Broken Earth

by C M Blackwood

  “Are you all right, Princess?” asked the one to the left. His face was blurry, his voice was warbled; she squinted in his direction, leaning forward against Sonya’s neck.

  “Pietrich,” she said loudly, attempting to cast her voice up above the strange buzzing that was inhabiting the space betwixt her ears. “Let me in, good fellow.”

  He looked to the guards beside him, obviously concerned (though Lila of course did not register him as such) with her questionable appearance and demeanour. But all three men moved aside obediently, and pushed the gate away so that Lila could enter.

  “Someone follow me,” she called back over her shoulder.

  One of the guards scurried from his place by the gate, and clambered up onto his horse. Lila was moving so quickly, he had to ride quite speedily to match her horse’s step; but by the time they had reached the end of the road, and were arrived at the North Doors of the castle, he was riding right alongside her.

  Lila got down from the saddle, and began to make her way up the great steps. Then, as if she had only just remembered, she looked back at the guard and said, “Do be a dear, and deliver Sonya to the stables?”

  “Yes, Princess,” he said. “And will there be anything else?”

  She felt her eyes cross, and found herself staring at the bridge of her own nose. “Anything else of what?”

  “Never mind, Princess,” said the guard kindly. “Are you sure that you wouldn’t like me to accompany you inside?”

  “Very kind of you, Simmons,” said Lila. “But I think I will be fine.”

  “It’s Smithy,” said the guard, with rather a wide turning at the corner of his mouth. He seemed unable to hide his amusement at Lila’s state of disorientation.

  But Lila, of course, noticed it not at all. “Very good,” she said. “Just bring the old girl to the stables, and you can return to your post. Good man, Simmons.”

  “Yes, Princess,” said the guard, turning away so that he might hide his inevitable fit of laughter.

  At the sound of Lila’s voice, the guards at the entrance pulled open the doors. Lila went on into the castle, and nodded to the two men. “Good day,” she said.

  “Good day, Princess,” they said.

  She continued on through the entrance hall, and to the main staircase. She had not travelled even half of a flight, however, when she heard someone calling after her. She turned around in curiosity.

  “Princess!” cried Thomas Henry, hurrying up the steps and taking hold of her arm. “What can you be thinking of? It is clear that you are unwell.”

  “I am nothing of the kind,” said Lila. “I am perfectly – perfectly –”

  “Perfectly exhausted,” said Henry, leading her on up the steps. She tripped several times; and each time he kept her from falling. He turned back, and shouted to a servant down below:

  “Do run and fetch Rilga, won’t you? The Princess need be attended to.”

  “I do not,” said Lila. “I am perfectly fine. Now, if you don’t mind, Henry, I have business that I must –”

  “Nothing that cannot wait till you’ve had a rest,” said Henry. “Now, let me help you up to your chamber, and then Rilga can –”

  “Ge-roff, Henry,” she mumbled. She broke away once again, and accelerated her pace up the stairs. Even sapped of strength as she was, she managed to dodge the aging captain as he hurried after her once more. He needed pause continually to catch his breath; but Lila only ran on up the stairs, up and up and up, till she had reached the fourth storey.

  She burst through the door to her mother’s chamber, nearly falling to the floor as she did so. Then she straightened up and shook herself, squinting towards her mother’s face through the seemingly great distance that separated them.

  “Lila! My darling, what’s wrong?”

  Lila stumbled over to the bed, pausing at the very end of it to look for a moment at the journal, which was propped open on Abella’s lap.

  “What are you writing, Mother?”

  But Abella only placed the book on the nightstand, and looked upon Lila with an inestimable countenance. “Are you back so soon?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mother, I am,” said Lila, dropping to her knees on the edge of the bed, and crawling up over the blankets to fall down amongst a pile of pillows. She fixed her eyes upon Abella, and watched her for a long moment without speaking.

