by R. K. Hart
Mikal frowned in surprise as they walked down the whitewashed infirmary hallway and towards the healer’s kitchen. ‘Then she can’t be untrained.’
Lorcan watched as Mikal stood over a sink to wash his hands in strong-smelling soap. ‘She does not shield her surface thoughts. And you saw it, Mik. She was drawing in her sleep. There is not one person here who does the same thing. Where could she have possibly learned that? Anyone with any real power would have sent her straight here, as Delia did. It would be too dangerous otherwise. That wide-calling …’ Lorcan trailed off.
Mikal knew what he meant; her illae-fuelled shriek had brought half the Illarum to their knees.
‘She could be lying, of course,’ Lorcan went on, looking out the window and across the fields. ‘The Myrae do not let go of their own. She should be on a ship, or on the Isle. But liars hide their surface thoughts, no? She did not even realise we could hear them.’
‘She doesn’t feel like a liar,’ Mikal said.
Lorcan twisted the silver cuff on his left wrist around. Mikal blinked in surprise; he hadn’t seen him do that in years.
‘I am not sure what she feels like,’ Lorcan said.
***
Lida woke hours later, to Mikal pulling open the curtains at the foot of the bed. He handed her more willowbark tea and she drank it gratefully, her shoulder throbbing.
‘Eat more,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll let you have a bath if you do.’
Lida obediently picked up some bread as he left. She’d almost eaten her way through the entire tray when there was a soft knock at the door.
She looked up and froze; for one terrifying moment, she could not tell if she was awake or asleep and she stared at the fae woman, her heart pounding. When reason caught up with her - a long, silent, uncomfortable moment later - she realised that the fae queen she’d dreamed was in fact a lightly-built Setiian woman carrying a towel in one hand and a white shift in the other. She was even lovelier now that Lida was awake, though she’d lost her golden glow. Lida had never seen anyone so beautiful, with flawless, honey-brown skin and a perfect oval face set with large, languid blue eyes framed by long black lashes. Maya was considered a beauty in Kingstown; she could not hold a candle to the fae woman.
The woman gave a tentative smile.
‘Alida? I am Ava. Are you feeling well enough for a bath?’ Her voice held no trace of a Setiian accent; she might have been Eilin, to listen to her speak, her words clipped and quick, as if she’d grown up with Lida in Kingstown.
Lida nodded, not entirely sure that she could find her tongue, and Ava helped her off the bed and into the hallway. Lida looked around with interest, taking in the cupboards full of folded linen and jars of dried herbs, the closed doors she thought might open onto rooms just like the one she was sleeping in. Ava led her to the end of the corridor and ushered her through the open arch, shielded by a screen.
‘Oh,’ Lida said softly.
The room was tiled in blue and full of sunken tubs; Lida counted six all up. There were more screens leaning against one wall, waiting to be unfolded. One tub was full of steaming water; Ava had evidently been sure Lida would agree.
She realised why when she caught sight of herself in a mirror on the far wall. Her face and neck were caked in dirt and her hair looked as if something had nested in it. If Ava looked like the fae queen, Lida was a baint-fae, come from the Black Forest to steal children to eat. Someone had washed her hands of Jakob’s blood, at least; she felt that particular detail would have completed the likeness a little too realistically.
Poking at her face, she could see that some of the colour came from fading bruises. There were matching splodges on her collarbone and she could see bruising seeping out from under the bandage on her shoulder. She frowned; her hipbones were sharp under the waistband of her pants and she could count her ribs. It was no wonder Mikal had told her to eat.
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Gods.’
‘You’re a bit beaten up,’ Ava agreed.
She unwrapped Lida’s arm and shoulder, and Lida awkwardly stripped off her jodhpurs and climbed carefully into the water, unable to stop her sigh as she sank down to her ears.
Ava let her soak in silence for a while, then handed her some soap. Lida scrubbed as best she could at her face and neck and ears, grimacing at the amount of dirt in the water when she rinsed the lather from her skin. When she was done, Ava took the soap back and gently rubbed it over her scalp and through her hair. The soap smelled of basil and rosemary and made Lida think of home with an almost-painful wrench in her chest.
