Mearsies Heili Bounces Back

by Sherwood Smith

  “Bare feet,” she said finally. “Not because you lack shoes, but through choice. Like you have now?”

  I stuck my feet out and wiggled my toes. “Like I have now—and do every day until the first snowfall.”

  Pralineh smiled, laying her fork neatly alongside her plate. “If you are heartened at wide expanses, there is a pretty wilderness behind the walls bounding the home farm, toward the main road. Would you like to see that?”

  “Yes!” I exclaimed, thinking: Good chance for escape! “Can you take me there tomorrow?”

  “Oh, not I. That is, I am usually involved with work, and with visiting. Maybe I can introduce you to some of my friends? Would you like that? As for the wilderness, that can be arranged. I shall speak to Raneseh.”

  “Who is this Raneseh?” I asked, my silver clattering to the plate now that I was done.

  “My father,” Pralineh said with faint surprise. “Surely you would know by my not appending a title of politeness to his name.”

  “You don’t call him Father?”

  Pralineh smiled. “That sounds odd! Is that a custom in your part of the world? Will you forgive me if I observe it sounds strange—as if I were to call you Girl? To call a person by the most general word—” She stopped, afraid she sounded rude. And lifted her shoulders. “It sounds odd to my ears, as no doubt my custom must sound to you. Now that we are finished, should you like to accompany me in sewing? If Raneseh and Rel join me, sometimes we read to one another, or we just talk.”

  I drew in a deep breath. Now that I’d eaten, and learned where I was, it was time for duty.

  I forced a smile. “Thank you—sounds spiff—but I’m real tired.”

  Pralineh nodded politely. “Rest well, your highness.”

  I intended to be gone before the candles had burned down much farther, but I still couldn’t resist saying, “Just CJ. The title junk is more for telling you who I am than for any I-go-first gorbaggio.”

  I left Pralineh whispering, “Gorbaggio?”

  Pralineh seemed to assume I knew my way back. I did my best to retrace my steps, discovering that the house seemed to be built like a picture frame, four lines of adjacent rooms around a central garden. The four corners jutted out, making right angles everywhere, with glass doors into the extensive gardens. Everything led to an extra big central parlor or gathering room, that looked into an inner garden of herbs and blossoms. Outside the house, at least on my side, was that big garden, the one I’d first discovered on waking.

  My room was in one of the corner suites, with empty rooms either side of me, straight down the hall from Pralineh. I figured I had to be in the guest area—there didn’t seem to be anyone else around me.

  I reached my room, whisked in, as the candles flickered and streamed. I opened the glass doors and listened. Crickets, just like home.

  Oh, home.

  Overwhelmed with longing, I sped out, and straight through the garden, pushing aside bushes and branches as I headed straight away.

  My feet encountered the flags of a pathway just as a man called, “Pralineh? That you?”

  I didn’t stop to think. I just turned away from the voice and took off like a shot.

  And made it about ten steps before some very fast footsteps caught up and fingers gripped my arm, bringing me summarily to a stop.

  I shrugged out of the grip, whirled to run again. A very tall figure loomed beside me; an arm reached across just as I took the first step, and I bumped straight into what seemed to be a bar. Fell back, arms flailing.

  Two big, capable hands caught my shoulders, righted me easily, but one stayed firmly clamped on one shoulder.

  A man spoke with Pralineh’s accent from a few steps away: “Where are you going?”

  I fumed. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m running to the moon the hard way!” I lost hold of my temper and added, “Did that fat-wit father of Pralineh’s send you to spy on me?”

  “I am Raneseh Khavnan.”

  “Who thinks Kwenz is a good guy?” I heard my voice wobble, and shot out angrily, “I am sooo sorr-ee!”

  Raneseh gave a faint sigh. “Rel, please conduct this person into my house.”

  Rel had to be the one with the iron mitt, then, I thought, temper now boiling. I twitched, trying to get the hand off my shoulder, but the grip stayed right where it was.

  And so the three of us walked up the path I hadn’t seen, through a door at another end of the house, and into one of the sitting rooms—where Pralineh was just passing through, holding a vase of flowers. She stopped in surprise.

