Hush

by Dylan Farrow

  The Bards are performing a Telling here, but I don’t know what is real and what is manufactured.

  As I glance quickly back and forth across the street, I find myself on the bleeding edge of reality. On one side is the bustling market and on the other are riots and famine, existing at the same time independently of one another. Screams of anguish mix with the sound of vendors hawking their wares. The aroma of incense and pastries mixes with the stench of blood and smoke.

  Some villagers go about their day; the others live out a nightmare and are beginning to shove past me as I become grounded in their violent reality.

  “Watch it!” someone shouts, knocking into me.

  Another, a peasant whose face is smeared in grease, stops in his tracks. “She’s one of them,” he hollers.

  Suddenly a frenzy of villagers, all with reeking breath and open sores spotting their hands and arms, crowd in, grasping at me, trying to tear off my cloak.

  I try to scream, and maybe I do, but the sound is swallowed up in the chaos of noise and shouts as I’m nearly knocked off my feet.

  The ground is shifting. I can’t keep my balance as the edges of my vision grow tangled and dark.

  I hear my name shouted from far away.

  My knees buckle beneath me, and I feel myself falling, powerless to stop it.

  “Run! Get out of here!” my attackers cry out to one another as I collapse onto the rough ground.

  The violent whinnying of a horse is muted in my ears.

  I feel an arm encircle me, drawing me up.

  The last thing I see is Cathal, his face creased with worry.

  21

  My head is heavy. The rest of me is numb. Lifting my eyelids is a chore, and all I can see is a bright blur in front of me.

  I think I’m lying down. Or floating. I could be suspended from a ceiling by my toes, for all I know. Nothing feels right.

  “Shae?” Cathal’s voice. “Shae, can you hear me?”

  I try to take a breath to respond, but all that issues is a low mumble. Cathal’s face slips in and out of focus above me. A halo of light dances over his edges.

  He speaks again, but it sounds too far away to interpret. The effort it takes to listen is exhausting, and my eyes close.

  I can’t be dead because suddenly I feel a sharp pain flare from my spine outward. It races along every vein, penetrating deep into my bones. It pulses there before it dies down.

  I’m still not dead. Warm water surrounds me. I hear voices. Distant, but growing closer.

  “… glad she’s alive.” Imogen, I think distantly.

  “There are worse things than death,” another says. “Just look around.”

  “Where am I?” My voice feels detached from the rest of me.

  “You’re in the—”

  A third voice cuts her off. “The less she knows, the better. Keep her calm so we can bathe her and get her back to bed like Cathal instructed.”

  “But…” Imogen sounds hesitant.

  “Just reassure her already, so we can do our job and get out of here!” the second voice commands.

  I try to breathe through the building panic that sparks the pain again.

  “Imogen?” I try to reach for her, for something, anything that’s familiar. I can barely move my fingertips toward the sound of her voice.

  “It’s all right, Shae.” I see Imogen amid the blurry shapes moving rapidly in front of me. “You’re safe. You’re going to be fine, I promise.” Her young face comes into focus near mine. “You’re going to be fine…” Her voice is the last sound I hear before darkness swallows me.

  When Kieran died, I remember him slipping in and out of consciousness like this. Is that what’s happening to me? Am I dying?

  Do I have the Blot?

  My eyes snap open into darkness, as if I hadn’t opened them at all. The pain is gone, replaced by searing heat. A bead of sweat courses slowly from my hairline to my eyebrow.

  I’m being crushed under a brutal weight and oppressive darkness, but I can turn my head slightly. The cool touch of a pillow is at my cheek.

  Somewhere ahead, I see a small square of light and the vague silhouette of a man behind. It turns and walks away. Faint footsteps recede in time with my eyes closing against my will.

  “Shae?” Cathal’s voice again. The back of his fingers are cool and dry against my clammy forehead. Ma used to check Kieran’s temperature that way.