Ava helped her from the water once her hair was rinsed and looked away politely as Lida took the towel and pulled the clean white shift over her head. She was rapidly tiring, and her hands shook as she laced the ribbons; stubbornly, she got it done.
‘There you are,’ Ava said with a smile when Lida finished. ‘Not a baint-fae after all.’
‘I feel a little more human now,’ Lida agreed.
Ava led her back to the infirmary bedroom. Lida followed reluctantly, though she could feel her legs trembling. Ava seemed to sense her unwillingness.
‘I’ll take you for a walk outside tomorrow, if you’re ready,’ Ava offered as she re-strapped Lida’s shoulder, then helped her back into bed and pulled the blankets up over her chest.
‘I’ll be ready,’ Lida promised, but she could barely remember what for as her eyes closed and she fell back into the white.
Chapter Five: Tests
Two days passed in much the same way: Mikal came, plied Lida with willowbark, poked at her shoulder, chatted briefly, and left. Someone brought her pack, leaving it while she napped. When Lida woke and saw it by the door, she dug through to find The Eilin Histories, though every time she tried to read it she fell straight back asleep again.
Ava made good on her promise on the third day, taking Lida outside to stand barefoot on the sandy avenue beneath the bedroom window. Lida turned her face to the sun and breathed in the early autumn air, warm and laced with salt from the sea. Her legs grew shaky after a while, but both of them pretended not to notice. Ava took her arm and Lida rested on her gratefully.
Studying the wooden stable block, Lida felt a pang of guilt. ‘Is Sacred all right?’ she asked anxiously. She had slept so often that she had completely overlooked asking about her mare.
Ava nodded. ‘Jed has been taking care of her,’ she said with a smile. ‘I think she likes it here. She’s out grazing, but I can bring you back to see her tomorrow if you like, once the testing is finished.’
Lida nodded. ‘Ava,’ she said carefully, her eyes towards the horizon, where she could just see a small stretch of the ocean through the gently rolling hills. ‘What happens at the testing?’
Ava looked at her in surprise. ‘Everything has been backwards for you, hasn’t it?’
Lida laughed, a little sourly. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what forwards looks like here.’
‘Well, your testing should have happened on your first day. You will meet the Five - the mentors - and one of them will very gently brush beneath your mindshield to see the shape of your gift. You will then be placed with the mentor whose skill is most like your own.’
‘What is your gift?’
Ava looked away. ‘I’m a healer. But I learn with the readers, too.’
‘Readers?’
‘They work in the mind.’
They both fell silent as the blonde-haired Jed led a beautiful white mare from the stable block and out to the meadow. Lida’s stomach churned as she mulled over what Ava had said. Maya had told her about working with illae-healers at the hospice, and she had seen Delia work herself, watching her hands glow as she tried to save the injured woman, but what working in the mind might be was less evident, and the possibilities made Lida uneasy. She was nervous about what the mentors might find - or not find - during the testing.
She had already decided that she was well enough to ride Sacred home after the testing if there was even the slightest do
ubt of her being gifted; she knew that she would not look back. Both Ava and Mikal had been unfailingly kind, but the white infirmary room made her restless and irritable, and she missed her father and sister and the noise of Kingstown. The Illarum was too quiet, and there was something in the air that made her skin itch. Sometimes she would catch the echoes of words around her mind, as if she was overhearing a whispered conversation, and she found it at once tantalising and invasive. She wasn’t sure whether the owners of the words were trying to speak to her, or whether she was somehow catching the edges of their calling to others. Either way, it made her feel uncomfortably on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she wanted to step into.
