Broken Earth

by C M Blackwood

  Lila was certain that Henry and Fala would offer the men their choice of retiring from their work, and moving themselves to the dining hall for the night meal. But she was also certain that they themselves would take not a bite, till they had exuded every last bit of their strength, and had worked till they could stand upon their feet no longer. Many of the younger men would come in to their meal, for they had lived lives that had seen very little of war and disaster; but the older soldiers would remain outside with their Captain, and work all through the darkness till that Eastern sky came tinged with pink and orange.

  But Lila’s strength was already gone. It had required what little she had left, to stand there beside Fala, and to speak with him beneath the heavy sadness that weighed down upon her shoulders. It had begun to pierce the skin, as she made her way back through that field of bodies, and had seeped finally down into her heart, as she burst loudly into the silence of the castle. Far off, she could hear the sounds that filled the kitchens; but she moved her feet away from them, and half-ran, half-tumbled up the staircase, in pursuit of the fourth floor.

  Just as she was leaving the streets, the black of night began to stain the soft grey of the rain-washed sky. By the time she tackled the stairs, she could see through the high window at the East side of the castle, that its darkness had taken over completely. The corridors were filled with it, for the servants had not had time to set the torches – so a light that flickered some way down the hall caught Lila’s eye, and drew her attention from the way that she had been going to take.

  She had been destined for her mother’s chamber. She felt compelled to return; for she hated the idea of leaving her mother there alone, in the dark.

  But what would Abella say of such thinking? She would call it foolishness, and remind Lila that her soul was already gone – far, far away, in a place of which Lila knew naught.

  She heard the sound of soft voices up ahead, echoing from an open doorway down that dark corridor of stone. She was tempted to linger unseen, for a moment, outside the occupied room – only to see if this was a meeting appropriate for her to interrupt. But then she thought of the robe that she wore, and of the many men who toiled away down in the city, following her own instructions.

  She thought of her mother, lying cold and still in the room that had become, in her last years of life, her very prison. She thought of how she herself had felt, acting in her

  stead – as though she were only an extension of her mother’s mighty arm, reaching for her during a time when she could not move. She had thought, so many times, of how glad she would be, when Abella finally took back the rights to the throne (a high chair that stood in the Golden Hall, a room which had been shut up for the past twenty years), and became again the stern but loving Queen whom her people adored so greatly.

  But never again would she rise; and never again would she sit upon that dusty throne. Lila was no longer her arm.

  She was only herself.

  She stepped into the pool of light that lay upon the floor of the corridor, and knocked once on the open door. Every eye in the room rose to meet her.

  The first person she noticed was David Misaria, who was sitting in a chair with his head resting back against the wall. His face was shining with tears.

  Dera Black sat beside Heidi Bastian on the bed. Heidi’s head was resting upon her shoulder; and both of their faces were filled with the very same vacant expression.

  Sitting at a seemingly strange distance from the rest of the group was the woman whose name Lila still did not know. David’s chair was pushed near to the bed, so that he could hold the hand of Heidi. But the woman sat near the opposite wall, with her face tilted towards the floor, and her hands clenched in her lap. She looked once at Heidi; but was favoured only with a nasty look, that made her hang her head once again.

  Lila wondered, for a moment, where Jade Misaria was – but then remembered the reason for her absence, and understood suddenly why the people before her looked so very morose.

  “I have been busy till now, down in the city,” she said. “Before I did anything else, I thought I would come to ask after you all. I do not mean to ask how you are faring, for that would not be a very sensible question – but is there anything that any of you need? If there is anything at all, I can meet your requests.”

  David and Dera shook their heads; but the others did not move.

  “I don’t suppose that any of you are hungry,” Lila went on, “but I should tell you that a feast is being made downstairs. Even if only for the distraction, you are all more than welcome to take what you will in the servants’ dining room.”

  Dera nodded, and David said, “Thank you.”

  “Well, I suppose I should leave you alone now,” she said. “But, if there is anything you should want come night, I am sure that Rilga will be happy to oblige you. I believe you know where to find her, Miss Black?”

  “I do,” said Dera. “Thank you.”

  Lila gave a nod of the head, and stepped from the room. She was halfway down the corridor when she heard:

  “Wait a moment!”

  She turned her back against the darkness, and looked towards the faint glow of the open chamber. One of the women had come out of the room, and was hurrying towards the place where Lila had halted her step.

  She could tell, even with the distance and the shadows betwixt them, that it was Heidi Bastian.

  “I’m sorry,” said Heidi, as she came to a stop directly before her. “I know you must be very busy.”

  “Not so busy as others are.”

  “I only wanted to ask you,” said Heidi, “if your mother is all right.”

  Remembering to check her emotions under the guise of command, Lila set her face and said, “I am afraid not.”

  “I am very sorry,” said Heidi.

  “Thank you,” said Lila. “And I am sorry about your friend. I only hope that the ending is happier, in her case.”

  Though a shining sort of madness entered her eye, at the mention of Jade Misaria, Heidi only went on to say, “I thank you very much for taking the time to visit us, when you are already faced with so many distractions.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Lila. “Only remember what I said about the feast; and about Rilga.”