  Perhaps I’ll see them soon …

  “Shae.” Fingers snap in front of me.

  Fiona must be waking me up so I can go to town to see the Bards …

  “Shae.”

  My eyes open. Not to darkness, or Fiona, but Cathal. I can see him more clearly. His brow is knit, but his gray eyes are gentle as ever.

  “You are awake. That is a relief.”

  “I feel terrible.” I don’t know if I’m talking about the collapse, or my current state, or both. My voice is little more than a hoarse whisper that grates painfully against the walls of my throat.

  Cathal grimaces. “That is to be expected, unfortunately. You have been through quite an ordeal. I was worried you might not make it.”

  “What’s happening to me?”

  “You contracted a fever. Such things tend to happen when you charge off into the mountains without proper gear. I’m afraid you were pushed too far in your training.”

  His tone is one I haven’t heard in a long time. Pa and Ma used that inflection in their voices when they were disappointed in me. Before Pa died and Ma went silent. The long lost affiliation is unexpectedly comforting.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “The delirium brought you dangerously close to your breaking point,” Cathal continues. “Had you remained, you would have died from the cold or gone mad. I cannot say which might have happened first.” He pauses his lecture, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. “I suppose it does not matter now. I am just glad you are all right.” His chiseled face is stern, as if he is scolding me for almost dying.

  “I…” My voice trails off. I have limited energy to express myself. “Thank you for helping me.”

  Cathal moves out of view, and briefly, it looks as if he’s writing something. But just as quickly, he’s returned to my side.

  “I only did what I had to,” he says finally. “Get some rest. I will check on you again as soon as I am able.”

  I nod slowly, my exhaustion taking hold. I fall asleep to the sound of Cathal’s footsteps departing. As the sound recedes, I realize I never asked him where I am.

  * * *

  Muffled voices in the dark wake me. I can’t make out the words, but it sounds like an argument.

  My eyes flutter open; the square of light is less blurry. There’s a small window cut into the door. I see a man’s profile, talking to someone out of sight.

  “Ravod?”

  His delicate features are contorted with rage as he speaks to the other person, punctuating each unintelligible sentence with a pointed finger. When he finishes, he glances through the window and his eyes meet mine.

  “Shae! Can you hear me?”

  “I can hear you…” I try to reach for him, but my arm is too heavy to lift, and I find my eyes are still too heavy to keep open.

  It must be a dream, because when my eyes flutter open again, he is not there—only a stretch of longing and grief so great, I fear it will swallow me whole. I dreamed about Ravod because I want so desperately to believe that he misses me. That he wants to be near me as badly as I want to be near him.

  That must be it.

  * * *

  The fog does not abate for some time. Periodically it lessens, but my head still feels like it’s crammed with rocks and rubble, and when I try to rally the strength to move them aside, I remember the guilt that’s beneath them. I’d rather be buried alive than face how I feel. What I’ve done.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear the door open. Quiet footsteps pad over to me. I hear the clink of silverware on por
celain. My stomach churns audibly. I can’t remember the last time I had anything to eat.

  “Are you hungry?” Imogen is perched at the edge of my bed with a bowl of steaming soup.

  “Starving,” I reply, mustering what I hope is a smile.

  “That’s a good sign! My ma always used to say a good meal is the best medicine.” Imogen stirs the soup before feeding me a spoonful, and I want to ask about her mother. I wonder if she was anything like mine.

  But my voice is too weak.

  Still, I notice with a budding sense of hope that she’s not as blurry today. But the room is still dark, too dark to see much more than the side of Imogen’s face and the soup. The only light comes from the window in the door, and it’s faint at best.

  “What is this place?” I finally whisper.

  Imogen hesitates, chewing her lower lip. “High House,” she replies finally.

  “I gathered as much,” I reply, watching the young servant girl closely. Her normally chipper demeanor is replaced by apprehension. I phrase my next question carefully. “Imogen, where in High House?”