  “Raneseh? Rel? Cherene Jennet? Whatever happened?”

  “I tried to dump this joint, of course,” I said angrily, furious with myself as well as the universe. “Argh! Will someone tell this slob to get his cooties offa me?”

  “Oh dear.” Pralineh set the vase on a sideboard and just stood there, hands to her cheeks.

  “Come, Rel, to my study,” Raneseh said from somewhere behind.

  Pralineh whisked herself out; I stomped (my bare feet making no noise on the beautiful woven carpets) between the other two through one of the three doors off the sitting room.

  This side of the house was different. The hallway I’d glimpsed was plain, the paintings along the tops of the darkwood paneling holly intertwined with a stylized sea-bird shape. We reached one of the corner suites, and walked past an empty sitting room with a fine rug, a couple of chairs, and the walls on either side of the three doors containing floor to ceiling bookcases.

  The room we entered was lit by golden lamps. Half-sized book shelves filled two walls; above the book cases hung a couple of splendid tapestries of historic scenes that ordinarily I would have magnetted to straight away. A fine desk stood across a corner, facing the glass doors at an angle that would avoid a direct blaze of morning sun in summer but still afford a view of the garden.

  Raneseh moved quietly behind the desk and sat down, the light at either side falling on a middle-aged face. He was tall, well-made, almost entirely bald, what little hair remaining neatly queued back. He had a short, well-tended light brown mustache and beard, streaked with silver, that suited his face. He wore the long robe of the scholar, open over a fine linen shirt and trousers; the expensive fabric of his robe hissed and rustled as he sat down.

  The hand on my shoulder guided me firmly to a cushioned chair before one of the book cases, and let go. I plopped onto the chair as my unseen guide walked round and took up a stance behind Raneseh’s chair.

  I glowered, momentarily puzzled: so far, everyone, even the one servant, had been neatly dressed. Well dressed, at least so far as my total lack of fashion awareness could descry.

  So I was surprised at the sight of this boy maybe a year or two older than Clair’s cousin Puddlenose, taller than many adults, with his ragged shock of glossy black hair, a strong-boned face above a plain laced tunic-shirt of the sort laborers wore, sashed at the waist, baggy riding trousers, scuffed and worn mocs.

  “I’m sorry we began so ill,” Raneseh began.

  “I’m not.” I thumped my crossed arms across my chest. To another girl, I wouldn’t let my temper show—but to a grownup, one keeping me prisoner, one who was on the side of Kwenz? Hah! “I need to get home. I don’t know what sort of lies Kwenz told you, but if you believed ’em, you must be stu—ah, that is, I don’t know what kind of stinker trick that rotten geez is trying to pull, but either I get outa here, or Clair has to come and get me. And I hate making extra work for her.”

  “No one is coming to get you.” Raneseh spoke with care. “I was given to understand that the proper order has been restored to our fellow Mearsieans over on the next continent That there have been, how can I say it, some misguided children who have caused considerable damage while playing magical games. Once order is restored, these children—you are one of them—will be offered a chance at re-education, to make good what was once wantonly destroyed. Like an entire city, condemned into darkness by malicious magic.”

  “Lies, lies!�
�� I exclaimed, so angry I couldn’t sit still. I jolted up, then plopped down again. “That rotten stinking liar! I’d like to kick him forever into darkness—” I heard myself getting shrill, and stopped with a gulp.

  “I was shown this city,” Raneseh said quietly. “It is reprehensible, to be forced to live in darkness.”

  “But we didn’t make it. That happened in history. Kwenz is evil,” I said with a desperate attempt at controlling my voice.

  Too late. I could see it, that they thought me a bratty liar myself—that my running away, my yelling, all were proof I was some kind of horrible juvenile delinquent, just like on Earth before I left—the ones who broke windows for the fun of it, who threw Coke bombs through those windows, who started fires with their cigarettes, who destroyed things just to see people get upset.

  Kwenz had turned everything backward.

  And these people believed him.

  And I didn’t have any magic to get away.

