Broken Earth

by C M Blackwood

  “Oh, Heidi,” she sobbed, rolling towards her in a fit of painful grief. “Oh, no . . .”

  “I wish you would talk to me,” said Heidi; though she took Jade into her arms without complaint. “Don’t you know that you can tell me anything?”

  Jade only held tightly to her, knowing that very bad things could happen, if she let go.

  “Heidi,” she whispered, burying her head in the warmth of her chest. “What am I to do?”

  “You shall stay right here,” said Heidi. “You shall stay right here with me – and you will sleep. Only go to sleep, and you can tell me everything when you wake.”

  Before she closed her eyes, Jade looked up at her face, and watched it for several long moments. In a reversal of past trickery, its perfect beauty was shifting strangely into something dark and malevolent; and her hair was stained black as the night what had already taken its leave.

  “You are immortal now,” said Zana, laying a hand against Jade’s cheek.

  “No!” said Jade, writhing against her grip. She tossed and turned, and fought against her; but was still when she raised her eyes again, and saw only Heidi, who watched her fearfully.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, hiding her face once again.

  So the morning wore away in brief fits of sleep, fleeting images of horror which flashed through her mind, and the dreadful, incurable pain of unabated hunger.

  ~

  It had been three nights since Jade arrived at the castle. During those nights (and the days that followed), she spent most of her time with Heidi, in her chamber. On the second night, her illness began to resemble something which threatened her very life; and Heidi left the room hardly at all, for Jade had forbid her to fetch the medicine man. She slept often, and when she woke, she seemed much too weary to do anything but lie. And yet sometimes, a kind of clearness would come into her face, and she looked quite like herself. This was, however, the exception rather than the rule. Heidi suspected that her days alone in the bitterness of winter had taken a toll upon her health.

  Yet on that third morning, Heidi felt that she was in dire need of a stretch. She woke Jade, and asked her, “Will you come with me for a walk?”

  She was surprised to see that Jade looked almost frightened. She looked from Heidi to the window; and then back again. It seemed that the raw ends of her nerves had crept up into her eyes, and snaked ever so slowly out of them, so that she appeared as a wild animal, caught there beneath the covers, with nowhere to run.

  “Please,” she said, reaching out to lay a hand upon Jade. “Please, just –”

  But Jade only pulled away; and there was such a disconcerting look upon her face, that Heidi could think of nothing to do but go.

  So she went to Dera, and did not ask, but announced that they would go to a place where they could speak together.

  “And why don’t you just come in?” asked Dera. “I have hardly even seen you, since Jade came to the castle.”

  Heidi shook her head. “No,” she said. “We must get away for a moment.”

  Naturally, Dera did not understand the cause of Heidi’s unrest. Yet she followed her out into the hall, and down the staircase.

  “What is the matter with you?” she asked finally, when they had arrived at the only place in which Heidi could think to hide. She secured the double doors behind them, and then turned to the bookshelves, looking all around for she knew not what, as she stood with shaking hands.

  “Heidi,” said Dera seriously, taking hold of one of her trembling hands. “Tell me what is the matter.”

  “Jade is very sick,” said Heidi. “I want for someone to look at her; but she will not have it. She moans as if she is in pain, and when I bring her food, she will not eat. She can hardly move.”

  “Then I suppose it does not matter what she wants,” said Dera. “If she is ill, she must get help – whether she wishes for it or not.”

  Heidi stood for rather a long time, biting at her fingernails, and running her hands through her hair. “Something is wrong, Dera,” she said. “Something is very wrong – and I know not if I wish to learn what it is.”

  “Oh, come now,” said Dera, opening the doors of the study. “Nothing is wrong. We shall take care of it together; you will see.”

  But Heidi was not so certain. She walked along on Dera’s arm, trying to ease the rushing of her mind; but was unable to dispel the horrid feeling, that something was so terribly wrong.

  They went together up the stairs, and to the room which Jade occupied. Even from behind the door, they could hear her whimpering; and every so often muttering, either to herself, or to someone whom she believed to be present.

