour her eyes would be when the light of a soul shone behind them, and as I imagined them blue, I could see they were the shape of mine—her lips mine, her chin, with its very slight dimple, clearly David’s.
“You can use the spell you were taught when you brought the leaf back to life,” Lilith said. “If it helps.”
“But I don’t need it, do I?”
“No. It’s just a way of focusing your power.”
I nodded, looking back down at the baby. I traced a line with my fingertip along the curve of her round cheek and across her pouting bottom lip, moving both hands in then to cup the sides of her head, and with the words of that old spell touching the tip of my tongue, I forged a pathway from the Other Side to this.
No one would see the light within that pathway; no one would feel its warmth or its magic. All I could even feel, as I whispered the name of the child’s soulmate into the magic, was the presence of Eve, like a memory.
I looked down into my child’s eyes, and David laughed beside me. A foggy cloud of black and green circled within them, like a swirling galaxy among billions of stars. We watched as the colours twisted around the blue Light, the black fading as the green grew brighter and brighter. I could see tiny stars among the colour, twinkling as the soul connected to this body, rewriting its fate—re-establishing its future.
When the swirling finally settled and the light burned out, leaving them a very human green, the child Eve was no more. She lived on now as only a memory, a past, giving life to the new Lilithian Princess.
“Green,” David said, reaching past me to slide his hands under her head and her bottom. “She has green eyes!”
The sudden shock of being lifted from the warmth among the roots startled her, and we all smiled as the first cries of our baby ripped through the quiet morning, echoing off the treetops like the assertive demands of a princess.
“I will never get tired of hearing that,” I laughed, my eyes lensed with tears.
Lilith laughed, too. “That will change—in about seven months.”
I looked up at her and smiled.
“Ara,” David whispered, cradling the baby gently against his arm. “She’s so beautiful.”
He brought her up to his lips and kissed her head softly, stroking his cheek along hers. And all the worry, all the concern he had a few hours ago—that he wouldn’t love her—folded away inside of him. I could see it, feel it.
He looked at me, fighting back tears, his mouth trembling around words that just wouldn’t shape.
“I know,” I said simply, leaning my head against his shoulder. “I know.”
The spirit of Life filled the clearing then, and I could sense the living creatures here as they gathered around to look on. The trees seemed to lean in slightly to get a better view, and tiny crawling insects flurried about in the soil beneath me. A flock of birds shadowed the sky as they descended into the forest and gathered on the branches above us, sensing the energy, the life, the future of this little baby and her soul’s new path. Great things would be expected of her; I could feel it. And as much as I wanted to wrap her up and protect her from it all, I knew in that moment that it would be my sole responsibility to prepare her in a way no one else could.
“I have a little gift for the new babe,” Lilith said, moving her open hand toward me. “Give me her Spirit Crux.”
I picked it up off the velvet cloak and handed it to Lilith, frowning up curiously at her. “What are you doing?”
“She will need to wear this, always,” she said, burying two fingertips into her hair. She pulled out a singular strand and wrapped it around the stem of the tiny golden apple, then blew against it softly. David and I watched in amazement as the ethereal hair of the goddess became a thread of silver chain.
“The length will grow with her,” she said, handing me the apple.
I studied it carefully, running my fingertips down the long chain, but as I wrapped it around the baby’s ankle, it shrunk in a very unnatural way, twisting itself loosely around her tiny leg but holding tight. I got the sense then that nothing would ever be able to break it.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling up at Lilith. “I was kind of wondering how we might keep that on her.”
Lilith bowed her head. “You are welcome, my Queen.”
Chapter Eleven
It was made from what looked like burlap, stitched crudely together with a jagged seam all the way up its middle, kind of like Frankenstein. Yet, when Eve had held this doll in her hands in the Other Realm, it resembled its newer form—clean and almost cute, with two black eyes sewn into the face, and a knot of human hair atop its head. It had even been wearing a cotton dress. But time and mould and neglect had left the little ragdoll smelly and brown—not fit for a little princess.
I handed it back to Falcon. “You’re right. She can’t have it.”
“What will you do with it then?” He considered the doll, peeling back the seams and upending it to inspect its legs.
“Maybe clean it up—keep it in a glass case for her.” I sat down on my bed and grabbed the cane laundry basket in the middle, sliding it closer to me. “Is Em coming up?”
