by R. K. Hart
Lorcan turned his face to the sky. The cloud cover was light, but there was a bank of storm clouds to the east. In Kingstown, it would be raining. He wondered if the maire of Port Royal was there yet, and how Triste would react to the news of the ruined town. He tried not to think of what would come of it. ‘You should visit him.’
‘I’d like that,’ Lida said. ‘Although I think I’ve done enough travelling for an entire lifetime.’
Lorcan snorted. ‘Some trader you would be.’
‘I never even wanted to leave Kingstown,’ she said tartly.
He chuckled and stood. ‘Come, Lida. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can have a bath.’
She let him pull her up and brushed the grass from her jodhpurs. ‘You’re worse than Aaron.’
For a moment, he looked offended, then he grinned. ‘Only at some things,’ he said.
They walked until well after nightfall. By that time, Lida had tired of rolling green hills and pastured paddocks and was wishing she was back on the Belle. While Lorcan built a fire, she unlaced her boots and stripped off her socks to rub her blistered feet.
‘There is a pond down there,’ Lorcan said, nodding to a dip in the land not far away. ‘Though you may wish to fill up the flasks before you wash.’
Lida threw a sock at him but did as he suggested, filling up every flask they had with cold, clear water before soaking her feet. The night was typical for the Eilin winter, but after the freezing ice and wind of Brinnica she barely noticed the cold, so she stripped off and washed before she walked back to the makeshift camp.
Lorcan had toasted some bread and cheese and they ate quickly, washing the food down with strong, sweet tea. When they were done, they spread out the blankets they’d borrowed from Lorcan’s mother’s house, their sleeping bags gone with the horses. She’d tried to take only plain cotton blankets; Lorcan had made a tsking sound and instead had grabbed heavier woollen ones that had clearly been woven in Brinnica. Lida hoped the Priom-la wouldn’t mind.
As she lay down, Lida’s heart beat in an odd rhythm and she felt intensely aware of her hands and feet, as if they’d suddenly become too big. It was the first time they’d ever been properly alone with the prospect of a bed between them, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Lorcan seemed to desire nothing more than to sleep, and Lida didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved; he lay down unselfconsciously and held out his arms. She nestled against him, her head on his shoulder, listening to his steady breathing. After a while, she shifted on her back and looked up at the stars.
‘Can you not sleep?’ he murmured.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
She didn’t answer.
He rubbed his cheek on her hair. ‘Do you remember the first story Bethan told? About Andastra?’
Lida nodded.
‘Did you know that her father founded Erbide?’
He felt her eyes on his face. ‘No. I didn’t know that.’
The sky was clear, and so bright he could make out every constellation glittering above them. ‘When the Brinnicans speak of star and earth people, their distinction is that earth people were born here, in Eilan. Star people were not; they were born on their journey across the sky from the old world.
‘Andastra’s father Kellen had star parents, but he was born on Eilin soil. Having two star parents, he was very powerful, even as a boy. He was a great warrior, but also a gifted healer. And, of course, like all Erbidan men to come, he was incredibly handsome.’
She snorted. ‘And arrogant? Bossy? Secretive?’
He ignored her. ‘Eianna wanted him, but he had pledged himself to his childhood sweetheart, a woman named Kaia, and he refused Eianna. Eianna grew angry at his refusals, and one night she used her power to change her appearance, her red hair changing to black, her green eyes to brown, her body taking on curves. She went to him after nightfall, and in the darkness she looked and sounded like Kaia, and she spent the night with Kellen without him realising the difference.
‘When morning broke, Kaia came to see Kellen, bringing him a posy of wild roses. Eianna’s body had returned to her normal form while she slept, and so Kaia came upon her love and her Queen, spent and asleep, curled up together in Kellen’s bed. Kellen woke just to see Kaia drop the roses on the ground and run.
‘She was fleet of foot, and though he chased after her as swiftly as he could, he could not catch her. She ran and ran, and when she reached the grey cliffs she leapt, but instead of falling to her death in the sea below, she flew up into the sky.’
He gestured to Kaia, shining brightly above them in the heart of the Leaping Horse constellation.
