Tears of Leyden

by Baysinger-Ott, Naomi

  The sight makes me hesitate. Would Nadeje be there? I would beg to believe that he wouldn’t be…but if he had been caught…

  Suddenly, looking at the boat it dawns on me that this was the vessel I was supposed to greet. This was the ship of Sir William of Orange…of my vader. Half of me wants to endure and the other half would just as rather take a trip back to the house of the Maessan’s. I feel curious, but I know not to trust the belief that my vader is in this ship so easily. I step closer and look for a familiar figure amongst the men running around and unloading cargo. That is when I notice that people were streaming into the boat; men, maybe those who guarded the walls are now trudging up and taking boxes back with them. Some of them shout or cry out, but I have a feeling that it is not out of fear or misery. It is out of thanks, of hope for survival.

  I frown and squint to make out detail of what could be in the crates of cargo, but I cannot seem to place what is inside the boxes. Surely it must be something of worthy keeping for all the men to line up for the distribution. I step forward again but I stop.

  Nadeje…he must be close…must be watching too…or would be unloading…unless he was caught…then where would he be? I remember that this was the ship of those who would have reason to take him. Either way he must be close by. If he had returned for me…Grace would tell him. He would come for me. Something tells me though, that he is nearby.

  I feel exposed as I step out into the open space. Luckily, with all the crowds moving in their streams towards the ship I do not look out of place, but if I do not join their groups I figure it would be suspicious to the eyes viewing. I take as fast and steady steps as my weakened body allows me, heading towards the crowds. The people remain quieter than during the day, but the mood is lifted, secretive, and hopeful. It gives me strength and I stride forward in my path.

  As the gap closes between the ship and I, an uneasy stirring begins up in my stomach and my heart soon joins the caravan. I observe as people go up to the boarding platform rising to the deck of the ship, and there take a box and turn to go. I feel my heart speed as I realize I would most certainly not be able to carry one of the boxes with my frailty, and wonder what I am to do when I get there. The line progresses quickly, like water running downstream, and soon I am near the front. I hesitate and look about me for someone I know but there is no one. I step forward as the people do. I gaze out of the range close to me and try to find someone out farther away.

  Sir Marren.

  He stands near the bottom of the platform overseeing the people taking the boxes as men transport the heavy loads. I swerve to the side and look desperately for an escape route, but there is none. I am surrounded. People murmur that this is an only one way line, and I am forced to turn or else draw attention to myself. My throat tightens as I feel my stupidity being put on display. Of course they would be here…how could I not have thought of that?

  It is my turn amongst a few others. I quickly brush past some men who take the boxes instead and then race outside the line…but not before I glimpse Sir Marren’s eyes watching me with speculation. I hurry past, but as I do I have to slow as dizziness overwhelms me. I am forced to stop and am pushed back into the line. I protest but am unheard as I find myself at the front of the group. This time, there is no escaping Sir Marren. I duck, trying to hide myself as I bend to pretend to lift a box, but as the man who had brought it looks up, our eyes lock and a shiver passes through my veins. The remainder of our gaze is my fault.

  “Lyra...?” The dark eyes looking into mine widen in shock.

  I cannot respond.

  “It is Lyra…” he breathes it as though confirming it to others.

  I shake my head.

  “Lyra, no,” he is firm and his voice rises now, causing some heads to turn. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar pair of brown eyes turn to me. Sir Marren’s.

  I draw back and mean to break into a run, but Zenith is on me. I sob out, begging him, but he does not understand and catches me by the hands as though regaining a lost friend. I weaken as my head spins from the stress of the moment and have to let him support me.

  “Lyra…” he speaks to me affectionately, like he didn’t think I had forgotten. “Lyra, you were gone so long…”

  I try to step back, but he catches me back and draws me against him. “Zenith!” I sob.

  He holds me tenderly and I feel odd and unsuitable in his arms; the fitting of his body against mine is awkward and not appropriate to me. I weaken and curse the knowledge of him once being close to me which causes this weakness.

  “I thought I had lost you…where did you hide? Lyra, we missed the date when…”

  I pull back a little and he frowns in surprise. “Zen, I am not well…”

  I am too late. Sir Marren it upon us. I suddenly wish nothing but to be close to Zenith, where I can at least not be harmed. I stop pulling back and let my old companion hold me, guilt and fear rising in my heart and making me want to vanish. Sir Marren steps in beside us and Zenith and I don’t let go. I look to him in trepidation of what would become of me, but Zenith does not look away from me when he knows it is just Marren.

  “She is found,” Marren says it lowly and firmly, but sounds as though eased of something.

  I feel Zenith’s heart thumping gently through his clothes, and both wish to pull free and stay near to him as Marren is the alternative.

  He sighs. “Found by the right hands, I see.”

  I feel anger waver my fear as I understand his meaning. If he thinks I am happy to be in Zenith’s embrace and that I have changed my love for Nadeje he is wrong.

  “Zenith, take her to see her vader. It is my understanding that further interactions between you both must be first accepted by his lordship…” he eyes the space between us shadily. “Go on.”