“She’s just finishing up with Blade.” His tone held a slight hint of amusement.
“How’d he take the news—that he’s being bumped down to a grunt?”
“Poorly.” He lowered the doll, pressing it and his hands behind his back in that soldierly way. “But we’ll keep an eye on him. The love in this curse seems to birth a certain amount of revenge within the victim’s heart. He may become a threat—like Ryder.”
I nodded, but I didn’t agree. I still trusted Blade. Still adored him. I would never believe he was capable of hating me. “Six months,” I said.
“Your Majesty?”
“Six months,” I repeated. “Keep him in the lower ranks for about that, then bring him back up. Hopefully he will have learned his lesson about lying to his Queen and using her friend.”
Falcon bowed his head respectfully in agreement.
The door flew open then, and Emily charged across the room to where David sat by the balcony, the dainty, snow-white child in his arms. She leaned right over to take a better look, and I could almost see her heart melt.
“Someone said she has green eyes,” she said in a questioning tone. “Is that true?”
I smiled at David. “Rumour spreads fast.”
“Aw, give her to me,” she hummed in a slightly demanding tone, and practically stole the floppy little ragdoll from her father.
David stood up to secure the baby in Em’s arms before letting go. “Support her head,” he instructed.
“I got her,” Em said, shaking her head then as she looked down at the little bare foot sticking out from the blanket. “She’s just so soft and light.”
“About the size of a baby at twenty-eight weeks’ gestation,” Falcon reported. “But, as I told Ara, she’s as developed as a thirty-eight week, and she’s a hundred percent fine. Scored high all three times on her Apgar.”
“On her what?” Em screwed her nose up at him. “Never mind. It sounds technical and all I care about is that she’s perfect.”
“Well, perfect she is,” he announced with a proud smile. “Although, I’m still wondering how.”
“She has immortal blood in her veins, that’s how.” Em cuddled the baby to her face, swaying side to side in a soft, natural rhythm. “Have you named her yet?”
Both Falcon and Emily looked at me then, as if it were my job to choose a name. I looked at David.
“Ooh,
how ’bout Eve,” Em suggested. “Name her after her soul-sake.”
I scrunched my mouth up, shaking my head.
“What about Rose—after her grandmother?” Drake suggested, waltzing into the room like a movie star, a broad, beaming smile bringing sunlight in under the clouds.
“Nah—too old.” I stood up and wandered over to land in his opening arms.
He kissed my head and squeezed me really tight, breaking away before I got too uncomfortable. “Are you okay, my dear?” he whispered between us.
I nodded, but I still wasn’t all that sure. All I could do was play it fine for now, and maybe, eventually, I would be.
“I like Elizabeth,” David carried the conversation on as if I hadn’t left. “After my mother.”
I walked back over to the bed, nodding in consideration, but Elizabeth just didn’t seem to fit. The baby looked somewhat like a delicate flower, her almost translucent skin bright with a kind of glow. Elizabeth was a powerful name—for someone I imagined to be quite headstrong and yet beautiful. It would be a good name for our daughter, yet when I looked at her flowery eyelids, closed over with pretty long lashes, I couldn’t call her by that name.
I went through nearly every name of everyone I knew: Eleanor, Vicki, Arietta—but none of them fit this pretty little blonde petal. “It seems unfair to name something so perfect, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?” David asked.
I looked up quickly, realising I’d said that aloud. “Oh, um… just that… she seems so pure and so perfect. It almost feels as though to name her is… to taint her.”
David moved to stand beside me, leaning over to look at the child in Em’s arms. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“Then do not name her,” Drake said resolutely. “There is plenty of time.”
“Yeah, we can just go on calling her The Baby for now,” Em added.
We all looked up then as a broad, demanding gong sounded throughout the manor. It had been a long time since I’d heard that outdated call to dinner. A long time since I’d eaten among my people, my friends, but I got a slight sinking feeling as I realised how empty the table would be now. Blade was gone—demoted. Mike was in Australia, unaware that he had a goddaughter. Lord Eden was on the run. The Upper House, aside from Walter, were all dead, as was Morgana—hopefully only temporarily—and Jason was missing. I was looking forward to dinner, but also not.
