by R. K. Hart
Mikal had told her of the Brinnican style of discussion, which to Lida seemed distinct to an argument only by the participants placing their empty hands carefully in plain sight; her father seemed well practised at it, laying his palms flat on the table on either side of his plate. Dylan had latched onto Cathan’s description of the colicky pony and insisted that the better treatment was a certain type of oil, rather than walking the pony around for hours, as Cathan had done. Dylan’s hands were crossed over his chest as the discussion descended into a rather heated debate about the causes of colic, and a long and grotesque story of Cathan’s about a horse with a twisted intestine. In the background, Alys and Ella half-heartedly continued their disagreement over story endings, with periodic appeals to Katrin, who doled out a diplomacy that would have graced the Kingstown Court. Lorcan and Maya were all but whispering to each other, ignoring the rest of the table, their heads almost touching; Maya’s laugh pealed like a bell, and Lida refilled her glass to the brim, throwing the uneaten bread back on her plate.
Katrin broke in before Cathan and Dylan got too involved, asking about the equinox festival in Kingstown, and speaking of how much she would miss the small celebration at the Illarum. Cathan told her of the parade, and the public blessings by the King and the temple, and of the harvest street feast. Lida chimed in about the dancing and the bonfires and the crowning of the Autumn Maid and Man. Maya had been crowned the Autumn Maid for two years in a row when she was Lida’s age; Lida opened her mouth to tell the story, looking across at her sister, but the words died on her tongue as she watched Maya ruffle Lorcan’s hair with a mischievous grin. Lida sat very still for a moment, then drained her glass and told Alys lightly that she was going to get some fresh air. She made her way out of the sitting room without incident; the rest of the journey outside was rather more unsteady.
‘Should have finished the bread,’ she muttered to herself as she walked with careful concentration to the garden fence, then gratefully leaned against it to look out over Kingstown. They had been at the table so long that the late lunch had turned to dinner and the sun had almost set; it was her favourite time of day to watch the city, as evening turned the sandstone gold and the lanterns along the main ways shone like tiny brightening stars. It was possible to trace the main roads out from a distance like a far-away map in the growing dark, using the lanterns as a guide, and Lida did just that, walking in her mind through the city to the palace, to the bath complex, to the Justice Hall, to the marketplace, to the temple of Eianna. She longed to go into the city and to swim at the public pool; it was open until very late and was always quiet in the evenings. She held a hand to her flushed cheek, imagining the coolness of the water.
‘Why do we not go, then?’
The deep voice was slightly amused, and Lida felt her lips twist. She had not heard him approach. ‘Just because you helped before doesn’t mean you can keep doing that,’ she snapped. ‘It’s not fair; I can’t reciprocate.’
Lorcan leaned easily on the fence next to her, looking out over the city. ‘Then shield better,’ he said mildly. ‘It seems unfair to me that you have seen my subconscious, and I am not allowed to read the occasional loud thought.’
‘If you don’t want me in your dreams, say so. I can’t control where I go, but I can leave, at least.’
He was quiet for a while. ‘Your city glows at night,’ he said at last.
Lida eyed him sideways. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘Twice. Both a long time ago, and both only to the Court. I did not see much of the city.’ He turned to look around the garden, resting his back against the fence. ‘I like your house.’
‘It’s a lot smaller than yours,’ she said with a smile.
‘I have spent more time away from it than I ever spent there. Quarters on a ship are not generous. Sharing a stable with Dylan tonight will still be a luxury.’
Lida blinked. ‘You grew up on a ship?’
‘Mmm,’ he replied, bending to brush his fingers over a patch of white daisies. ‘Many of them.’
Lida gave a wild laugh. ‘I can’t even cross a river.’
He straightened and considered her. ‘You may be fine on something larger. The bigger ships are more stable, and it is the movement that causes the sickness.’ He chuckled. ‘Jakob told me, but I did not believe him.’
She scowled. ‘I am not a sea-maiden.’
‘So you say.’ He tilted his head to the side. ‘Have you forgiven me yet?’
Lida knew he meant for bursting into her room and disturbing her bath. ‘I would not have drowned,’ she snapped.