  “Since you have come home safe,” said Abella, “I would imagine that Aponé spoke wise words to you; and that you chose to heed them.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Lila repeated, shifting nearer to Abella so that she might lay her head in the crook of her arm. She felt all of a sudden very tired; and could think of no words to explain.

  “My dear girl,” said Abella, smoothing the wild hair back from Lila’s brow.

  “I don’t want you to die, Mother,” said Lila. “I would not know what to do without you.”

  “I am not going anywhere, darling.”

  “Please take it back,” Lila whispered, taking hold of Abella’s frail hand. “Please take it back, so that you might live. So that you might help me to sort through this mess; and so that our family might one day be whole again.”

  Abella only smiled. “You need sleep, my love. Only close your eyes for a little. All will be well when you wake.”

  “Yes, Mother,” said Lila. She had forgotten, indeed, all about the reason for which she had raced so intently Westward; and had forgotten of every shred of malevolence which seeped from the South, into the very walls of the castle. She could not see it, and she could not feel it. She had forgotten about those three travellers who were lodged at Eredor (though perhaps her ignorance of the third, at least, could be forgiven, as she had not even been present when Lila left for Húnama); and she had forgotten about the tidings of doom which had been proclaimed by Aponé.

  There was nothing but the warmth in that great, familiar room, and the softness of the blankets that her mother tucked up under her chin. She felt the responsibilities of her post abandon her, fluttering away in an instant like the ribbons from her hair, which had been lost so many times to the wind when she was a girl. She felt, indeed, that she was only a girl again. She had come running to her mother after a particularly horrible nightmare, and lay there now upon her bed, drifting to sleep in the safest place she had ever known.

  Just before she fell asleep, she heard the voice of Rilga from the open doorway.

  “Is everything all right, my Queen? Captain Henry sent me for the Princess.”

  “Everything is fine, Rilga,” said Abella. “Lila shall stay here with me for a while.”

  “Yes, madam,” said Rilga. A moment later, there was the soft sound of the door falling back into place.

  “I love you, Mother,” Lila whispered.

  “And I love you, darling.”

  Lila felt the brush of her mother’s hand against her cheek, and smiled through the thickness of the fog that swirled above her head. She closed her eyes – and was, for quite some time, lost to the world around her.

  ~

  As her eyes opened unto darkness and candlelight, the latter of which sent strange shapes flitting across the walls, Lila felt quite uncertain as to where she was. She rolled onto her back, feeling curious, but still undeniably worn; and would not have investigated any further, even had she not noticed that someone was sitting beside her, and turned to see who it was.

  “Mother?”

  Abella looked up from her writing, and smiled brightly. “It is nice to see you awake,” she said.

  “And how long has it been since I was?”

  “You lay down to sleep the morning before last. Two days and one night asleep; quite unusual for you, my dear.”

  Lila merely sighed; for she still felt quite at ease. She had no desire to gain her feet, or to descend the flights of steps to Henry’s office, where she would organise with the Captain what may have gone amiss while she was away. She had not the strength, or the will, for any of it. She only wanted to lie; to lie and
lie forever, until everything around her had fallen away, and there was no more need for fear or worry. She would only lie there beside her mother, who refused to take back what was hers – and they would stare at the shapes upon the ceiling together, and watch the way the flame of the candle flickered, until both of them had died and there was nothing more to see.

  “You seem so sad,” said Abella, dispelling for a moment the dark clouds of Lila’s thoughts. “What makes you so?”

  “I cannot even begin to answer that,” said Lila.

  “Nothing has changed, my dear. Everything is as it was. You seemed to full of purpose, before you departed – has it all been exhausted so quickly?”

  “Perhaps,” said Lila.

  “You left as one woman,” said her mother, “and you have come back as quite another. Would it be futility to inquire as to what brought about this change?”

  “Most likely,” answered Lila honestly. “And even if I tried – I could not tell you. I realised that my plans were nothing, nothing but nonsense and prideful purpose. That was the purpose you saw, my dear mother. I should think you would be pleased.”