  Heidi and Dera exchanged a glance. Dera nodded, and then reached out to open to the door. Both looked first to the bed, but found it empty. The thick drapes held the room in darkness, and neither could see well enough to search the room; so Heidi went to draw them away from the windows.

  Her eyes fell upon Jade, who was sitting in a corner of the chamber, behind the heavy bureau. She shielded her eyes against the light, and turned her head away from it. She was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, rocking ever so slightly back and forth, so that she appeared somewhat distraught. She looked to neither Heidi nor Dera; but it did seem as if, even were she to look at them, she would not really see them.

  Heidi’s first instinct was to go to her; but something held her back. Even from her place at the window, she could see that there was a kind of film over Jade’s eyes, which darkened the whites and shadowed the centres, so that their brilliant green colour was distilled to a murky sort of brown. She appeared almost blind.

  Dera looked from Jade to Heidi, with a look of shock upon her face. “Jade,” she said; although she did not take any more steps into the room, and remained at her place by the door. “Jade, would you please come with us? You have to come, so that we can help you.”

  Though it was impossible to tell for certain (she may have only been mumbling beneath her breath), it sounded as though Jade growled at Dera. It was a low, threatening, and bestial sound – one which seemed to be issued as a warning. It could have been only her imagination, turned loose once again; but Heidi was convinced of what she heard.

  Dera looked to Heidi with wide eyes, and motioned for her to come back to the door. And so Heidi did; for an unpleasant sensation of fear was stealing steadily across the back of her neck, and she was only too glad to huddle there beside Dera.

  “What is going on?” Dera asked, turning her face so that it nearly touched Heidi’s.

  “How could I possibly know?” returned Heidi, somewhat irritably.

  “You’ve been shut up with her for three days. It seems to me that you would be rather the best person to ask.”

  “She was not like this before. She was sick – but she was not like this.”

  “Well, she certainly is now,” said Dera, peering back around the doorjamb, to catch a glimpse of Jade in her lonely corner. “What are we to do with her?”

  “With her?” said Heidi. “You mean for her.”

  Dera waved a hand at her, and rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes – you know full well what I meant.”

  “I think we should do nothing,” said Heidi; and she was not surprised to see the look of disbelief that came into Dera’s face. “At least for now,” she added.

  “Look at her!” said Dera, pointing to Jade, who had resumed her rocking and did not notice. “We cannot leave her that way.”

  “We won’t,” said Heidi sharply. “I will do what I can.”

  “Oh, no,” said Dera, placing a hand on the door, so that Heidi could not close it. “She is not herself, Heidi – and there is no telling what she will do. You cannot go in there by yourself.”

  “Well,” said Heidi, swishing a hand through the air; “she did not seem very keen on speaking to you.”

  Though Dera attempted to hold out against it, the door flew forth at the motion of Heidi’s hand, and slammed shut with a resounding thud.


  ~

  Despite her harsh words and fearless countenance, Heidi sat long at the end of the bed, simply looking at Jade. She never looked back, and she never spoke; she only continued to rock, and lowered her face ever and anon into her knees, growing tired, it seemed, of the sunlight. But soon the sun began to set, and the room became filled with a soft red light, kinder to the eyes, and much less revealing. It was then that Jade finally dropped her hands, and let her legs slide away from her. She sat with her back against the wall, looking out of the window and into the darkening sky.

  She stayed that way for some minutes. It was almost pitch dark when she finally shook herself, as though the state she had been in was nothing but a mantle, which could be cast away from her as easily as a cloak. Though a surety of the fact wanted light, it seemed to Heidi that her eyes became clear again; and as she looked towards her for the first time in many hours, her face seemed her own.

  “Heidi,” she said softly, moving a little nearer to the wall; and looking as though she was frightened again.