‘You are very sure. Shall I leave you next time to find out which of us is right?’
Lida bit the inside of her cheek and did not answer.
‘Hmm,’ he said.
Lida wished at that moment that she could reach out to see what he was thinking; his eyes were hooded, and she could not read the expression in them. ‘Hmm?’
He shook his head. ‘Mmm. I came out here for another reason. Maya sent me to find you.’
Lida pushed her braid over her shoulder. ‘You do my sister’s bidding now?’
He smiled lazily. ‘In this thing only. She has something for you. Come, Lida.’ He turned and disappeared back inside without waiting to see if she followed.
For a few long moments, Lida lay her hot cheek against the smooth wood of the garden fence and considered staying outside on principle. In the end, curiosity got the better of her, and she lifted her chin and walked as steadily as she could manage back inside her father’s house.
Chapter Twelve: Bruises
Maya’s something was a cake, made with cocoa and dripping with caramel. Small bowls of clotted cream stood to one side, and Maya had placed tiny wild strawberries - the last of the season - around the base and on top.
‘Oh, Maya,’ breathed Lida, giving her sister a tight hug. ‘It’s beautiful.’
Maya raised one fair eyebrow. ‘You forgot.’
‘No!’
Maya stared at Lida and pursed her lips.
‘Perhaps. Yes.’
‘You forgot your own birthday?’ Dylan said incredulously.
‘I always remember Cathan’s,’ Lida muttered.
The cocoa was a rare treat, and Lida ate slowly, trying to savour it, attacking her cake in small, strategic spoonfuls, as precise as she could make them while the room continued spinning from the whiskey. Her father dropped a kiss on her brow before he went to bed, and she silently forgave him for his earlier withdrawal.
When Dylan and Lorcan had disappeared outside, Lida led Ella and Alys to her room, which seemed suddenly too small, especially when the Brinnican women stretched out on the floor. Lida had grown quickly used to her huge mattress at the Illarum, and she tossed and turned for hours in her childhood bed, listening to Alys’ soft breathing as she tried to get comfortable.
Eventually, she found herself once more in the white place. There were seven dreamlines before her, and thousands more further away, a rippling sea of gold spilling into mist. She watched for some time as more lines appeared, and others disappeared; nothing about the place was static, except the enduring white.
She looked down as the dreamline closest to her foot changed, taking on an odd pulse, like a black wave running over the gold. She reached to touch it.
She knew immediately that this was different; it was nothing like the clear memory-dreams she’d seen. The landscape shifted between forms she could just identify - hills, rocky outcrops, woods - and messes of dark, shapeless colour. Frenzied trees grew in a moment to loom over her, towering pines merging into huge, menacing oaks with reaching fingers for branches. Mist swirled, obscuring her vision, and she froze on the spot, trying to push her rising fear back down her throat. She realised how lucky she’d been until this point; something inside her screamed that this dream was dangerous. She gathered herself to leave.
‘Lida? Lida! Help me!’
Alys grabbed at Lida’s shift. She was clearly terrifie
d, her eyes wide, her white-blonde hair a mess of knots. She was dressed in a ragged, dirty scrap of cream cotton, and her arms and legs were covered in scratches that were slowly dribbling blood.
‘It’s coming, Lida! Help me!’
‘Wait, Aly!’ Lida tried to catch her, but Alys spun away, panting in fright. She disappeared into a swirl of mist and Lida was left alone, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
She found out soon enough what Alys meant. Lida stood statue-still, ground to the spot, as a shape emerged from a slash of black.
It was shaped like a human, but it could not be mistaken for one: no human had shimmering silver hair and glowing lilac eyes. Lida couldn’t tell whether it was male or female, but either way it was far more beautiful than it had any right to be, with high, sharp cheekbones and full, blood-red lips. Its skin was so pale it was almost blue, and it towered above her, taller than her father, taller than any man she knew. It bore no resemblance to Ava, who Lida had confused for the fae queen in her valerian-soaked sleep; this fae was the stuff of nightmares, alluring and terrible and perfect and cold.