  A short nod.

  “And if there is anything more serious,” added Lila, “I think that you know where to find me.”

  The woman smiled quite as well as she was able, and said:

  “Goodnight, Princess.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Bastian.”

  They turned from one another, and set off in their respective directions. On her way to find her brother, Lila was by no means envious of the dim and miserable chamber to which Heidi Bastian was returning.

  Yet, even as this thought passed through her mind, she realised that absolutely everything she turned her eyes upon looked dim and miserable.

  It was only one of those moments.

  ~

  The work in the city was finished by the following day. The men had laid out the bodies of their dead comrades (and a good number of city-dwelling men, who had laid down their prejudices against the Army of Eredor during the battle and taken up arms beside them) with care and respect, and had made the announcement that the families were allowed to come and see them. It is true that the dead were mostly those men who had fought; but also present were women who had taken up blades in their own fury, the most notable of whom was Kaéna Lorin. Her gratitude towards the soldiers who had saved her life was so great, she could not bear to see them fall before her very eyes. Her valour was enormous – but everything else about her was so slight, what could she truly have done? Yet she fell with pride, and earned a respect in death that most women of that land could never have hoped for.

  Of course, also lost were people who had simply been caught up in the mortal chaos of the battle, as they tried to escape, and were whisked away like stuffed dolls upon a sea of death. And saddest of all were the little ones. So many small childre
n, torn from the hands of their fathers and given up to that river of blood; so many tiny infants, wrenched from the arms of their mothers and trampled beneath the feet of war.

  After the laying of the bodies, the soldiers went out of the city to begin their work with the wolves; and the servant-boys who were most spry went down into the streets to fill the stony lanes and thoroughfares with water, and to push the large street-sweepers over them, to lift from the pavement what blood they could.

  The soldiers worked for long hours, in shifts, for a number of days that went uncounted. They dug the holes; they pushed the bodies into them; and they set them afire. It was a tedious and interminable process.

  During those first days, Tobias Redda had his hands quite full with the care of those soldiers and citizens who had been so badly injured. He nursed them in the infirmary, a building of his own design that stood just outside the gates of Eredor. He had a group of young men and women there, whom he had trained in the art of medicine; and all of them worked together to save what lives they could.

  It was a sleepless endeavour, to be sure.

  Despite this, Lila could not simply leave her mother lying dead for days on end, with no one to tend her and no rites performed. So she pulled the medicine man aside, on that first morning after the siege, and told him of what had happened.

  So great was the love of that noble little man for his Queen, he burst into inconsolable tears at the news of her death. He embraced Lila for what seemed a very long while, crying into her shoulder.

  “We must perform the burial today,” she said, patting him on the back as he hiccoughed. “She can lie no longer in that close chamber.”

  “Of course not!” exclaimed Redda. “I will see to it at once. I will go to her; and you will make the announcement . . .”

  “There is only one thing more,” said Lila, extracting her mother’s journal from the pocket of her cloak. (The robe had been temporarily retired.)

  “What is that?” asked Redda.

  “It is the Queen’s journal,” answered Lila. “Inside it are detailed instructions for her burial.”

  The old man seemed bewildered. “Instructions?” he said. He pushed his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose, which had grown slippery with his crying. “I need no instructions. I have performed the death rites for every person who has ever died in this city, for the past . . . for how many years?” He paused, and scratched the white fluff atop his head.

  “She wished for a different kind of burial,” said Lila. “Come with me now, and we will sort through it together. I am sure that your students can manage on their own.”

  “Surely,” said he, stepping from the infirmary and into the street. “Now, what exactly do the instructions consist of?”

  “I will show you,” said Lila, walking with him through the castle’s East Gate. “I will show you.”

  ~

  After Lila had opened the door for the old man, and watched him step reverently into the room, she hung back for a moment to inspect the carvings upon the wood. So many times, she had seen them – but only now was she beginning to understand their significance.

  This was not to say, of course, that she comprehended even the slightest portion of anything at all that had been writ in Abella’s journal. Yet she had spent all of the night before poring over its pages, and was versed at least in what it said, even if she did not truly understand what it meant.

  At the bedside of the Queen, Tobias Redda fell to his knees, and touched his forehead to her cold white hand. But he quickly collected himself, and rose up on unsteady legs, while he began another round of sobbing.

  Lila allowed him to stand for a few minutes more; but then she called to him, and placed her mother’s journal into his hands, what had been opened to the very last page.

  “You may read what she wrote there,” she said. “It will serve you better than anything I might try to tell you.”

  He read it once, he read it twice; he scratched his head, and planted his chin atop his fist. Then he read it again.

  “What is this?” he asked, looking up at Lila. “What does this mean?”

  “Everything,” said Lila simply. “That is what it meant to my mother.”

  “But, I don’t –”

  “Neither do I. I daresay that no one would. But we will obey her to the last – will we not, Tobias?”