‘Kellen was so angry, so mad with grief, that he returned home planning to demand Eianna’s life in payment for Kaia’s. But by that time he could see the tiny flickering of illae in his Queen’s womb, and he knew that he could not harm his daughter, and no matter how much he might hate her, he could not harm the woman who carried her. And so he left, taking most of his tribe with him.
‘He walked across Eilan until there was no more land. On Outward Point, he sat and built a boat by hand from the trees of the Black Forest. He and his people sailed across the strait and landed on the southernmost island of what would become Erbide. They raised massive sentinel stones at the place they landed, to guard their new home.’ He paused. ‘The sentinels stand to today; they are used as witness for marriage vows.
‘In time, Kellen fell in love again, with a wild, beautiful selkie with golden skin and black hair who loved him enough to take human shape. She bore four daughters, all sea spirits, and four sons, all human and strongly gifted. The daughters returned to the sea and to the shape of their hearts; from the sons came the people of Erbide. My mother is supposed to be descended from the eldest son, Leandyr.’
Lida blinked up at Kaia. ‘I thought Eianna was supposed to be perfect.’
He kissed her nose. ‘She was a woman, before she was divine. Once you are made a god you cannot pretend anything less, but perfection is rather too much to expect of a mortal.’
‘Unless you are Erbidan, apparently.’ She studied the sky. ‘Are Kaia’s roses where l’peti mor came from?’
He flicked her a surprised glance. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The Brinnicans took the idea from us. But we do not call it that.’ He considered her for a long while before he spoke again; she turned over onto her stomach and looked back levelly, one hand toying absently with his collar. ‘There are two gifts in Erbide. The first is temporary and unbinding, close to what l’peti mor means to the Brinnicans.’ He took a steady breath. ‘We call it …’ He swallowed, trying to force the words out a closing throat. ‘Gods, I did not think it would be so hard. We call it lera faine.’
Lida’s hand stilled in shock. ‘I thought … I thought that when you said dreamer it was an accident. I thought you weren’t allowed to -’
‘I am not.’
She touched his face.
He twined one of her curls around his finger. ‘The second is a promise of truth, a binding of spirit, a lasting surrender of everything one has to give. We call it the life-fire gift.’ His voice dropped to a whisper, as if the words themselves were sacred. ‘Sorcha faine.
‘Usually, the gift is made with roses, as Kaia’s gift to Kellen was. But there were none to be found in that gods-forsaken bleakness in the north of your country.
‘In First Families - in my family - it is supposed to be one of many gifts. Jakob gave Mikal a pair of northern colts with chestnut coats almost the colour of Mikal’s hair, one for him and one for James.’ He gave a slight smile. ‘And a chest of spice and seeds from Autere, to make medicines and grow herbs, along with everything he would need for his own distillery. Jakob gave him scent from Seti, and furs from Dena, and a shortsword made by the best metalsmith in Brinnica.’ He tugged gently on Lida’s curl.
‘I had planned your gift. A bracelet of emeralds and bolts of Setiian silk to match. A ring set with pearls from the Gulf of Fire to wear with
your mother’s necklace. A bow of redwood that I had carved. And lessons to use it, given by Cian, in Kell, after we sailed across the Kelti and up the coast of the continent.’
Her eyes went wide; he laughed under his breath. ‘But you were so angry that I thought you would never speak to me again. So instead of the roses I had planned to gift you - lavender, not red - all you got was a posy of snowdrops, scavenged from rock.’
‘I don’t need the other things,’ she said. ‘And snowdrops are my favourite.’
‘Need is not the point of giving gifts,’ he said. ‘And I would like to give them, all the same.’ He gave a lazy half-smile. ‘I hope the rest of it will not end up in a fire.’
She coughed and turned onto her back, and they were silent a while, looking up at the stars.
Lida shifted restlessly. ‘Maya told me what you talked about in Kingstown,’ she offered.
‘Mmm. She was very obliging. Some of her answers to my questions were far more detailed than I had anticipated.’
She frowned.
‘I particularly enjoyed the story about Cathan’s crate of Denan wine.’