Eilins believed that the fae were fickle trickster spirits, sent by the god Fiou as punishment for humanity’s worship of Eianna over him. In Eilin stories, the fae sometimes visited to bestow great riches, or to take beautiful young men and women as lovers and gift them all their heart’s desires; sometimes, they lured the unwary into springs and lakes and drowned them instead, or used their long fingers to pull open the ribcages of virgins so they could feast on a still-beating heart. This was - supposedly - how the fae lived forever.
For one long, terrible moment, Lida wondered if that was what Alys’ fae had in mind. It smiled a horrific, knowing smile, at once repulsive and seductive, baring pointed teeth stained with blood. A scarlet forked tongue delicately touched its tips to the full top lip, and despite her fear, Lida’s blood thrummed with sudden desire. Its hands curled, then stretched; its fingernails were like cat’s claws, retracted under the skin.
As Lida stood transfixed, the fae lifted its hand and struck down at her, leaving deep scratches down her arm; they immediately leaked blood. Lida shrieked in pain before instinct kicked in and she darted into a cloud of mist to the creature’s left.
It opened its mouth and screeched a sound like metal dragging across metal, the clamour echoing across the dreamscape, lasting for far longer than it should have. A tree loomed to Lida’s right and she ducked behind it, peering out from behind its peeling bark, trying to keep the fae in sight. It was weaving from side to side, searching furiously for its prey.
Searching for me, she thought, shuddering. She began to crack her knuckles and stopped, fearful that the sound would draw it back.
No, she thought, trying to push down her terror. No. It’s not real.
She pulled back behind the tree trunk, trying to quiet her breathing.
This is a dream. This is Alys. She repeated the words like a prayer. It’s not real. It’s not real.
She stared at the scratches on her forearm, holding her arm so the blood pooled in the crook of her elbow. They certainly felt real.
She shook her head. No. This is a dream. This is Alys. Maya had often spoken of changing her dreams, though Lida herself had never had much luck when she’d tried. Alys can change it. I will find her, and she will change it. She took a deep breath, her resolution hardening. Absently, she moved to wipe the blood from her arm, then looked down in confusion when her hand did not find skin.
Her steel-grey shift was gone; in its place, she wore leather armour, complete with breastplate and boots and arm guards.
‘Alys didn’t do this,’ she said, confused; it took her a few seconds to realise that she had spoken aloud, and that was all the time the fae needed.
It charged around the tree, claws drawn, screeching. Its first strike was at her head; she didn’t have time to react, and so its open hand connected with her temple so hard that her ears rang. She staggered, and sheer luck had her dodge its second blow. Instinctively, she ducked low and barged it with her shoulder, catching it around the middle, hoping to unbalance it; instead, the fae folded in half and wrapped its arms around her, crushing her ribs.
Lida’s breath was forced from her lungs with a rasping cough and stars spun at the edge of her vision. ‘Alys!’ she croaked desperately. ‘Alys!’
A flaming arrow sank into the tree behind them and, startled, the fae loosened its grip. Lida brought her knee up savagely into its abdomen, and it shrieked in pain. Another arrow struck the roots of the tree and the grass around it burst into flame.
‘Run, Lida!’ Alys cried, nocking and drawing a shortbow. Lida kicked at the fae again and wrenched herself free, sprinting to Alys.
‘They hate fire,’ the Brinnican woman said. ‘That’s why you always light a candle. They’ve lived so long underground that they cannot stand the flame.’
The words were oddly soothing, infused with the rolling lilt of Alys’ accent; with a calm detachment at odds with her earlier blind terror, she aimed and loosed an arrow directly at the fae. It took the creature in the face with a thump and a sickening sizzling sound; Lida watched, appalled, as skin blackened and bubbled and its body fell to the ground, the charred stick of the arrow sunk deep into the exposed bone of its skull.
Alys dropped the bow and folded to her knees, her face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Shh,’ Lida said, as soothingly as she could manage, dropping to wrap her arms around Alys’ shoulders. ‘It’s gone, dearling. You’re safe.’
Alys looked up at her, her eyes wild. ‘Not safe,’ she said with a bubbling laugh. ‘Never safe. I don’t have my candle.’