  The bowl she’s holding is quivering, sending ripples over the broth. I worry she might drop it.

  “I’m not supposed to say,” she answers quietly. “Please don’t ask me to.”

  I drop the question and allow Imogen to finish feeding me. Like clockwork, as she gets up to leave, sleep takes hold of me once more.

  * * *

  When I open my eyes, I am surprised to see Cathal clearly. He’s seated on an armchair beside my bed, illuminated by the dawn sunlight beginning to peek in through an open window, its frame decorated with wildflowers. I can’t see what’s beyond the brightness of the window.

  The room is small but cozy. Almost as if plucked out of a country cottage. The walls are whitewashed plaster with painted blue stencil tulips wreathing the chamber like a garland. It reminds me of something I might have embroidered back in Aster. The wooden door with a small window is painted a cheerful, contrasting red, like a barn. A few paintings depicting pleasant pastoral scenes decorate the walls in simple wooden frames. My bed is carved from pine like it was back home. It’s much nicer than anything in Aster.

  “You seem to be feeling better today,” Cathal remarks.

  I try my best to nod.

  “Good. Because I need to speak to you about something.” Here it is. The punishment. The acknowledgment of what I’ve done.

  “Of course,” I say nervously.

  He sits forward slightly, his eyes growing serious. “Why did you run after the collapse of the tower?”

  “I…” There’s no use lying. He’ll see through it. “I had a dream that there was a landslide, like back home.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I awoke to the sounds of the collapse and its aftermath…” I go silent, letting Cathal make of it what he will.

  He frowns. “You believed you were responsible?”

  “Yes.” My voice wavers and cracks. My chest is a tangle of grief and guilt; I don’t know how to unspool it all.

  “Set your mind at ease, Shae. You did no such thing,” Cathal replies. “I already know the identity of the culprit, and justice will be served.”

  A deluge of relief washes over me. “Oh.”

  “But I want you to promise me not to be so reckless in the future. You must consider your actions more carefully. Imagine what people would think, witnessing a Bard running loose in the streets, frantic, as if mad.”

  “I promise,” I reply, feeling the weight of his implications. I am being spared, yes, but warned too. “I understand completely. Thank you, Cathal. For everything.”

  “You need not thank me, I simply want to keep you safe.” His voice is quiet and earnest. “I like to think that if I had a daughter, she might be like you.” I find myself smiling as he rests a warm hand atop my head and rises from the armchair. “Get some sleep.” He stands, looming over me. “You have regained much of your strength, but not all. It will not be long before your formal training resumes. And you have much to do.”

  “I haven’t forgotten about the Book of Days, I promise. I will find it, and the truth about my ma’s death,” I say.

  Cathal nods. “All in good time. I brought you something. A gift.” He leans forward, placing a small rectangular box on my lap. It’s wrapped in beautiful green paper. “Go ahead and open it.” He prompts me with a grin. Whatever it is, he seems eager for me to see it. I smile back, gently unwrapping the paper, not wanting to damage it.

  “I really appreciate it, but you didn’t have to get me anything—” I stop abruptly when a book falls into my lap and a familiar twisting dread grips my heart.

  “You hate it. I know,” Cathal says. “But I was hoping to help you overcome your fear of the written word by teaching you to read while you convalesce. If nothing else, it will help pass the time.” He takes the book, showing me the cover. “That is, if it is all right with you.”

  I peer at the cover, my gaze floating over the letters and the stylized icon of the Bard’s sigil. It’s an old book, handled many times, and well-loved. Cathal’s smile is gentle, and observing his comfort handling the book helps disarm my defensiveness. He raises his dark brows at me, expectantly.

  “Read? Me?” The disjointed words come out in a whisper. This flies in the face of everything I was ever taught. He places the book in my hands, but they are trembling so violently holding the small, rectangular object that it drops into my lap. I instinctively recoil. The book feels like a crushing weight. I can’t speak, instead shaking my head mutely. “No, I can’t,” I finally tell him. “It’s too dangerous.”