  Heidi left the bed, and went to her, kneeling down beside her so that she might look more clearly into her face. The film had indeed left her eyes, and they had returned to their own, beautiful shade of green. They bored into Heidi as she inspected the face, watching her as if they did not know what to make of her. They knew her; but they seemed to feel that she was not a part of their immediacy.

  “Heidi,” Jade repeated, this time holding out a hand for her to take. And she did take it; for her fear had dissipated.

  “It has been a hard day for everyone,” said Heidi, using her free hand to brush a lock of hair from Jade’s cheek. “But I do think that it is time for you to tell me what you can.”

  Jade nodded weakly, and rose up from the floor with Heidi’s help. Her back was bent, and her knees buckled beneath her – and by all accounts, she very much resembled an old and weary woman. It took a glance into her face, so full of youth and beauty, to recall that her years numbered only six-and-twenty.

  When she had made herself comfortable on the bed, she began to speak. “When I came here to you,” she said, “I thought it only a nightmare. I remembered it, I remembered everything; but I thought that I had only dreamt it. I think that anyone would have done the same.” She took a long, rattling breath. Her head, unable to hold itself up any longer, fell down to rest upon a pillow. “It started the night that I lost Buck.”

  As she said this, shining tears came into her eyes, and she turned her face against the pillow. “I lost him,” she said. “I don’t even know if he’s all right.”

  “He’s fine,” said Heidi. “We found him on our way to the city. He is safe with the others.”

  Though she hoped that this news would serve to brighten Jade’s face, if only a little, she was disappointed in her expectations. She only nodded in recognition of the fact, and then went on in an equally-despondent tone.

  “It was late,” she said. “It was dark. They came out of nowhere, and I could not run. She took your face, and she took your voice. Then, my neck . . .”

  In the midst of these nonsensical words, she reached up and pressed two fingers to the side of her throat. Then she took Heidi’s hand, and laid it on the same spot. Heidi felt two small bumps, as if of a wound; but not of dried blood, rather of skin which had grown over the piercings. They were round, small and hard.

  “What is that?” she breathed, hardly able to speak in more than a whisper, as she ran her fingers over them. As improbable as it seemed, they were perfectly parallel to one another; which made Heidi think that they had been made, perhaps, by some sort of tool or instrument. “What is it?” she repeated. She ceased with her prodding, and laid her hand flat against Jade’s neck.

  Jade put her own hand to Heidi’s, and took another slow breath. “Terrible creatures,” she whispered, her eyes growing larger and larger, as her grip tightened on Heidi’s hand. “Strong and fast. I could not have gotten away, even if I tried. And I did try, I tried to fight. I killed some. But there were too many, and I couldn’t – well, maybe if I had – but no, I couldn’t have . . .”

  Though her words were jumbled and garbled, and seemed to make no sense whatever, something in them struck a memory in Heidi. It was something the Princess had said, something –

  They can snap you in two with their bare hands, and catch you no matter how fast you run.

  “The Lumaria?” said Heidi.

  Jade covered her face with her hands.

  Though she had filled a blank for herself, where Jade seemed unable to do so, Heidi was still no closer to understanding. It would be some days more before she did; and even then, she would wish only for a return to ignorance.

  XXVIII: Aurelus

  As those scenes unfolded across that miserable stretch of earth, they were surveyed silently from a great distance away. There was a place high above the earth, and high above the darkness, where enormous figures (who of course did not seem so large to one another) strode to and fro, attending to one set of business or another, and speaking never in more than a whisper. There was great discussion, if not distress, taking place in that corner of the universe; and the figures spoke slowly to one another, sharing their own opinions concerning the ultimate end.

  Aurelus sat alone upon a high-backed throne of sorts, staring down into the blackness, inside which a wide hole was opening unto him. He fixed his attention upon the sights far below, shifting his gaze from one place to the next with the turning of his mind. He watched each event with less pleasure, if it was possible, than the one which had preceded it; and his spirits were low, and he was beginning to feel that the darkness was outweighing the light.