The dreamscape changed abruptly, becoming black as a pit, silvered by mist. Lida clutched Alys closer, trembling; she knew she didn’t have the reserves to fight another dream creature. Her ribs and head were aching, and she could feel blood congealing beneath her leather vambrace. She pressed a kiss to Alys’ hair, thinking.
‘I have a candle for you,’ she said slowly, her voice as gentle as she could make it, as if she spoke to a child. ‘It’s a special candle. It burns for as long as you sleep, and it never goes out. Do you want to see it?’
Alys nodded silently, her eyes fixed on Lida’s face. Lida said a quick, silent prayer, and reached into the empty scabbard hanging at her hip.
She pulled out a silver taper.
‘See?’ she said, swallowing her relief, and thinking back to stories from her childhood. ‘It’s made of stardust. You light it with illae -’ she concentrated, and the wick caught alight ‘- and the fae will never bother you again.’
She held it out; Alys took it, clutching it as close as she could to her chest. Lida stroked her hair.
‘Nothing can hurt you, sweetling,’ she crooned, watching as the empty blackness receded. Ground emerged, soft springtime grass sprinkled with wildflowers, and the sun appeared overhead in a clear blue sky. Lida wasn’t sure how much of the change came from her, and how much was from Alys, but she kept stroking the Brinnican girl’s hair and softly sang her a song, an old favourite of Maya’s.
She gradually coaxed Alys to lie down, and covered her with a blanket she found folded neatly on the grass beside her. Alys closed her eyes, still clutching the candle. After a while, it seemed as though her mind was quiet, and Lida sighed in relief, closing her own eyes and willing herself awake.
She sat up in her bed, blinking in the blackness of her room, then cried aloud in pain.
‘Lida?’ Ella murmured sleepily.
‘It’s all right,’ Lida whispered, gingerly pushing back her blankets and slipping from her bed, one arm clutching her torso. She limped to the kitchen, her legs leaden with tiredness. The glow of the two moons shone through the window and she used the silvered light to find Cathan’s flint, lighting two candles. With tremoring hands, she lifted her shirt.
There were bruises blooming over her ribs, red and black and blue. She sobbed and rolled up her sleeve,
half expecting it to be soaked in blood. It wasn’t, but where the fae had slashed her with its claws, she had three long, thin bruises running up her forearm, almost vein-like under the skin. She probed gently at her temple; it was tender to touch.
‘Katrin,’ she gasped, terrified. She drew her fear together, as she had outside the Illarum, and pushed it out again with a frantic whisper. ‘Katrin!’
The Brinnican woman appeared only a moment later, but by then Lida had broken down in shock and was sobbing on the floor, every breath painful. Katrin wrapped her arms around Lida’s shoulders and rocked her until she could speak.
‘Tell me what happened, cila,’ Katrin coaxed.
In answer, Lida lifted her shirt to bare her ribs.
Katrin’s face went still. ‘Who did this?’ she said, her voice dangerously quiet.
‘No, no, not a person,’ Lida said hastily, shaking her head. ‘A fae. A fae in Alys’ dream.’ She wiped her face and nose, then showed Katrin her arm.
Katrin stared. ‘Tell me what happened.’
By the end of Lida’s recount, Katrin’s face was white. She helped Lida off the floor and lit the fireplace with a distracted flick of her hand, positioning Lida before it. Lida gradually stopped shaking as Katrin inspected her temple and ran her hands over Lida’s ribs.
‘Nothing is broken or fractured. I will make you something hot. Tea?’
‘Coffee,’ Lida said immediately, determined not to go back to sleep. She sat at the bench to wait.
Katrin made a small pot, and, rummaging through Maya’s carefully-labelled jars, found some powdered willowbark and added a scoop to Lida’s cup before making herself a mug of ginger tea. She sat next to Lida, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug.
‘Cila, the truth is that I cannot help you,’ Katrin said. ‘I have thought about this often since you first visited my dream. I could tell you not to go to the white place, and I could tell you not to visit others, but if I did so, you would never learn to use your gift, and I cannot think of a more terrible punishment. There is great danger in the unknown, but you will never be whole if you do not venture into it. If you wish, I could make you a tincture of valerian and lemon balm, which might stop the dreams, but it would stop the good along with the bad. You must decide what you will and will not risk.’