  “I begrudge you not your long rest,” said Abella, “but now you lie still, while there is much to do. I would not, and I do not, scorn you for it – but will you give up so easily? That is not the Lila I know.”

  Lila held up one finger, and shook it at her mother. “Not the Lila you knew,” she corrected. “Now I am something else entirely; and you, especially, know nothing of it at all.”

  “You may be right,” said Abella simply.

  Lila felt a twitching, twinging sensation down in her legs; and as she threw off the blankets, was inspired suddenly to rise from the bed. And so she did, standing for a moment with her eyes fixed upon the candle on the nightstand, altogether fascinated by the sometimes steady, sometimes erratic glow of its flame.

  “Goodnight, Mother,” she said, turning from the light and walking without pause into the darkness of the corridor.

  She knew not what time it was; but she made straightaway for the chamber which the fair-haired Heidi Bastian currently occupied. Standing outside the door, Lila thought back to the image of an ethereal Heidi, what had come to her weeks before in a dream of unknown purport. She weighed that image against one which she had seen more often; one that was not sure, and was not fearless. She saw Heidi’s face as it was, outside of dreams – sometimes smiling, but sometimes dredged with fear. The two faces had done battle with one another, the morning Lila left the castle in search of Wónakee wisdom.

  And so what meant that face of her dream? Was it an omen? It could not be a premonition. How could a face that had known such fear, such doubt, be transformed into something so certain and unafraid? Something that shone with light instead of darkness?

  Were all dreams indicative of a potential reality? Once Lila had thought so, but was not so sure anymore. What did it matter, anyway?

  She knocked firmly upon the door, and the sound of it echoed all up and down the corridor. She knocked and knocked, five times, six times – until the door was pulled open so quickly, she nearly dropped down into the space that opened up betwixt the jambs. She found herself staring into the face of Heidi Bastian; and it looked much different than it had, the last time she saw it. Haggard and drawn, it was. Her eyes expressed the need for sleep that had been denied her. Her hands shook there by her sides, clenching themselves into fists, and then hanging slack again.

  “Princess Lila,” she said; and she spoke in a voice that wavered like a reed in a bitter gust, climbing high as a shriek, and then falling low as a whisper. “You have been gone many days.”

  “I did tell you that I would be,” said Lila, trying to peer into the room over Heidi’s shoulder. But the woman seemed to be intentionally blocking her view, and shifted back and forth in the doorway with as much subtlety as she was able, following astutely the sway of Lila’s eyes.

  “You did,” admitted Heidi. “But I do wonder: what brings you here at this time of night? Though I suppose that I cannot hold it against you, considering all you have done for me and my friend, I must remark that it is very odd for someone such as yourself to be hammering upon the door of someone such as myself, in a corridor filled with dark.”

  She was speaking strangely. Her eyes darted back and forth, and settled momentarily upon Lila, only to dash away into the emptiness of the hall. It was as though she doubted that emptiness – and had, every second, to make sure of it. The moment she opened the door to Lila, a sweat broke out across her brow, and seemed to grow slicker with every word she spoke. She reached up absently, and wiped it with the back of her hand, looking afterwards to Lila with a most unnerving smile.

  It was then that Lila caught a glimpse of the bed behind her. Even in the darkness of the room, she could make out the shape of someone lying there upon it. They lay on the far side, with their back to the door.

  “It is Jade,” said Heidi. “She came while you were away. She is very ill.”

  “Ill?”

  “I am afraid so. Since the day that she arrived, it seemed that she grows sicker by the –”

  And it was here that she stopped herself, seeming afraid that to continue speaking would be to say too much.

  Now she is in a place of darkness – though for the moment she can see only light. But the darkness will return.

  “Has anyone attended to her?” Lila asked.

  “No. She does not want to be seen.”

  “If she is ill, then she must be seen. Let me fetch Tobias, my medicine man –”

  “No,” said Heidi, this time more sharply. “She will be fine. She only needs rest – not the prodding of strangers’ fingers.”