  Zenith’s hands loosen on my waist and brush gently down my body. It causes unwanted shivers to run through me and I wish more than anything to have control over my body. As soon as he has let me go I bow my head and look at the ground. He takes me by the arm and much too carefully urges me to follow him up the platform. I resent it and wish to beg him to hear me out, but Sir Marren is too close for me to believe in my freedom. I glance out to my right in hopes of there being a possible escape but there is none. I still look. My eyes cross the crowd to find any familiar face, but even as I do, I do not find the one I need. A shape wanders stealthily through the shadows below us but I am given no time to tie its detail to a person. I am at the top on the boat and all at the bottom of the platform I climbed is now lost to me.

  I turn my gaze to the commotion upon the boat and find it wilder then imagined. Sailors and armed men both carry aside boxes from a neatly piled heap of them at the center of the ship. Some men are dealing with the sails and tying up ropes from their journey. I keep my eye level at the deck as we near the busiest part of the place as to not start up a headache again.

  “Come.” Zenith gently directs me to follow him.

  I see no other way out of this, so I do obediently. We cross the wooden boards of the floor until we come across the trap door leading down to the bottom deck. Here he lets me go for not more than necessary, then gently takes my arm again and leads me closer.

  “Do you wish me to follow or guide you?” His offers are both desirable.

  I glace down into the dark drop to the lower ground. “Guide,” I request softly.

  He takes a half second longer than needed to move and when he does he moves gracefully. Stepping down into the dark, he slides his foot into one of the hidden crevices. When balanced a few steps down and I have watched him do this with close observation, he reaches up for me. I hesitate realizing he would be below my skirts which would mean…I halfheartedly let him take my hand in his and crouch down in a most unladylike manner. I step down into the hollow square and almost slip down on the first try.

  “Hold on,” Zenith releases my hand and I hear a light thud as he lands at the bottom of the steps.

  I take a moment, a
nd then start down again. I feel a guilty thud in my heart as his hands once more close around my waist in order to assist me. On what feels like the last step, I let half go and realize this is a mistake as there are two more after it. I gasp and slip, but either by luck or the opposite, Zenith is ready for me, and I land safely in his arms. I blindly reach in the darkness for a wall, but instead I find space and close to me Zenith. I can’t see for anything, but I manage to make out his grin as I look up.

  “Not the most ladylike travel route.”

  I cannot enjoy his joke with the new barrier between us, for even as it was a friendly meant statement, I can hear his effort to court me.

  His hands linger longer than they should have, so I begin to stir away. When I am resettled on my own two feet, he takes my elbow and draws me after him into a narrow hallway. It ends shortly at a wooden door. Between the slits and cracks in the wood, I can see the light of a candle. He stops and turns to face me. With the light, I can more clearly see the expression on his face. It hurts me with its affection.

  “I have feelings that you are most frightened to encounter this moment.”

  I watch him unsure of how to feel with his soft approach.

  “I know how long you have wished to know your vader once more…” he explains. “And now is your chance.”

  I remember the small secrets I used to share with him at our meetings, all of which were designed, watched, and counted on by our parents. Now we stand here, from two different sides of a gate untouched by either one of us for so long, alone, unprotected or surveyed, uncounted on, and not at all of any intention.

  “We are together now…” his hand lightly brushes mine. “I am willing to stay like this forever.”

  I stare at him, unsure of how to react.

  He traces his knuckles down the side of my face and I almost flinch. “You are not alone in this,” he promises to me, a promise that on my end cannot be returned or kept. “He will be worth it.”

  This breaks me, those last words. How many times had I asked him to be near me when it happened? To tell me to believe in it, to make me believe myself that my vader was worth my thoughts?

  I can’t tell him. His fingers close around mine. I look down at our feet and break the connection between us. I cannot hurt him more by pretending. Or should I? By some miracle, he lets go, and slowly, the door creaks open. I turn.

  In the room is a desk with maps and books spread across its surface. A few candle lamps burn lighting up the room with the soft glow. At the desk, a man stands fronting its spread out copies facing us. When the door swings open, he looks up. There is a silence in which I do not breathe. The man has blue eyes and golden brown hair, his dress is fancy and like nothing I have ever observed or imagined upon anybody but a king. He looks tired and yet healthy, and there is a sense of firm gallantry about him. When his eyes find me, they skip to Zenith behind me and back. For a moment they are distant, and there is an absence of presence in his face, but soon, they are lighted with recognition. He watches me like I am a fragile portrait about to fall off a wall, even the air holds the tension of that moment when you know the frame might drop. Instead of me falling though, he rises from his slight lean against the table.

  He steps forward and rounds the desk. When he is in full view, I feel the broad blow take place. He does not seem to be able to speak, but I cannot blame him because neither am I. He looks past me and I can feel Zenith nodding at him in assurance of my being here. He looks back to me, and slowly he observes his lost daughter.

  “C-come closer,” it is gentle yet commanding.

  I remember his voice.