Lida stared at him. ‘She didn’t.’
‘She did.’ He grinned as she bit her lip. ‘I am still curious as to how you got up on the stable block roof after you broke it.’
She muttered something under her breath.
‘Sorry?’
‘There are handholds on the walls, if you know where to look,’ she repeated crossly.
Lorcan raised an eyebrow. ‘And you did know where to look.’
‘Mmm.’
‘So it was not the first time you had been up there.’
She did not answer.
He laughed unreservedly. She watched him laugh, her face icy. He ignored it and pulled her closer.
‘You do know what I’m going to do the second we get back to the Illarum,’ she said.
He stopped laughing. ‘Non?’
‘I’m going to make Jakob tell me every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.’
Lorcan settled back, his free arm behind his head. ‘He will not tell you,’ he said smugly.
Lida gave him a knowing look and stretched, arching her back like a cat.
His eyes narrowed. ‘I do not like that look.’ A moment later, he realised. ‘Non, cheri, tu n’peu pas, plaise -’
‘Mmm.’ She bared her teeth in a vicious smile. ‘Then I will ask Ava.’
***
They left at first light the next day. Lorcan did not slow his pace, too desperate to be home, but Lida bore it more cheerfully after sleeping dreamlessly curled against his side.
While they walked, Lida practiced eavesdropping on Lorcan. She still could not push her mind out, so he brought his to hers instead. He was used to splitting his awareness between his body and the sky and it was little challenge for him to hold his mind outside her shield as she tried to pick up on whatever he was thinking - a colour, an object, even music. She was not very good at it, too inclined to be distracted by her own thoughts, dwelling for the most part on their return home, and obstinately refusing to think about what they had left behind them. As the day went on, she grew more used to it, and guessed Lorcan’s thoughts more often than not; in the late afternoon she hummed the melody of an Erbidan folk song in its entirety and was rewarded with an early stop to the day.
They set up camp by a stream; Lida collected firewood from a tiny copse of trees while Lorcan refilled their flasks and washed. Their dinner was the same as the night before, but Lida found a pouch of cocoa she’d borrowed from Alys and forgotten to return, brewing it with sugar and hoping Alys wouldn’t miss it too much.
Lorcan returned just as it was starting to simmer, sniffing appreciatively, his hair damp from the stream. ‘That smells good. But gods, two weeks without proper coffee. I cannot wait to get back, just for that.’
‘And something that isn’t bread or cheese,’ Lida said wistfully, considering her dinner. ‘Vegetable pie. Quiche. Smoked trout.’
‘Apple cake.’ Lorcan closed his eyes in mock-ecstasy. ‘Fried eggs. Roast vegetables. Potato and leek soup. I wonder if Jak will make it, if I ask nicely.’
‘A proper bed to sleep in. A hot bath every night. With actual soap, and without a handful of Brinnicans in it.’
‘Have you had enough of Brinnicans?’
‘For the moment,’ Lida said. ‘Except for Mikal.’
‘I think that Mik will leave you alone to bathe,’ Lorcan said dryly.
‘I should hope so. I am sure he has better things to do, and there is already someone who enjoys interrupting my baths.’
Lorcan coughed and sipped his cocoa.
Lida went to sleep with a smile on her face, her lips so swollen with kissing that they almost hurt to touch. Lida had kissed and been kissed a thousand times, in a hundred different ways, most of them involving teeth that shouldn’t have been there and tongues that ought to have stayed in their own mouths. But she had never been kissed as if kissing wasn’t just the first step in a series of necessary actions leading to a never-reached preordained point, but rather something to do entirely for its own sake. Lorcan kissed as if he had all the time in the world to do it, relaxed and unhurried, his lips often curving into a smile. It made Lida feel as if the entire world was in that moment; she felt as if she could drown on the feeling and be carried away by his current of whispers.