  Lila noticed the desperation in her face; and understood that she would fight, if Lila insisted upon opposing her. So she only held up her hands, and smiled – a friendly surrender.

  “May I see her, at least?”

  There came for a moment a sort of anger, a sort of resentment, into Heidi’s face; but in the end she smiled, and opened the door wider for Lila to enter. “Do be quiet,” she said. “She is sleeping.”

  Lila walked towards the bed, and was standing looking down at the sleeping woman, when the room filled suddenly with a soft blue light. Lila looked up rather wonderingly at Heidi; for she herself had not been aware of that particular trick. Her light in dark places was the Santra.

  She looked down at Jade, who was undoubtedly asleep, but shivering madly. She was covered in blankets, which were tucked around her body to contain its heat, but her teeth chattered audibly. Her eyelids twitched with heavy dreaming, and it seemed that she talked in her sleep. Mere whispers, they were, and Lila could not make them out.

  “She has been this way since she arrived?”

  “Not entirely,” said Heidi. “Sometimes, yes – but sometimes no.”

  “Have you any idea what caused it?”

  Here, it was quite obvious that Heidi hesitated. But she only shook her head, and said, “It must have been the cold. She was out-of-doors for too long, and it made her ill.”

  “Perhaps,” said Lila; though she of course put no stake in that particular explanation. Though she was uncertain as to whether she might gain any other sort of tidbit from Heidi, she departed anyway from the chamber, and beckoned for the woman to follow. She led her down to the study.

  Once inside the room, Lila locked the doors behind them. Heidi’s manner, added to the already serious nature of Aponé’s predictions, made her sure that this was nothing (if indeed she could wring anything more from Heidi) to be heard by others.

  “Sit down,” she said. She took her place behind the desk, and waited for Heidi to settle herself; and was indeed quite as patient as she could manage to be, while the woman seemed to attempt to gather her thoughts. But eventually she said, in an effort to spark some instance of truth-telling:

  “Pray tell me what is going on, Miss Bastian.”

  She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and added, “I ha
ve reason to believe that there are fell things taking place in my castle. If I am wrong, please correct me – but if I am not, do not lie to me.”

  Heidi’s lips quivered once; but then her face became set in a stiff expression, which took no pleasure in Lila’s sudden enforcement.

  “Speak,” Lila ordered.

  “I am not sure what to tell you,” said Heidi. “You are asking me for things of which I know nothing.”

  “I am asking you about your friend. I was warned of her even before I arrived; and now I find her in this state? I know not what to make of it. Now, please – tell me what I wish to know.”

  “And what were you warned of?” asked Heidi, with rather a dubious look upon her shadowed face.

  “That is my own business,” said Lila. “Whether you like it or not, everything that takes place here is my business. So, once more: I wish to know what is that matter with your friend.”

  “She is ill. Exposure to the elements, I suppose.”

  Lila slammed her closed fist down upon the desk. Heidi started slightly, but took great efforts to conceal her unease.

  “You lie!” said Lila. “Answer me truthfully, or begone from my castle!”

  “She was attacked.”

  “Attacked? Attacked by whom?”

  “The Lumaria.”

  She is in a place of darkness . . .

  Infection. Disease. Uncleanliness passed into the blood, from the mouth of a Lumarian . . .

  Changes. Changes in body and mind; changes in thought and behaviour.

  Power.

  Hunger.

  Lila put a hand to her head. “I don’t suppose you understand what this means?” she said to Heidi.

  “I suppose I don’t.”

  “You are in for an unpleasant surprise.”

  There were faint lines of fear, creeping here and there into the purposeful stolidity of the woman’s face.

  “But before I tell you anything,” said Lila, leaning even farther across the desk, “there are a few questions that you need answer.”

  Heidi only nodded, her eyes fixed upon some invisible but fearsome thing, which seemed to be hanging directly over Lila’s head.