  Raneseh said, “You are young, you have been misled by bad influences. That you will be offered a chance to learn your mistakes and help where you harmed argues for benign guidance.”

  My chest heaved on an angry sob. “You make me sick!” I bellowed, jumped up, and ran.

  I blundered out; nobody stopped me. I made it back to the room I’d been put in, saw the door still open, rammed through and out into the dark garden, where I threw myself under the big drooping tree. There all my worries and shocks and anger burst free in a storm of wild crying.

  It lasted a long time.

  I lay on the grass, limp and exhausted, breathing raggedly. Gulped and started up in anger when I thought I heard a footfall, but when I glared around me and saw no one, I flopped down again, this time on my back, and lay facing the stars beyond the trees, until the lights blurred into the sparkle of slow and silent tears.

  THREE

  I woke up in the bed.

  Someone had dumped me in, dirty feet and rumpled dress and all.

  Throat aching, eyes stinging, head pounding, I got miserably up and put myself through the cleaning frame. Then I stripped the bed and put the sheets through, so nobody else would have to do it. I remade the bed, something I did at home; I noticed the sheets were an extremely fine, small cotton weave, like Clair had inherited. I had never paid the least attention to sheets before Seshe had talked about what fine linens there were in the White Palace, and—

  Seshe! Clair! Where were they? Those lies Raneseh had told made it sound like the entire kingdom was under Kwenz’s control.

  I groaned. “I have to get home,” I whimpered, turning around in an agonized circle. But how?

  I opened the glass doors, breathing in the garden scents. The cool breeze was pleasant on my hot face, and made the hammer inside my skull thunk just a little softer. Now, I thought. Forget breakfast, forget trying to convince these people that Kwenz is a rotten villain. Leave now, while you can see where you are going.

  And so I slipped outside, and this time paid attention to where I was going. I discovered that the garden, which looked so wild and forest-like from the windows of the house, was actually ordered and carefully tended—no dead leaves or weeds in sight—everything laid out in pleasing patterns that roughly paralleled a stream branching off from a nearby river that I could hear, though not yet see. Flowering shrubs made a nice middle layer between grass and trees. Brick-edged walkways curved around little hillocks, dropping away toward a stone wall alongside a road. Beyond the road flowed that river, rushing straight on to freedom.

  I stepped from the garden onto a grassy sward and headed straight for the wall. My head panged from hunger and all that wild weeping the night before—but if I could just get away—

  “Cherene Jennet?” That was Pralineh.

  I whirled. Pralineh was just visible a ways down the path on the other side of the house, a broad, shallow basket in one hand, half-full of flower cuttings.

  I hunched my shoulders up, whirled back around, and stalked determinedly toward that wall. My head thumped too hard for me to run, but if I could just—

  “Cherene Jennet? Please stop,” Pralineh called, hurrying toward me with some difficulty, the huge basket bumping against her legs.

  “I have to. Go home,” I said, feeling weirder by the moment. A rushing sound in my ears made me grip the wall. “Home.”

  Pralineh took hold of my wrist, uncertain what to do; then she gave an exclamation of relief as capable hands steadied me by the shoulders, turned me around and guided me firmly away. The hands only let go when we reached the glass doors to my room; I kicked the door shut behind me without turning around, flopped down on the bed, eyes closed, aware only of my own breathing, for a long time.

  Gradually I became aware of a gentle tugging at my hair.

  It felt soothing. I looked over as Pralineh drew a soft-bristled brush through my long black hair, which had gotten impossibly tangled. But Pralineh worked the tangles out with gentle fingers. It actually made me feel a tiny bit better. That is, my physical self. The bad feelings remained, and I struggled not to howl with anger and grief.

  “I hope you find that as soothing as I do,” Pralineh said with a quick, anxious look. “Oh dear, I feel so awful. I wish—here. I ordered some soup for you. It ought to help, at least a little.”

  She indicated a mug on a tray at the bedside.

  I sat up. “I’m being a fobo and no mistake,” I muttered, picking up the soup. There was no use in wallowing about in woe—it wouldn’t get me anywhere, made me feel nasty, and probably made everyone laugh.