  What I want to say, and what I think he can see in my eyes, is that I’m terrified. He takes my hands in his, squeezing gently like he did before when we met in his solarium.

  “Breathe, Shae. Look at me.”

  With effort, I comply. I drag my eyes from the book to Cathal’s face. His gaze is unfaltering and that confidence helps thaw the cold fear in my gut.

  “Do you trust me?” he asks.

  I nod without hesitation. His honesty and support have tethered me. His guidance has been my beacon in the dark.

  “I would never seek to harm you, Shae,” he says. “If you do not want to learn to read, I will not ask it of you. I will not pass judgment on your decision. I will never bring it up again, if that is your wish. Now, take a breath.”

  I do as he says, drawing in a long breath through my nose and exhaling slowly from my mouth. I repeat the process, focusing on the warmth of Cathal’s hand on mine and the steadiness in his gaze, until I feel my mind clear.

  “You think it will help me find Ma’s killer? And the Book of Days?” I ask.

  He nods. “I do. And I understand your trepidation. But I also think you are better equipped to overcome your fear than you believe.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. The book resting in my lap feels a little lighter. Finally, I nod back.

  “I’ll do it,” I say. “Teach me.”

  Cathal smiles encouragingly. His pale eyes twinkle a little as he releases my hands with a final, gentle squeeze.

  “I am very proud of you, Shae,” he says. “And it goes without saying that you should not attempt to read or write without me present.”

  “Of course.”

  “Normally, only the most Senior Bards are instructed in reading and writing,” Cathal says, “but I trust you. I believe in you. You can handle it.”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “I do not impart this knowledge lightly. I do so with you because you have proven yourself. You are the strongest, most tenacious person I have ever met. I want to help foster these traits in you. I…” He catches himself becoming impassioned and draws a deep breath. “I believe now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are the one who will find the Book of Days. We will right the wrongs of the past and usher in a new dawn for Montane. Together.”

  His face is earnest. Sincere. He alone believes me as much as he believes in me. That confidence so
mehow makes me want to believe in myself as much as he does, to prove I’m worthy of such faith. I swallow the last of my fear.

  “All right.” I push myself farther up on my pillow.

  “Excellent.” His grin broadens. “This book is the High House Manifesto. We use it as a primer to instruct the Senior Bards to read. I want you to have my copy that I used … I won’t say how long ago.”

  I laugh, and Cathal opens the book to the first page, turning it to show me. Hours pass as he patiently introduces me to letters and phonics and the building blocks of reading and writing. My head is swimming with characters and sounds by the time he concludes the lesson. Daylight is dying in the window when he finally lets me drift off to sleep.

  My recovery stretches over more days than I can count, but my strength slowly returns. I am awoken each day by Cathal, who sits in his armchair beside my bed. We continue our lessons, taking breaks to chat about my childhood or eat sumptuous food brought in by the servants. During this time, he sometimes produces a small gilded notebook and writes in it. “Reminders,” he always says.

  I find myself looking forward to his visits, and even the lessons, and sad when he inevitably announces that they have come to an end.

  For the first time in a long while, I feel a sense of unconditional companionship, and my heart is full.

  * * *

  Tap-tap-tap.

  My eyes open in the darkness to a sound at the window. I turn my head, squinting, attempting to adjust my eyes enough to see.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  It’s louder, more urgent. I sit up, shaking the haze of sleep from my head. I push the covers away, stumbling though the dark toward the sound.

  There’s pale light in the window. Enough to see …

  Tap-tap-tap!

  I jolt back in shock, suddenly fully awake. Ravod is on the other side of the glass.

  “Ravod!”

  I lean against the wall, my legs shaking from disuse, before moving closer, pressing my hands to the window and lifting, but it won’t budge. And there’s no latch that I can find. The glass is sealed.