  I step forward into the light a little waveringly. I shy as his eyes run over me. I glance up. His eyes meet mine and linger, sharing something which for many months we lost. He tells me of the vast cities, the hard dirt, and the bustling forces and weaponry he has seen since separation. I tell him to feel the pain I had suffered, the change made, and beg him to hear out the love I had found, and to see the anguish I am stuck with until the love is found again. After at least 30 seconds of silence, he seems to recover.

  “Lyra.”

  It swipes me out of the dreamy place we had created and I am here.

  He sounds as though relieved, but also defeated. “Daughter, Lyra.”

  I breathe. “Yes,” I reply quietly.

  He stands upright, growing in his masculinity. “You are safe now.”

  Not Nadeje…

  “Yes,” I reply again.

  He watches me. It feels good, but also bad. I cannot choose between the two when I am playing both cards behind everyone’s backs. “You are so charmingly grown.”

  I feel overheated. “I thank you.”

  He seems pleased. “I missed you.”

  This is unexpected. It hushes all thoughts apart from him. “I missed you too.”

  It is silent. “I am sorry.”

  “You did what you had to,” I respond automatically, without thinking of anything.

  “I want to know you again, Lyra. You were once near to me…more so than anyone before,” it is earnest and loving.

  “I…” I pause unsure. “Did not know you had favorites,” I realize how badly it came out only after the fact.

  “You were my first and my last,” it is gentle.

  It stings because I know it is true.

  I swallow. “They missed you too.”

  He looks down. “Do not trouble yourself to tell me of them, they are my fault, not yours.”

  I feel tears sting my eyes. “Vader.”

  He looks up but when I do not go on, he rights himself. “You are welcome to be open.”

  I am surprised by this a little. I remember him being a patient loving vader, but somehow over the course of the past few months, I had dreamed up a new version, and during the course of the last few hours when I learned his true identity, I had lost hope of receiving the vader I had lost. I shake my head and stay quiet.

  He sighs and shifts his stance. “My explanations are useless after what I put you and our family through,” he is quiet. “But I must offer them with the most sincere apology.”

  I swallow down the tears. “It was not…your fault.”

  He meets my gaze and holds it. “May I?”

  I watch him a moment, not sure of what he means, then I nod. He steps forward and strides steadily to me. When he is a foot or two away, he stops and regains his trust. When I do not request otherwise, he carefully reaches out to me and lightly brushes my cheek with his thumb. I do not move as he touches me, for since he left us, I had dreamed of his hands once more braiding through my hair and his laugh guiding me past my fears. Now, even as it comes true, I realize the dream had been forgotten for another. I feel a sudden urge to bolt from here rush through me. I know I am surrounded by men and wouldn’t make it one step up that blasted ladder to the top deck, but if I could at least try to run…try for my new dream…the one forgotten just five minutes ago when I rediscovered my first one...

  He softens and I feel his pleasure blossoming inside him. I feel a sense of esteem that I could help someone to feel this way just by being with them again. “You have grown up to be lovely,” he whispers, complementing me.

  I swallow as I think of Nadeje, where he would be, what he would be feeling at this moment. I drop my gaze down to the ground as my vader continues to see me as though for the first time.

  “Lyra?”

  I look up.

  His kind eyes read mine like a book. “You are not well…”

  I want to burst into sobs and let him see what I feel, but I know it will only hurt him and Zenith to know of my new dreams; to know that I had left this one long behind.

  He looks past me, and that is when he seems to remember Zenith. He steps back an inch, as though he has found the cause. “Is it of any relation to your betrothal?”

  I cannot answer.

  He seems to understand. “You are contracted to each other by agreement between his family and yours…by the Po
pe. Thus if any impropriety before the ceremony takes place occurs, it will not be ill received.”

  I feel my heart hammer. It had taken place, but with a different man.

  “You are allowed to show affections, but the public is required to report any extreme engagements between you two to me. Zenith is willing to take my place as your master and protector and must be given the respect he justifies. I feel that the fondness lies between you two already however, so I am not to direct you in that way.”

  I am lost. I do not wish this.

  “Zenith and I have conversed. You will be wedded as is settled when the cargo is unloaded and when I find us place to stay off the ship. Answers to further questions you may not receive…the dowry is settled and I am happy with your moeder’s choice.”

  There is a dreadful silence and I feel myself trembling. I wish to speak, but I feel my weakness is too strong to defeat any word he has said or might argue against me with. I cannot meet his gaze. I feel Zenith behind me, and the thought that I may be forced to be with him behind me always is what helps me to open my mouth.

  “You…don’t understand,” it comes out soft and weak.

  He must think me irrelevant to the last discussion. “No,” he says gently. “I don’t.”

  I look up. “Vader…you…I…” I look him deep in the eyes. “My want to be married…I…have changed…”

  He looks confused. “I need your clear definition of change.”

  I feel my head’s thudding begin to grow and force down the sickness. “I do not wish to be wed with Zenith.”

  There is a long gap of silence and I feel suddenly alone.

  “To what degree?” his voice has changed tone and is firmer.

  “To the point of desperation,” it is a whisper.

  “Lyra, it has been settled.”