She spent much of her time thinking about what would be happening in Kingstown. The autumn equinox was fast approaching, and the city would be preparing for the festival. As Lida’s eighteenth birthday fell on the same day, she would finally be able to dance with the adults, and she had been practising The Autumn Maid - a slow and steady harvest dance - for months with her friend Nala. They had bought matching red silk ribbons for their hair, and Cathan had promised Lida a new dress. She knew what she wanted already: something high-necked and buttoned tight to the waist, flowing out to the knees so it would swirl when she danced. As she was not handfasted or married, it would have to be white, which Lida did not like. She would have much preferred green, but she had little choice in the matter. If she didn’t have to stay at the Illarum, there was no way she was going to miss the festival; she had already promised the first three dances.
When Mikal allowed her another bath that night - this time alone - she spent far longer lying in the water than she should have, but she felt well enough to scrub every inch of her body and wash her hair properly. When she eventually dragged herself out and looked in the mirror, she saw that she was more herself. The bruising on her face had faded and the cut on her cheek was knitting well. She was still too thin, but she supposed it would take time to regain the weight lost over four days of unconsciousness.
After the long bath, she fell asleep as soon as her head met the pillow, and she found herself back in the grassland she had dreamed during the valerian haze. She walked through the barley crop, skimming her hands over the stalks, looking out to sea, just as she had the first time. The menacing clouds were gone; a flawless blue sky stretched out to meet the sea on the horizon.
It was beautiful, and peace settled over her. She walked closer to the cliffs, careful to stay a few paces back from the edge; the drop into the sea was of several hundred metres. Looking along the cliff line, she could see a tiny port some miles away, with a handful of jetties jutting into the water, waiting for ships to anchor. Overlooking the port was a village and a large, two-story sandstone mansion standing in its own green grounds. Lida considered the mansion with a frown. The sandstone was incongruous; the cliff rock and village stone were grey.
Something touched her arm.
Lida jumped in bed, biting her lip to keep from crying out as she wrenched her bad shoulder. Her surprise had woken her; the touch had felt very real, and she tried to slow her heart, which was racing at an uncomfortable speed. The open window showed nothing but the light of the stars. It was the middle of the night, and her room was empty but for her. She lay carefully back down and closed her eyes, but for a long time she stayed awake, thinking of the grey cliffs and the sea.
***
Mikal was irritable the next morning. He snapped at Lida for pulling her arm out of its binding as she slept, and for not finishing her food from the night before. He glowered at her until she ate the entire breakfast he’d brought, including the cup of coffee and hard-boiled egg, neither of which she liked. Lida didn’t understand what she’d done until he started to talk about the testing as he re-bound her shoulder, saying over and over that she could leave any time she felt too weak or too sick or was in too much pain, and Lida realised that he was worrying about her.
She touched his arm. ‘Mikal, I promise that I will leave if I feel too much of anything. I’m sure it will be fine. You’ve done such a good job taking care of me.’
‘I shouldn’t have had to!’ he snapped. ‘You should have arrived to your welcome feast! If Jak had just …’ he trailed off, his jaw set.
Lida patted his shoulder. ‘I know.’
She didn’t know, not really. She did not understand why Jakob had risked the illae-pull to get them to the Illarum, if there was the possibility of such a cost as his current unconsciousness; when she allowed herself to dwell on it, she realised that she was also more than a little angry at the way Jakob had broken his promise to Cathan. She did not press Mikal about it. For one thing, she wasn’t sure that he knew any more than she did, and for another, his distress over Jakob’s continued unconsciousness was clear, and she didn’t wish to add to his pain. Almost despite herself, she liked him very much.
‘Are you ready?’ Lorcan leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed, startling her.
‘Do you always lurk in doorways?’ she muttered.
He gave her a cool look and did not answer.
‘You’re to bring her straight back, Lor,’ Mikal instructed. ‘Straight. Back. Yes?’
‘Straight back. Of course.’
‘And don’t let them talk for too long.’
‘How am I to stop them?’
‘You’ll think of something.’ Mikal turned to Lida and smoothed her unruly hair back from her face. ‘Beni chance, soer.’