  “Oh, of course!” said the old man. “And I mean nothing by it, and I do hate to say it, but perhaps . . .?”

  “I will not deny that it has crossed my mind. The delusions of a sick and dying woman? They certainly could be. But no, Tobias – I think not.”

  He only nodded. “Very well. I will not, of course, put any more question to it. But there are arrangements to be made, and very many things to do.” He sniffled once more, and wiped a straggling tear from his eye. “The rites will be held at sunset,” he added. He clutched the book to his chest, and departed from the room.

  Lila closed the door in his wake. Understanding that it was the last opportunity to be granted her, she went to the bed, and took her place in the chair beside it, what she had sat in so many times – so many nights, so many conversations. She took her mother’s hand, and held it tightly in her own. She did not trouble to pretend that the eyes would open, and look upon her once more; for she was not of a mind to bear that much more pain. She only looked for a while at the peaceful face, and watched with a still heart the way in which a late measure of complete serenity had taken hold of it. She even found it in her to smile upon it, though the gesture worked only to increase the size of the tear that had been ripped in the shroud of her soul. Many, many years it would take for that tear to close; and a terrible scar it would leave.

  And yet the time had come to depart. With all the weight of the world’s grief upon her head, she rose from the chair, and kissed the chilled cheek.

  At the door, she looked back once more. Turning her eyes away, in that moment, was without question the most difficult act she had thus far in life demanded herself to perform. She went out into the hall, and closed the door against her own life, crying out as a piece of her very spirit rushed forth to fly back through the keyhole.

  She turned her back upon it, then; understanding that she would leave it behind forever, and that it would remain for all eternity, there in the space of that room.

  ~

  It seemed that, in no longer than a few blinks of the eye, the end of the day had arrived. The sun, already weak from hiding all the day long behind heavy rain clouds, took its place there in the West, hovering above the rim of the world – just long enough to preside over what sadness still remained to be seen.

  After sitting for a long while in her chamber, and using the time to gather together what courage she would need, Lila took up the white robe in her arms. The Gown of State, was its proper name; but Lila remembered it referred to as only the one way, all through her life.

  “Oh, Lila! Won’t you take off Mother’s white robe, and put it back in the closet? It is very important, you know. There’s a dear – now come and give Mother a kiss.”

  Lila slipped the robe over her shoulders, and gazed at the effect it produced upon her, for a very long while in the glass. She envisioned her mother, wearing it at the head of her father’s funeral procession. There, of course, she had worn also her crown, which was wrought in gold, and bejewelled with many precious diamonds.

  That, of course, had been only a few short years ago. Only just before the Queen grew so very ill, that she would never again be exactly recognised for what she had been.

  A vision in white, she had been. So very beautiful! So very pure.

  Lila frowned at herself in the mirror, thinking again of the winged creatures that had lived for so long upon the door to her mother’s chamber. Words from the journal returned to her mind, even as she looked into the glass. Words written; questions asked. Years and years of questions asked, but never a sufficient answer supplied.

  What are those?

 
I have asked her many times, but she has never told me what they are.

  She saw herself, shrouded there in that long white robe; and saw her mother, too, wearing it so much more perfectly; for it was the thing that she, and not Lila, had been born to do.

  So very beautiful! So very like . . .

  Lila shook herself, and went out from her chamber. She walked quickly from the castle, and down to the West lawn, where the headstones in the royal graveyard glinted in the dying sunlight. She went to stand beside Tobias Redda, who presided over the crowd, in a shroud quite as blue as the morning sky. Before her stood the casket in which Queen Abella Aséa ó Désarn lay silent; unmoving and unspeaking. Lila could not help but wonder, though, if there was a part of her that hovered near, and that could hear what was said of her. But even if there was – it did not alter the truth of the presence, of that box upon the bier.

  Upon the bier. It all made so very much sense; for even as Lila looked upon it, and then looked towards the stone of William, for whom she was namesake; and then thought of the hundreds of people who lay out in the city, awaiting their own rites; she realised why she was not Nadina Aséa, Princess of Eredor.

  The fate of her city had been known from the start. The name had been given her as a reminder, never to be forgot, that she would never be what her mother had been.

  For no – she was not Nadina Aséa. She was Lila Bier, Princess of Calamity and Destruction. While she ruled, her people would know no such thing as peace. It had been known – oh, it had been known, even when she was nothing but an infant in her mother’s arms.

  The entire city was gathered round, filling the lawns quite to capacity, and lined up in respectful silence for some distance past the gates. The voice of the medicine man boomed out over their heads, in a way that one would not have thought the voice of such a very small man to be capable. But there it roared, like a wave of the sea across the weeping mourners.

  Antony clasped Lila’s hand.

  When the medicine man repeated those words which he had read in the Queen’s journal, the people all around began to whisper, and to look at one another in question. When they raised their eyes to the Princess, however, the look upon her face was enough to cast them down again. So they listened on in silence and confusion, but wept still at the tragedy which they had not anticipated. They, like Lila, had fully expected Abella to reign once more as their Queen, and for her daughter to shrink back into the shadows whence she had come.