When she found herself in the white place, she was half-tempted to reach out to his dreamline, but decided she didn’t trust herself. Kissing in a dream wouldn’t be right, when she would be the only one awake. She let him be instead, and spent the night exploring the infinite space, seeing how far she could go. Far behind, she could see a cluster of golden light that were the sleepers of Port Royal; ahead was a glow that she hoped was the Illarum. She willed herself towards it, but she found it difficult to move. The invisible weight held her back, and although she fought it and made some headway, it taxed her greatly. By the end of the night, the Illarum dreamlines were tantalisingly close, but she could not make the last jump to touch them.
She woke just before dawn, tired and drained, feeling as if she were back under Aaron’s relentless training regime.
‘You have illae-sickness, Lida,’ Lorcan said, when she rubbed her eyes and complained. He was already up, preparing breakfast. ‘I woke in the night and you were drawing in your sleep. I was awake for an age - at least an hour - and you were drawing the entire time. I tried to wake you after a while. I could not.’
Lida put her hand to her head. ‘I was seeing how far I could go through the white place. I tried to get to the Illarum.’
He frowned. ‘And could you?’
‘No. I got close, but not close enough.’
He studied her face, taking in how wan she was, the dark smudges under her eyes. ‘I know that you know what you are doing, ais-la, but be careful. There is no one to help you, if you need it there. It scared me, that I could not wake you. It was like what happened on the Belle.’
Lida bit back a comment about teaching fish to swim and nodded, hearing the echoes of Katrin’s warning in his words. They were both right: there was no one to help her, and she had already known one consequence of pushing herself too far - the darkness that was neither sleep nor death that she had forced herself into on the Belle. She had no wish to experience that ever again.
The morning was filled with mist. When they set off, they could barely see more than a few metres before them, and their pace was much slower than the previous day. The mist curled around their legs and waists as they walked, settling stickily in their hair.
The training that day built on the eavesdropping lesson; Lida quickly termed it sneaking. Lorcan tasked himself with trying to find weaknesses in her mindshield, and, if possible, pushing his way through, trying to distract her with images and thoughts of his own. She was cross to begin with, and the feeling of being constantly under attack did nothing to improve her mood. The constant pressure on her mindshield drained her al
ready-low energy and she hated feeling so vulnerable, with no way to fight back.
‘Why would we be taught this?’ she exclaimed.
Lorcan was not in the best of moods himself, tired from waking in the night and spending more time than he cared to admit worrying that Lida had again gone somewhere he could not follow. He gathered a very clear memory - of Lida, her face hot with embarrassment, springing angrily to her feet to storm out of Tiernan’s teaching room at the end of her first short lesson - and pushed it against her mindshield. To her credit, the golden barrier did not waver.
‘There are many reasons,’ he said evenly. ‘You must learn to defend against it.’
‘I would hate to think that anyone would try to do this to me properly,’ she said, swiping angrily at a swirl of mist around her face.
‘Then concentrate,’ Lorcan snapped. ‘You still leak surface thoughts and your gift makes you a target. You are safe at the Illarum, but not all the gifted are there, and not all of us have noble intentions.’
She blinked, hurt. ‘I leak thoughts? I suppose shielding my every reaction and being closed off and unreadable is preferable?’
It was a barb at him, and it stuck. His face shuttered. ‘Of course not,’ he said levelly. Erbidans were trained into the habit; it was a tactic used in war. Impassive soldiers had fewer tells. ‘But you might accept responsibility for your own safety for once.’ To drive the point home, he pushed strongly against her shield again, an ungentle shove.
She fought it, pushing him back. ‘You are not my keeper.’
‘Perhaps you should find one,’ he shot back. He stopped short and took a deep breath, wiping the dew from his face with his sleeve. ‘I am sorry, Lida,’ he said, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. ‘I did not mean any of it. The mist … the mist makes me anxious. It is my least favourite weather.’ He regarded the white with distaste. ‘Tiernan made me call mists every day for a year and a half when I was younger. I still detest them.’
Lida looked around. ‘It is very thick.’ She frowned. ‘How long have we been walking?’
Lorcan stared at her. Her hair was starting to curl into thick, wet ropes down her back. ‘Hours,’ he muttered. ‘Too long. It should have gone by now.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Gods,’ he swore immediately. ‘You can see it. Illae. I should have noticed. This is not normal mist.’