  The soup smelled delicious: some kind of tomato with cheese and bits of rice and egg in it. I drank it all down.

  Pralineh sat back. “Is that better?” Her eyes were light-colored, same as her father’s, wide-set, slanted down slightly at the edges. Her brows straight.

  “Lots,” I lied.

  Pralineh smiled with relief. “I hope—I hope we can begin again. You are my guest. Raneseh would like me to find things you would enjoy doing. So you won’t—” She hesitated.

  I sighed. “I got homesick. And I do have to get home. I won’t fake anything about that. But, well, at the right time.” Like after I plan.

  Pralineh looked more hopeful. Obviously nothing in her quiet, orderly life had prepared her for so weird a visitor. She wanted everyone to be happy, life to be orderly. “At the right time,” she repeated gratefully. “Yes. Until then, I will try as I can to be your friend.”

  “And I’ll try to be yours,” I said, feeling bad about upsetting this kind-hearted girl.

  A quick double-knock at the door.

  “Enter,” Pralineh said.

  A woman came in: tall, dark-haired, dressed in light green.

  “Maraneh?” Pralineh asked.

  “Holder Khavnan invites the visitor to wait on him,” she said.

  In other words, send the rotten kid in to get yelled at, I thought, making a face as Pralineh thanked the maid, who took away the dishes. I jumped up.

  “Do you not need more rest?” Pralineh asked.

  I flashed a rueful grin. “Not really. Despite my fat-wit tantrums, I’ve been lots worse off. I’ll trot along and get it over with—wouldn’t do for the prisoner to keep the jailor waiting.”

  “Oh, please don’t,” Pralineh began, pressing her hands together.

  I frowned. “But I am. I’m a prisoner. I have to get home, and help Clair. Kwenz doesn’t mean us any good, I wish I could get you to see that. Oh, never mind,” I added at her obvious distress. Nice as she was, this girl was clearly not the adventurer type.

  Pralineh made a helpless gesture. “If you and Raneseh can find a way to understand one another—”

  “You mean I have to understand him? Or just obey him?” I retorted.

  “Oh dear. You do have a temper, do you not?” Pralineh made a little grimace of her own.

  “I do not! Ooops. Ahem! Well. I’d better get cracking, and get it over with. Heh heh.”

  I left in haste, feeling th
at sickening sense that I’d blown it back there. And I’d meant to be good!

  Argh! I bustled faster as if to get away from the mess I’d made of that conversation, feet slap-slapping on the cool stone floor, and looked around. I wondered if they laid down rugs in the halls during winter. Or for that matter, what kind of spells they used to keep heat in with all those glass window-doors.

  I found my way back to Raneseh’s study, where I found him and that tall Rel clod busy over what I recognized as account ledgers. I’d see those when Clair met with Guild people.

  As soon as I entered, Raneseh put a ledger down, Rel dropped a pen into the inkwell, and faded back behind Raneseh’s chair, his dark, deep-set eyes utterly unreadable.

  I crossed my arms.

  Raneseh said, as if I weren’t ready for war, “Are you feeling better today?”

  Like that stupid run in the morning hadn’t happened.

  The Rel idiot just stood there like a tree stump.

  “Yup,” I said, struggling valiantly for neutrality, at least.

  “You seem to like my garden. That pleases me,” Raneseh said. “Most think it an oddity.”

  I only heard the words ‘that pleases me’ and my shoulders hunched tighter up under my ears. Adults and their arrogance! Especially adults who intend to control you for your own good!

  Raneseh eyed my scowl and tried again. “Pralineh informed me you would like to visit what we call the wilderness, which is a plot of fallow land lying to the north. Rel goes there often as a retreat, and has offered to take you along if you like.”

  Rel’s face had all the expression of a stone carving, and my scowl deepened: I wondered (and would have been quite right) if he’d been asked to ‘offer.’ Not that I was grateful.

  But I visibly made an effort to sit up and speak neutrally. “I would, I would.”

  “Rel will arrange it, then.”

  I made one faint try. “I don’t want to take anyone away from their job. You can just point me in the right direction.”