Lida nodded nervously and followed Lorcan into the corridor. He moved with the same easy grace as his brother, and she had to hurry to keep up; he was more than a head taller than Jakob and had a considerably longer stride than she.
He led her in the opposite direction to the baths and the door to the stables. The white infirmary hallway led into a handsome redwood corridor, lined with closed doors and tapestries and large candle brackets.
‘What are these rooms?’
‘Bedrooms,’ Lorcan said. ‘This is the healing quarter. All the healers sleep here.’
She glanced at him. ‘What is your gift?’
‘Not healing,’ he answered, and did not say any more.
Lida’s lips twisted, and she resolved not to speak again.
The corridor brought them out underneath a massive redwood staircase. It was a thing of great beauty, its thick polished handrails carved with vines of ivy and roses and wildflower buds, and Lida reached out to touch it, the flowers smooth and strong under her fingertips.
The staircase opened into an immense, open light well. Lida and Lorcan stood on the ground floor, and the glass roof was three stories up, stretching larger than Cathan’s entire house. The panels that made up the ceiling were irregular in shape and opacity, some completely clear, some beaten like rippling water; they were all held together by a delicate web of metal beams, like a massive spider’s web, if the spider had been in some kind of manic frenzy. Beyond the glass roof, clouds raced across the sky.
‘Gods,’ breathed Lida.
She tore her eyes away to see Lorcan watching her. His face was still serious, but slightly less cold. ‘We can come back later, if you would like,’ he offered.
‘Mikal will kill us.’
He tilted his head slightly to one side. ‘I will not tell if you do not.’
Lida looked wistfully back up to the glass and sighed. ‘Should we go?’
He gestured. ‘We are here. The Star Hall.’
The doors to the Star Hall were of a similar size to the Illarum’s redwood entrance doors, to which they stood opposite. They were crafted from metal, rather than wood, and were skilfully worked to show a map of the stars. On one door, Lida could see constellations from the sky above Eilan: the Wolf, the Black Bear, the Hunting Cat. The stars on the other were completely unfamiliar to her. She could see the remains of paint and supposed that in the past they must have been beautiful, shining and colourful. She had never seen anything like them.
‘They are so odd,’ she murmured.
‘They are ol
der than the Illarum, we think.’
Lida had no time to question him further; the doors swung open silently, seemingly of their own accord, and her stomach dropped.
‘Beni chance,’ Lorcan said quietly.
Lida shot him a tense glance and stepped through. The doors closed behind her with a loud, echoing click.
The hall was cavernous. The floors were the same polished redwood that lay throughout the Illarum; the walls were smoothed brick of grey and white stone. Tapestries metres long hung from where the walls met the ceiling in place of windows, showing landscape scenes from Eilan and further: rolling hills and snowy plains and greystone cliffs. Attached to the redwood roof beams were giant iron chandeliers, flocked bizarrely by differently-sized candle pendant lights; these were scattered across the ceiling with no seeming order. Lida frowned.
‘Can you see them?’
The question came from the middle of the hall, where there was a small raised dais. Upon it sat five simple wooden chairs; four of them were occupied.
The speaker was the man in the middle. Even seated, he was tall, and he gave the impression of movement just suppressed. At forty summers or so, he looked like a warrior nearing the end of his prime, muscled and hardened from years of battle, ready to step into command. His face was impassive as Lida studied him, taking in the steel-grey tunic, the same colour as the hard eyes and the shoulder-length wavy hair.
She looked up at the roof again. Cathan had once told her that people liked to see patterns in the world around them, so much that they would find them where they did not exist. She could see no patterns in the lights, no repetition of placement, no even spacings. It made a kind of sense, then, that there might be a reason behind their strange scatter. She thought of the doors outside, and of the name of the hall; she searched the ceiling until she saw a familiar shape, a rough rearing horse, with the brightest candle light positioned where its heart would be.
‘They’re constellations,’ she said.
The grey man nodded. ‘Yes. When the candles are unlit you can see the scratches on the beams, marking where each star should be.’ His accent had a faint Erbidan roll.