  He dispelled such thoughts quickly, not eager to have his judgment questioned this day. Which was not to say that He did not understand; but should Aurelus allow his heart to grow too heavy with doubt, He would ask after the reason why.

  “Why does your courage falter, Aurelus? Now is the time for faith; and for certainty in all that you do. Turn away from those sights, if they shake you so greatly.”

  Such was what He had said to him earlier, as he watched the flight of the lost one from the Mountain. She had done it – but had she done it in time? It was yet to be seen, and the anxiety was weighing upon Aurelus’ mind. The sickness had taken hold of her again; and this time, there was nothing to sate it. If she did not conquer it soon, it would engulf her, and all who surrounded her would become only objects of her aberrant hunger. The thread which connected her, now, to the human world – the natural world – was incredibly thin.

  The Princess was misguided in her wandering, but Aurelus was not as concerned for her. He knew that she would turn rightly, when the time was come. But what of the others? He had planned everything parallel to their standing where they ought; but what if they missed their step? He realised, now, that he counted upon something which was very uncertain.

  “Be certain in all that you do.” Oh, he was certain of himself – and certain of all that he had done thus far. He would not quail. But what if others did?

  His fate was not tied into theirs. Should they fail, he would not bear the brunt of their mistakes. But he would be forced to watch; and he would be forced to bear witness to their suffering. They had become so dear to him! He had planned all of this in trust of their steadfastness, for to him, it had seemed inevitable. If there were any whom he could rely upon, it was these. He did not make these decisions lightly.

  Yet only now he was beginning to understand, what it meant to be human. Even if one could be relied upon, in the best and worst of situations, there was always a point of descent, at which one would begin to lose what they had gained. Pushed too far, one would push back; and might fall in the process. Oh, yes – he was beginning to understand it. And he was afraid.

  When he had encountered the Two outside the wall of the city, he had been pleased, and proud. Especially of the One. She had stood bravely in the face of an unknown entity; and though it was all too clear that her under
standing of the situation was askew, he had trusted that, with further discovery, she would remain firm. For his plans to be realised, she must be strong. He suspected that ill things were about to befall her, and he was worried that these grievances might cause her to sway. But no – she mustn’t! He sighed, and turned his face away from her, now more uncertain than ever.

  The Second was not so critical as the First; she was not so strong as either she or the Third, and her part was much smaller. But her spirit was unbreakable, it seemed. Aurelus smiled; for at least he had that to console him.

  The Third, whose part would be played first, was sometimes difficult to see. Since she had been taken to the Mountain, his sight had grown weaker, and he feared greatly for her. He had moulded it so differently! But that was how it happened sometimes, with the faults and errors of humans kicking sand up onto the detailed, intricate map which he had so carefully drawn up. And what was to be done?

  He had allowed the Princess to witness his confrontation with Férglag, so that she might be the first to fit the pieces together. When she did, all others who remained to fight would know also.

  So narrow was his sight, Férglag had not even known that she was present. The Sorceress had; but that mattered very little, for in the end she would be just another pawn that had been moved, and destroyed, by the Destroyer himself.

  Thinking of that meeting, and of others before it which had gone just as poorly, Aurelus’ thoughts were interrupted by a voice which rang out from behind.

  “Aurelus!” it said. “Why do you continue to stare, if it makes you so unhappy?”

  He turned to see Arolah, standing there in the doorway of his golden chamber. She shone, just as all others did in this place high above, with a beautiful white light. Her eyes were like two perfect moons, in a face which stood as a testament to the existence of physical perfection. For she was what Aurelus was, and her body was real; and her spirit remained sheltered there inside her, by skin and by bone. Yet they were the captains of the brigade, and led the others to impending battle, contesting daily the human emotion which still commanded them. For they were not human. They were of the skies, and they were immortal. It was no longer life that they led, but eternity, as servants of the Mighty Hand which ruled the just. Their earthly existences had fallen away, and they were now a part of the clouds; two figures among many in a hall of gold; two branches of the silver tree which grew in the midst of the air.